All The Things You Are

Made it. The first leg of the holiday mental gauntlet is in the books with minor altercations and negative points. There were some not entirely positive things that happened, however, and because I try to be completely honest through a veiled guise of anonymity even though many friends read this and can finish my sentences when I try to relate a story that has been chronicled here. Therefore, I'll run down some of the things.

First negative point was Black Wednesday. It would've been smart to stay home for this one, but something drew me out. To be honest, I've totally figured out what it is and it's so lame that it shoots pangs of guilt throughout me whenever I tap into my subconscious and see what's really going on. Sadly, I get drawn out when I feel lonely in the hopes that I will find some kind of stimulating conversation with someone who is attractive and intelligent. My god, that is so sad. Too stubborn to join a book club or e-date, though, still. That's a whole can of worms, though.

Here is a clue for anyone considering this type of action because it must occur in other people. I've been informed that I'm not special, so at least three other people must have experienced this. It rarely to never works. Perhaps the reason I still do it is because it has worked in the past (at least in a temporary form), so I intrinsically know that there is a chance. Anyway, the clue is that it may not be a good idea and it will probably not work. At best, you will wake up the next day and feel like crap and realize you just wasted time and money and may have even said something horrible to someone. Worst quote yet has been "Hey butterface. You should really be nicer to people that are more attractive than you." That is the most vain and mean thing I have ever said to anyone, but she deserved it.

So, the negative point on Black Wednesday went down like this. I was at my goto bar and this thick neck guy and his two personal trainees were with him. They had incredible Rottweilerish backs. So, anyway the two trainees started talking to me about how much better real ones were when compared to fake ones. Seriously, I'm not a fan of this argument. To each their own. I don't care about how a TV works or where your breasts came from. Not really my business.

Long story short, one of the trainees grabs my hand and puts it on her breast as I say "That's really not a good idea." This was the spark that the powder keg needed as I was about to be jumped by Thick Neck. This culminated with a heated (his side) and disinterested (my side) argument that probably had an under the breath comment of why would it matter if I touched a dude's breast anyway which then pissed off everyone involved.

I'll also admit that, at this point, every one of my drinking stories is sounding like it is from the point of view of Holden Caulfield. That's not really where you want to be. So, anyway, this situation did not end pleasantly, but I did not get a bloody nose or anything, so it's merely a minus one. I did, however, wake up the next morning still pissed and decided that this stuff needs to stop.

The next day was Thanksgiving and I went to my broken home to be with family. I refused to touch a drop of booze as I feared it would Irish up Thanksgiving and instead drank Diet Cokes and Ginger Ales which were very pleasant. I exchanged pleasantries with my maternal grandmother who explained to me that Mitt Romney is spoken to by the lord and not, in fact, George Bush. I told her I really didn't know who to trust on that one and it was kinda he said/she said for me. She then relayed that the Middle East would play out the way that the bible has prophesied.

At this point, I was looking for anything to gouge into my chest warranting an exit from this nightmare conversation. I can't believe that we even share any DNA and really think that she would have been better off had my grandfather never taken her from Canada. America has not been good to her.

Regardless, it was the best food on record and was great to see everyone, for real. My mom gave me one of my old books from when I was three and my neighbor read it to me. Sadly, the theme of the story kind of matched my mood even though I didn't learn from it 29 years ago. It was Hucklebug and was about a little bug that runs away and then feels bad, but doesn't want to go back because he feels bad for the mistake that he made by running away. I might add that I ran away twice before I was eight and I still have problems with mistakes and learning from them.

So, crap, day after Thanksgiving, I just bummed around and then eventually went out to get dinner. All the places that I tried were closed for holiday parties and I ended up at my other bar. The definition of insanity as determined by Jung is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. Started talking to one of the bartenders instead of getting tacos. Beer. Beer. Beer. Whiskey Shot. Beer. Beer. Smoke. I ended up "dancing" at one of my all-time unfavorite bars while drinking "handsomes" with a girl from my softball team. This didn't go well and they took my beanie as it broke dress code.

Saturday. Did nothing. I read some stuff from my programming book and watched a couple of episodes of Twin Peaks and four episodes of Top Gear, which is one of the best shows on TV that I know of. Be careful, however, because you will start dreaming in an English accent if you watch too much BBC. It happened last night and I slept horribly.

I ended up at a party on Saturday night with Pappy at Warner's house and saw some really good friends and had an awesome time rocking out to Rock Band. I have to buy it now and put a Rock Band together. Right now, my official profile is Gay Pete. He looks like a short, fat Dee Snider and his name is considered "not Classy" by the XBox Live program. Whatevs. He is badness.

We need a bass player, but I think we've got the guitar and drums nailed at this point. The name's up in the air, though, because we need to have a band meeting to discuss it. It was something like Anal Stripes at last argument. The redeeming thing of the night was that fact that I drank three beers in six hours and was considerate to mostly everybody. The gay guy didn't really care for the name of my Rock Band guy. Like that was in my control. That's his name. That's it.

So, starting Saturday night stuff started getting good. I tooled around the apartment on Sunday and did laundry and stuff and felt good about most stuff.

A couple of things here, though. I'm starting to sound like Colin Oberst, but I'm thinking about quitting drinking again. I realize it's horrible timing for it with the holidays and all, but when I tally up the points, the good ones rarely come after a few. Let me clarify that, having sex in a hallway of a Sheraton at four in the morning or having sex with a semi-stranger and not remembering their name in the morning are not good points. Good points are feeling warmth in your chest from meeting someone as you walk away and go home to bed or doing something really considerate for someone and not for yourself. Very rarely are these points scored even with a drop of alcohol anymore. All the good points come under the influence of conscience and intuition. I've given myself a mulligan on saying things that are offensive in the spirit of self-degradation or lightheartedness, but I really am getting sick of it. The regret and guilt will wipe you out when you are sitting by yourself wondering why you are still smoking and alone.

It's harder than it looks and it breaks down to loneliness and regrets. It's weird. It starts out with you feeling lonely. The next phase is the guilt because you start to think that you wouldn't be lonely if you hadn't blown it about 25 times. Basically, you feel like you were given what you want and bit that hand that fed it to you. That's not healthy, is it?

Oh, the other thing is that The Girl from a couple of months back had a boyfriend and that's probably why she went AWOL. It's some form of closure and I still wonder why I got and am still a little hung up on her. The thing about that question is that even having the answer to it wouldn't mean a whole helluva lot. So, here goes.

Update: Proof that iPod shuffle functionality can read your mind. "Textbook" by We Are Scientists came up on my shuffle right when I finished writing this. No one should have to relate to that song, but it happens. It's like sad girls and Faith Hill songs. Has it really come to this? Seriously?