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Monthly Archives: January 2009

  • I pick up loose change all the time and actually make more interest by keeping the change I pick up than keeping my life savings in a bank.
  • I check nutritional labels so I can buy the product that has the most protein for the least buck.
  • I live right next to a Jewish neighborhood rife with museums and enlightening culture, but I’ve never bothered to go to any of the libraries or museums in my vicinity because I have no one to go with and no excuse for being in a children’s museum by myself.
  • I go out of my way to avoid paying for drinks. Unless it’s for some of my best friends. Usually. Or if it’s a six pack. No, seriously–why should I pay twelve dollars, not including tip, for two beers when I can get six for the same price without someone else pouring it for me? It’s basic mathematics and, on top of that, someone once said, “Bars are for Europeans, Let’s have a house party.” Now I’m 80 and a xenophobe.
  • I know all about the hazards Menthols pose for my lungs.
  • In the last 48 hours I was outside of my apartment for maybe 5 minutes total (3 to grab a six pack; 1.5 to mail my Netflix back).
  • In those last 48 hours, I also was asleep from 7AM to 7PM both nights (days? I barely even know what day it was. Thanks, Swiss watches with date, for giving me some idea). Sleeping during the day isn’t really as much of an old person trait as much as sleeping for 12 hours each night. The night before that I slept for 13 hours. That’s the most I’ve ever slept. Looking back, I think I just developed arthritis, dementia and a smarmy demeanor.
  • GET OFF MY LAWN!

That last post was 1337 words long. Man, I am so Elite.

I guess, then, all I can say, is that I’m making progress. I hope when I grow all the way up I don’t lose my sense of humor.

Theme to consider while you peruse: Greenday’s “Burnout.” Sample lyrics: “I’m not growing up. I’m just burning out.”

When I went home for the break I carved out for myself I realized that the only people I truly miss from high school were the Dick Clique. They all seem to have gotten funnier, more intelligent and–dare I say it?–more handsome. Those young gentlemen are going places and I’ve only started to find myself. They have their lives ahead of them and I’m glad we’re all still growing and still learning things about this world and all the crazy shit in it, but my God, they have all kinds of success ahead of them.

That’s not to say I didn’t like seeing everyone else though. I’ll admit, seeing some of the people I’ve placed out of mind by being on another coast definitely helped me realize, “Wow. I didn’t have to sprint away from high school. Not everyone sucked.” I definitely had a conversation with a girl who I lusted over in high school about literature. I came to respect her way more and was thoroughly pleased that she’s in medical school. If anything, it helped me realize that, once more, I’ve been thinking with the wrong head for years. Maybe 22 or so. But the point is, I had no idea this girl loved literature until we started actually talking about it and it didn’t make me fall for her or anything, it just made me respect her that much more as a potential doctor and definite friend.

The last night I was there I went to dinner with the Dick Clique and then watched some stuff on Blue Ray Discs. I felt like I was having a heart attack the whole night–not because things were awkward or uncomfortable but because I knew that was the last time I’d see them for a very long time. Parting with them was like parting with my childhood because I won’t have another vacation until Thanksgiving. I mean, this was my real entrance into the work-a-day world. I’ve transitioned into a five day work schedule (even though I don’t have a five day job, I’m just going to be applying for…ever) and the next break I have might be a three day weekend for Martin Luther King Jr. Day or for the Fourth of July. I don’t have a Spring Break, Summer or Winter Beak that I can plan on.

I talked about this sort of thing with my sister while on break too: I spent four years of college working for the next break. College was also definied as those four years that lead to the rest of my life. It doesn’t matter what I do during those four years as long as I perform and can come one day closer to graduation. Now that I’ve graduated (into a recession), where do I go? I have approximately 40 years until retirement, but in all of the fields I’m intrested in, none are hiring (publishing–recession, firefirghting–test is three years away, recording artist–recession/not qualified) and none require graduate school. Unless I want to get an MBA, which–awesome!–requires more work experience. So no matter what happens or what I want to do, I’m stuck “in the real world” applying for more jobs.

It probably doesn’t help that the Dick Clique and I had what is traditionally called, according to the Scottish member, “A Good Old Fashioned Piss-Up” a week ago today. Tomorrow will mark one whole week that my liver has been in pain, but it does not help that I have not spent a night since without at least two drinks. I admit, I drink to make the pain in my liver go away. Though that may be, the point is, this is not and should never be a mark of adulthood. It is entirely possible that we all knew, subliminally, that this would be the last time we saw each other as a group. It’s almost as if we all said to each other, in the back of our heads, “Hey, I might never see you again. Wanna fuck up our livers like we never will again because we might not ever see each other again?”

And I said, “Fuck yes.” Or probably, since this was subliminal, “I only have one liver, right? I’ll miss you fuckers.”

I actually told my Mom I didn’t know when I’d see her again. Can you imagine that? But if we’re being honest, the both of us have no idea when that time will come. She’s rummaging the calendar for that day as we speak, but that’s neither here nor there. On top of that I asked her for a watch for Christmas. It’s true. The LEGO watch is retired. I now own and wear two distinct Swiss watches. I still have the LEGO watch, but I don’t wear it. Isn’t that terrible? Even my mom knew, perhaps better than I did, that it was time to grow up. When I showed the watch (the new one, not the one my Dad donated to my cause) to my grandma, she yelled, “OH THANK GOD HE GOT RID OF THAT.” I had no idea the watch was such a problem for her. I always thought it was the fact that my dating record is so terrible, but she also took time to mention that too. What are grandmothers for besides pointing out the obvious and unbridled awesome? If you have an answer to that, you’re a liar.

At any rate, I finally don’t attach myself to girls with the heart of a 14 year old. I was halfway there with the last one, but this time I made out with some girl and might never see her again. Realistically, seeing her again is and always was far beyond my control. If I do, I’ll talk with her, go wherever that takes me but I know I don’t have to wine, dine and court her. So I guess what I mean is I might not be living in the 1950s anymore. The old me would have pursued and demanded telephone and other contact information as well as dates.

I actually even met this girl at an old crush’s place. I was worried I’d still be trying secretly to seduce the hostess but I showed up and had no feelings for her. I talked to her like two or three times over the course of the night and realized I had–as mentioned before–been thinking with the wrong head. She’s genuinely one of the nicest people I know and for the first time “Let’s be friends” actually meant I would never be anything but friends with this girl. (I just mean that a lot of times after I hear those three magical words, that girl never talks to me again because I’ve put my heart on my sleeve.)

The same sort of thing happened with a girl I used to have a raging crush on in high school; it finally clicked when I saw her again this break. I will never see her except on breaks and when I do, she’ll probably still be looking for Mr. Right. In her case, if she ever decided to take me seriously, I would be El Senor, but now’s not the time. I can be her Benjamin Button.

That’s some emo shit, but, to make it quite literal, I finally understood that this girl would not date me for quite some time. Somehow my hindsight in the very moment of talking to her advanced from 5/20 to 20/20. I don’t know what it was, but seeing her made me realize that that part of my heart could belong to her as long as lived because that part of my heart had become nothing but a sliver.

That sounds even more emo. Let me rephrase; my high school crushes were finally gone at that moment and I was prepared to move on.

Dearest Four Boroughs (Staten Island? Why?), I’m ready to grow up. Let’s grow old together.

They say you actually end up doing things when you tell other people about them. So, for the first time since ever, I’ve made some resolutions:

  • I vow to stop connecting dots that need not be connected.
  • I will learn more scales than just C Major Pentatonic.
  • I resolve to continue hanging out with way more girls than guys.
  • I will stop telling my life story to every girl I meet; the past is not my future and it’s only good for a learning experience.
  • I resolve never to tell any more people about my tattoo plans or whether or not I actually have one. That’s for me to know and to stop telling everyone about. Because my mom’ll murder me with a knife for using needles on my skin. Oh, irony.