Me vs The Guy My Boss Told Me Not to Worry About

I love my friends, but catching up with them is really hard sometimes. Everyone is growing up and it feels more and more like I’ll forever be sat at the children’s table. I feel stuck. Work is fine, but I don’t know how to advance my career. My family is all sorts of fucked up right now and I feel helpless. The last girl I dated left me for someone else, married the guy on my birthday, and recently reached out because she “doesn’t know why we stopped talking.” (The icing, if you will.)

So, yeah, it ain’t great right now. I don’t really know what to say when my friends ask how I’m doing. “I’m figuring it out,” sounds a lot different now at 34 than it did when I was 25.

But, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, nothing cures the blues like a good, ol’ fashioned drink-a-thon with the crew. Get dressed, we’re going to dinner, baby!

It’s taken me 34 years to realize that I cannot indulge every whim.

“Oooh, I like her.”

Get your mind out of the gutter.

“Pumped to announce I’m partnering with the government on an official collab! An absolute dream come true. Follow me on my journey through the halls of justice! Link in bio for merch.”

— Me showing up for court-ordered community service.

While I’d love to sit here and write stories detailing my ruggedness, they simply do not exist. It would be pretty sweet to tell tall tales about how I’ve survived in the wilderness for weeks with nothing but a pocket knife and some string, subsisting on a rotation of small animals I was able to catch and cook over the fire I was able to start. I wish I could regale you with stories of the many fights I’ve won out there in the cold, indifferent streets. Shit, even something simple and noble like helping a stranger change their tire.

Truth is, I’m not manly in the slightest sense. I’m not good with tools. I can barely throw a spiral. I know how to start a fire, but you guys better take a couple steps back before I try.

Here, a brief description of the man I turned out to be.

TJ Miller describes a lavish Hollywood party and his encounter with Paris Hilton.

Dear Intern Who Sits in the Cubicle Behind Me and Watches Me Check MLB Scores All Day,

The jig is up, it appears. Our cubicle walls are short and you, dear intern, are tall. Not to mention my screen is huge. I think I do a pretty good job at looking busy as I click and type away, but you seem to have discovered the truth.

Ten years ago on this very day, my friend Vince and I guest-bartended at McFadden’s Pub. I reached out to see if they’d let me write an article about bartending, and they actually thought it was a good idea. This is just one of many reasons they are now permanently closed.

The bar for being a man is absurdly low and I love it.

The day means nothing to Mexicans and I’m having a reuben for dinner tonight.

Having fun as a young adult does not look good to potential employers. I should have never thrown those sick-ass house parties replete with kegs, au pairs, and Mike’s Hard Lemonade. Goddamnit!

I’m the first to admit that smartphones have their uses, like sending your friends memes during business hours or accessing your mobile banking app to find out which drunk charges from last night you will dispute.

But you know what I miss? The good ol’ days when we weren’t running around with these little devils in our pockets.

To the surprise of absolutely no one, the Catholic school system failed me. Turns out that years of rigorous Bible study and zero contact with the opposite sex means jack shit in the real world. Go figure.

Fast forward a couple years to a time when I know nothing of safe sex. A time when I need that knowledge more than ever. A time when that very ignorance leads to a pretty funny story that has, for better or worse, been featured in various new outlets since.

The more you know. 💫

No, this isn’t a story about how I’ve finally cleaned up my act. That will happen in due time, when I’m good and ready. Think of this as more of a plea to the month of March. Much like yours truly, March is known for being wildly inconsistent, luring you in with a promise of better things to come, not being able to make up its mind, and just overall being an asshole. C’mon March, get it together already.