A Youktastic Wednesday. But Youktastic means something different, see…

I don’t even want to go to work, you guys.

I think my coworkers are jackassy enough to make me a sympathy card.

Youktastic- The new word for ultimate, shoddy, heartbreaking betrayal with a side of suck that can best be expressed by the cult classic, Bloodhound Gang.

I didn’t mean that. That was harsh.

Yeah. I think I meant both of those.

I’m going to go eat ice cream for breakfast.

L

PS- signs your boyfriend is starting to get it:

“Well, at least you got to see him one more time before he, you know.”

Me- “Died?”

“Yeah.”

Youkilis is turning me into a bad Rihanna joke. I want to blog about something else but I can’t.

You know that girl at the office with the crappy boyfriend? She complains and complains and complains about his drinking. Is like, mad at how he drunkenly vomited all over the curtains, but he promises not to do it again? She’s going to break up with him this time, swears she is, on account of all the leering he does at every girl but her. And yeah, he slept with her sister, but he bought her a candy bar this one time, so she’s going to give him another chance. And another one. And another one. And so what he pointed out the asstasticness of that girl’s jeans at the bar? It’s just part of his undeniable charm. Did she mention the new cologne he wears? It has some masculine name about horses. And he bought her these new shoes, see? Sure they still have the store’s magnetic antitheft strip on them, but that’s because someone forgot to remove it, obviously.

Girl at the office, I never got you until today. I never got you until I read this.

He didn’t mean it, I cry.

He’ll change for me, I scream, but you can’t hear my muffled screeching due to the ice cream and regret.  Gooey, gooey regret.

I know I’ve said this before, Youkie, but you do this, and it’s really over. Stolen shoes and chocolate bars will get you NOWHERE this time.

I forgave you for screwing Tom Brady’s sister. But this tests my humanity and turns me into a bad Rihanna reference.

Don’t pander to us, Youk. It won’t work this time.

I HATE YOU, BRIAN CASHMAN!!!

I’m going to turn it off. The emotional switch. Done. Off. Like Stefan did that one time in “The Vampire Diaries.” Except for real because CW shows (apparently) do not reflect reality (I know, right?). I officially don’t care anymore. Really. See? I’m blogging about how much I don’t care.

Because I don’t. I don’t care AT ALL.

AT ALL.

I HOPE you turn into a Yankee. You heard me.

I can see it now. You and Joba Chamberlain, singing to each other on a fire escape.

Except it will be “Youk, you’ve got what I neeeeed…”

I’M SO CONFUSED.

And I had to tell Matt today. I mean, he knew about my Youk thing (who DOES NOT know about my Youk thing). He was looking at my computer and clicked on the last Google News alert I’d been on and it was Kevin Youkilis.

“Really?” he says.

I explain to him about what’s going on. And he- ah, how sweet and naive- says, “If Kevin Youkilis goes to the Yankees, you and my dad will have something in common.”

His dad is a Yankees fan, see. But I’ll get to that in a future blog.

No, I explain. That’s not the way it works.

And I told him about Johnny Damon.

He gets it now. He’s been very quiet for the past hour…

~L

Robinson Cano, if you want a boyfriend, try Match.com, not Joe Fink.

SHUT UP, ROBINSON CANO.
NO one wants to talk to you. No one. No one except Scott Lauber, apparently.

“I’ve gotten a chance to talk to him and he’s a nice guy,” Cano said today from David Ortiz’ celebrity golf event in the Dominican Republic. “I’ve had a chance to meet him at the All-Star Game, and he always seemed cool in talking with everybody. There’s some guys that, you know what, the way they play the game, you say this guy’s not a nice person. But he’s a great person.”

I KNOW he’s a nice guy, Cano. Stop acting like you can even SPELL Youkilis.
And, sure, Robinson. I’m sure Youkie and Joba the Nut would hold hands and skip through the forest. If that forest lives in your brain with what is obviously crack, Robinson Cano.
Seriously, Robinson Cano. Why are you still talking? You have problems of your own.

David Ortiz, can you stop inviting people that annoy me to play golf?

And Kevin Youkilis? Can you quit with the puns? You are making the situation worse.
“The White Sox had pinstripes and nobody ever commented on that,” he tells NY Post.

EVERYONE commented on that. EVERYONE.

It’s really sad when the only one that offers you any amusement on your Friday is Scott Boras.

What a weird world it is today, Soxies.

L

Kevin Youkilis wants me to be a Stepford Wife but I don’t DO dishes.

There really aren’t words.

Well. They are. But I am an adult now. And I’m trying not to SAY those words, see.

I’ve had some time to process. To process that thing. You know. The one I will LINK to, but not say out loud.

There are a lot of emotions right now. Anger. Heartache. Anger. Despair. Anger.

And to find out this way.

I was working a corporate event on no sleep and a hallucinatory caffeine buzz. Go back to office. Open email. Get a “haha” email from a coworker with a Link. This link.

I just-

I can’t-

I…

I know what this is, guys. It’s me.

It’s my new job. The new job where I’m making actual money.

Like, dollars.

The kind you read about. The kind people put in banks.

Like real banks.

Not the kind your sister rules in plastic when you play monopoly.

Like a bank with papers. And ids. And signatures. And cash.

Actual cash.

See, I think it’s clear what this is about.

Kevin Youkilis does not like working women.

He is threatened by a strong, career oriented woman. Career women who don’t have time to 100 percent fawn and cry and scream and curse and be fun. Working women who are busy doing things like ironing shirt collars and working and driving and putting actual gas in their car (like, the kind that fills it up, not the kind that goes to the halfway point. The kind that you pay with on the card because the $60 hold on your account won’t compete with your water bill). I’m finally happy and fulfilled and he just can’t stand it. He wants me all to himself, see. He thought he’d pitch a fit. Leave me for the fricking White Sox. Thought that would bring me back. It almost worked, Youkie. It did. But then another project came along and I got busy and… and…

And… he’s…

Nope. Still can’t say it.

You’re like Mr. Banks from Mary Poppins. “You know how Mr. Banks hates the cause…”

I would think that you would be proud of me, Youkie. My readers are. Seriously. So many of them have emailed me to see if I’m okay, alive (a few thought the season killed me). They EMAILED ME. They didn’t send me a nuclear bomb of vomit. That’s what you did to me today, Kevin. You sent me a nuclear bomb of vomit.

In the form of…

Nope. Still can’t say it.

I don’t think he’ll do it, guys. I don’t think-

Seriously. I am happier than I have ever been. I have an amazing boyfriend. I-

Oh God. That’s it, isn’t it? You think just because Matt moved in last month (Matt moved in last month! I live with a boy! I live with a boy and sometimes I wash dishes! Well. Um. I have washed a dish! Um. It was a cup. Um. I have a dishwasher. Um. Well. I threw the plastic cup away. Um.) that I don’t have room in my life for you. You did this, Kevin Youkilis. When you left me for Chicago.

What? You didn’t think I’d move on? You didn’t think I could find someone else? Someone taller? Um. SOMEONE WHO CAN REACH THINGS AND CHANGE LIGHT BULBS AND LISTENS TO TAYLOR SWIFT WITH ME SOMETIMES DURING CELEBRITY REHAB COMMERCIALS?????

You NEVER listened to Taylor Swift with me, Kevin Youkilis.

Maybe I want you to go to…

Nope. Still can’t say it.

I’LL CHANGE! I will quit my job! And wear an apron! And wash your dishes!

You know what, Youkie? Do what you want. You’re irrelevant. And your feet are stupid.

Anyone who can’t support me and my career and my goals and dreams (I have goals and dreams now, guys!) can go to…

I didn’t mean that.

YES I DID.

I just…

I can’t…

I can’t say it.

I can’t…

You know who can say it?

As for my readers,

I miss you.

I miss baseball.

I do not, will not, won’t ever… MISS BOBBY Valentine.

Oh. And regarding Farrell news, I DO have a statement.

I. Told. You. So.

(Interestingly enough, the above link references the job I have RIGHT NOW)

Won’t be another two months. I promise. The nonfunny truth is, my job is really hard. It is really wonderful, but really hard, and required my complete focus. I’m starting to get a grip. Stay tuned.

In the meantime… be happy for me?

And ignore this Youkilis news. It shall go away. Yes. It shall.

He wouldn’t do that, people.

Right?

~L

Um. RIGHT?

JEB WANTS this to happen. HE SAID SO ON FACEBOOK.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

This is what I get, Soxies. This is what I get for being distracted by my OWN issues. DAMN YOU, BEN CHERINGTON!!!!!!!!!

I look away for ONE SECOND. One fricking second. And THIS is what happens.

We will NEVER be friends, Kelly Shoppach.

And this is a strike and a HALF for you, Ben Cherington. And for you, Bobby Valentine. And for YOU, America. For blogging all week long about how outplayed Tek is.

When he was drafted, Shoppach was regarded as the potential catcher-of-the-future who might ultimately take Varitek’s place. A decade later, that outcome appears to be coming to fruition, albeit in unexpected fashion.

Say it isn’t true! Make it not be true!!!!!!!

This is EXACTLY like that scene in West Side Story where Chino tells Maria Tony killed her brother. EXACTLY like that.

Okay. So maybe it’s not like THIS version. But imagine this as a GOOD version.

Tek isn’t about the numbers. He’s about the heart. And about stability. And every other thing that’s been fizzling since Soxsplosion. I just want some fricking stability. Is that so much to ask for? Is that so wrong? It’s always the children that suffer, Benny C. You people NEVER think of the children.

As for you, Jason Varitek- it’s not over for us.

I don’t care what the Red Sox say. You’ll always be captain to me.

~L

More on this later when I can see through my tears.

Can you at least return to my have-Tek-replace-Curt-Young plan? Please?????

My feelings can best be expressed in the 90s classic, “Say it ain’t so” by Weezer.

Youtube is fun today.

The only facet of Soxsplosion fully endorsed by Too Soxy:

ABOUT TIME.

See ya, Curt.

Who do you think will fall of the train next?

We will NOT speak of Ortiz today. We will NOT. Thanks for the link, Andrew!

~L

Theo. Is. Gone.

Officially.

I am very angry.

So angry.

But, when I take a minute. And pretend this isn’t the sum of an epic, epic collapse and its chaotic little entraily parts… I realize that Theo, OUR Theo… is in a better place.

While we will mourn his passing… we can take comfort in the fact that he and our beloved Tito do not have to deal with the SHITSTORM that is a Red Sox 2011 October. A shitstorm, mind you, that is EPICLY worse than the shitstorm that was our September.

The weather report?

MORE SHIT.

So, Theo, now that I have calmed down and taken YOUR feelings into consideration, my feelings can best be expressed by the 1970s sensation Kansas. Ahem:

Excuse me. I’m going to go cry in a public restroom now.

Thank you.

~L

HOLD THE PHONE. I have figured it out. I have a song. I have a scene. THAT PERFECTLY describes what is going on in Boston. I know I hurl my musical theatre background at you guys constantly and sometimes have to reach for relevance- but listen to this WHOLE song and TELL ME it is not the stupid Red Sox front office. Humor me and enjoy your education. Your instructor? Who I wanted to be when I grew up: Bernadette Peters. And I still could. I am not a grown up yet.

By the way, her name is Nancy Brady and she is a homewrecker.

Sigh.

Maybe it isn’t true…

—

8 p.m.-

AND ANOTHER THING- the boy (the one that’s not Kevin Youkilis and exists on this reality plane) is at a Canes vs Bruins game. Right now. In Raleigh. And I’m not there.

WHATABADDAY

Dear Boston Globe, I am not the only one rolling my eyes at you today. Love, Lauren

THIS article pissed me off.

THIS article debunked some of the bull*.

And THIS article COMPLETELY ruined my day.

DAMNIT.

~L

 

Oh GOOOOOD. Soxplosion is documented. With sources. GOOOOOD.

Yes, journalists. Jobs bill? What jobs bill?! We want to talk about the Red Sox! The economy can wait!

Read this.

Go ahead. READ IT.

Fried chicken. Video games. CHAOS.

So-so-so-so angry.

~L

I AM NEVER EATING BISCUITS AGAIN.

THEO! Too Soxy’s continuing coverage of SOXPOCALYPSE, 2011. Just when you thought it was safe to turn on Sports Center… Dah-Dah-DAAAAHHHH

Soxsplosion 2011 continues.

THE HUMANITY…

You people in the front office make THIS MUCH SENSE.

Oh, it’s four minutes of makes-no-sense… But you’re going to watch it anyway. Because you watched all of September. We THRIVE on makes-no-sense.

THIS VIDEO IS EXACTLY LIKE THIS POST SEASON.

~L

SOOOOOO angry.

The angry blog is going to melt your face.

—-

8:50 p.m. Oh gooooooood. It’s official.

BAH.

Unless you talk to the Boston Globe.

BAH.