Cleveland Does Not Rock

In all my travels, I have only hated one city and that city Cleveland, the Mistake on the Lake. Every time I hear the C word, I mutter “f#$k@ng Cleveland” to myself. Every time someone asks me to explain why I hate that hell hole, I see the look of regret on their face as I launch into a point-by-point detailed rant about my time there that often requires ducking to avoid my animated gestures.

Even at this point in my post, my jaw hurts like hell from clenching it trying to repress the profanity.

After my first night there I woke up expressing understanding for Art Modell and The Move to Baltimore. The 13 year old niece I was traveling with did not get the reference but knew I meant something.

Even though I do not follow Basketball, the payoffs were hell. I had to replace my filter repeatedly so as to not spew “f#$k@ng Cleveland” randomly in public. Although, from what I understand of the result, I might have gotten a high-five or two.

And now we have the RNC convention. Between the Trumpcapades and the host city, my soul might not survive this week; I am a delicate flower after all.

I am going to try some breathing techniques, chanting positive mantras, journaling, and enjoy some extra dark chocolate at night as I try to keep me calm. I would love to break my Pavlovian response to any mention of C-town but I probably have a better chance of never eating sugar again…especially since I stocked up.

Wish me luck. F#$k*@g Cleveland!