You're drunk

Get of your fucking high-horse and admit it.

Is it just me, or does anyone else notice when people (drunk people) will give you that "oh, I'm not drunk" bullshit? I mean, come on. You've been drinking; you're drunk.

Of course there's a scale to it, but once you're "tipsy" or whatever word you want to use, you're in drunk-town, pal. You've crossed the city limits and you're either on the party bus in or the sleep train out. So why can't you just admit it?

I admit it all the goddamn time! I'll have a few drinks and if you ask me I will straight up tell you "yeah, I'm a little drunk," because I don't understand why you would think that you could, or want to, hide the fact that you've been drinking!

Dear Those People,

Shut the fuck up.

One word.

Broga.


*not this

I forgot how fucked up everything is out here...

Have things always been so complicated? Has the world always been this way? Maybe we were just too young to understand, or maybe we were too distracted to see it, but the world sucks. But not in a Captain Planet/starving kids in Africa/social injustice/ongoing communist threat/McDonald's deficiency in undeveloped nations kind of way. The world sucks on a personal level.

Maybe I'm a pessimist, but I'm starting to wonder if all the good things in life just make us ignore the bad things. Have a pint and forget about work. Eat and forget about the one that got away. Fuck and forget the disease. Are these the things that make life enjoyable, or are these the distractions?

I suppose a lot of things are inevitable. Maybe forgetting what you cannot change is as good as abolishing it as long as there is nothing you can do about it. Maybe distractions are productive.

We can't be purely hedonistic, but we can't dwell on everything. Where do we draw the line?

Independence

I think the word is lost on many people. We think of Independence Day, both the film and the actual day, we think of freedom, we think of liberty... but none of these things actually have to do with independence.

Let's take a look at the word: In-, the prefix that negates the following: -dependence, as in being dependent. Those are pretty awful definitions, but you can see my point. Independence is not about telling people to fuck off because you can do what you please. Independence Day is about fighting off tyranny and oppression or some shit like that. For Americans, this is about beating the bad guys and standing up for what's right. For people who know the meaning of the word "independence" it is about no longer being dependent on another party to help you function.

To this respect, there is no Independence Day. It is a false holiday. America gained its sovereignty, but it is largely dependent on even more of the world than when it started as a colony. So the next time you think about blowing something up to symbolize your nation's "independence" ask yourself just what part of China those fireworks came from.

The One

You know, the idea that there is just one perfect person out there for you, while romantic on the surface, is a just a sign of one's inability to commit.

Commitment isn't being with the perfect person; that's just logic. Commitment is being with someone who is imperfect and there always being a possibility of someone out there being more. Commitment is making a choice and standing by it. After all, what happens when you meet that perfect person the day after your wedding? What happens when you meet them twenty years later and you have kids with someone else?

If you believe in "the one," then you either have to cut and run, or live the rest of your life in the misery of knowing that you'll never be with "the one."

Personally, I just want a good one.

The Oracle at Wendy's

So, I went to Wendy's for dinner tonight. The girl at the till was cute, efficient, and very friendly. That in and of itself made the visit memorable.

I sat down in one of the lonesome corners of the restaurant to eat. From across the restaurant I heard a voice say, "I know him. I know him."

I was amused and wondered if perhaps I was known by someone in the dining area. I didn't know anyone, but maybe someone knew me. Perhaps, I thought, someone knew me without ever meeting me before. Perhaps someone was telepathic.

I always liked the idea of someone being telepathic. The idea that someone can know you inside and out and you have no control over it is both scary and refreshing. Secrets are like life in that sense. Sure, you should protect them, but you can't stop a telepath any more than you can stop the Grim Reaper. So why not think your thoughts? Why not communicate via your brain. It's not like it's embarrassing, because either no one is telepathic and you're just thinking, or someone is telepathic and you're communicating with them.

So I thought to myself,'What if he knew my name? Maybe he could be telepathic. Maybe that's how he knows me. Give me a signal if you know me. Give me a message that you understand. Give me some sort of sign.'

Nothing. We all continued to eat.

My mind moved on. I was texting around and having some laughs. And in the middle of a text, I hear a child nearby say 'goodbye.' It was the voice who knew me. Right there at the edge of my table was this 6-year old child who walked across the restaurant away from his family to say goodbye to me and no one else. I smiled and said goodbye to him too. He said to me, "My friend is in black car," in the way that children tell you the important things in their life, like "I'm real good at soccer," or "I have a Batman;" they have the calmest enthusiasm ever. I didn't understand, so I asked him where his friend was again.

"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"He's in black car."

That's when his slightly older sister came to collect him. The boy refused to leave, his tiny hands locked onto the edge of the table. He just looked at me. As brief as the moment had been the moment ended when his mother called from the aisle that it was time to stop bothering the nice man.

"Bye."

I know it sounds ominoius and eerie, but it didn't sound like that at the time. He was just talking in the wonderfully happy, matter-of-fact kind of way that young children do. But why me? Why from all the way across the room? I never even acknowledged him when he said he knew me.

I don't know who is in the black car, but that's the sign.

How did you manage to do that?

Love is like getting your head stuck in the back of a chair. It's always easier to get into it than out of it. You also never know exactly how it happened.