Monday Monday

Another week begins, the sun finally shining on Boston, with the sheen of possibility on everything. If you're a conservative, you decide that you'd like to press an amendment declaring marriage between a man and a woman. Because mid-term elections are coming up in a few months, and that homosexual Trojan horse got y'all elected last time, so why not bring it out of the stable and try again?

If you're me, you wake up stuffy for the third morning in a row and dread that you are allergic to your own apartment.

If you're Patrick Kennedy, you check out of rehab and head back to Rhode Island, which will welcome you with open arms.

If you're Kevin Youkilis, you flex and say, "Damn it feels good to be a gangsta."

If you read the Improper Bostonian's column titled "A Gal's Guide to Fenway" and took it at all seriously, please kill yourself now. Listen up, gold-diggers: Save the precious tickets for girls who actually give a shit either way about baseball. If you want to meet a man, go to speed-dating. If you want to watch baseball, watch some baseball. If you have to be told not to wear uncomfortable shoes at Fenway, you should not be allowed in. I mean, colleges make people take aptitude tests before they're admitted. Fenway should be just as selective.

If you wish to remain employed, you should probably get to work. Which I shall now...