Martes, Marso 5, 2013

Anger Bang The World

Very few people can attest to this, given my usually jovial nature, but I am a really, constantly, angry man. It’s not that I get ticked off easily, mind you, but like I said, I am constantly pissed off. The reason I bring this up is that a lot of events, not just from the past few weeks, but so far this year, that I’ve encountered people that have complained about my rage. And that’s what bugs me. Not the fact that they point this out and not just because it’s wrong, but because the people who have been pointing out are mostly the ones that have given me just cause to be angry. Let’s be straight here. Yes, I am angry almost all of the time, but I’ve had the good sense to not direct it on anyone specific unless given reason to. All I’m saying is, before you blame anything on me having a short fuse, I strongly suggest that you look yourself in the mirror and think about how you messed up. Because yes, you, even in your perceived infinite wisdom, fucks things up for other people.

But that’s not this week’s rant. My rant is about people who do fuck up and give half assed apologies. I’m going to keep this short because I’m fairly certain I wrote about this before. If you apologize to someone, don’t bother giving any lame excuse. I don’t care what you were feeling when you made the decision to make me mad. I don’t care how hard things were for you during that crucial moment. I don’t give a flying fuck if one of your favorite shows were cancelled. You were wrong. That’s all I need to hear from you. And once we’ve established that, do something to show that you are really sorry. I don’t know how, but a gesture that illustrates your sincerity is needed. Don’t just promise to not do it again. That’s fucking retarded. What makes you so special or important that you get extra points for doing something that you were supposed to do in the first place and just failed to gather the level of maturity or consideration to do so? Nothing. That’s what.

Going back to my original point, yeah, I’m always angry, so I have no problem being angry at people who can’t fix what they broke. I’m not expecting people to always do right; I expect them to avoid doing things that are wrong. And if it does occur, own up and make up. It’s not that hard, especially if you have the ability to get over yourself.

Rant over. Drama time.

The Tranquility of Friday Nights.

After everything that’s happened in January and early February, I’ve had an opportunity for a nice, quiet routine. As I said in my last post, the utterly mundane nature of having just one job might be what I need for some time. After a while, though, it started getting to me. And then I remembered what kept me going during my 20s, even through the shittiest jobs with the shittiest of people: the simple act of hitting the bars on a Friday night.

In all my years as a working man, I would still consider those times when SosoJeff, his wife, B, and whoever else joined us used to hit the Grill every Friday to be the best years of my professional life. And shit would happen constantly. From people getting into fight with bouncers, to someone (mostly me) getting drunk and getting flirty, to all the other crap we went through and laughed about, those years, those nights made me feel more happy than even a good night of hitting the mic. Hell, I can’t even listen to “We Are Young” without it stinging a little because for years, that song would have rung true every single Friday.

I would have been happy if this was the most interesting thing that
 happened the past two weeks.
These days, or at least, ever since 2009, those things changed. Now, don’t get me wrong, the big Man and the rest of the boys are a good hang, and we have a ton of adventures under our belt, but it’s usually not my kind of scene they’re into. The Big Man in particular, would much prefer the fantasy he’s created with the kind of clubs he goes to. Not knocking that, cause I live out my own delusions of grandeur during my nights out.

So it goes without saying that when my Erin Hannon invited people for what was supposedly her last hurrah as a full time part of the Think Tank, I was pumped, more so for selfish reasons. And when she backed out at the last minute, that’s when I realized the value of those Friday nights. So, not to be dissuaded from my needs, I dragged a few people from the office, the ones I’ve been hanging out with a lot recently, and had our own night out. While it was nowhere near the level of a typical 2005-2007 Friday, I was good enough. From cats in the bathroom, to unstoppable hiccups, to me sneaking some longing looks to the utterly adorbs, it was more than adequate. It was enough to last me a week of something resembling joy.

Blatant Reminders.

Towards the end of the month, I was content with just doing my thing at the Think Tank until another Friday rolled around, but I received a text from the Tiny Dancer, asking for company in the form of a drinking buddy. I obliged for two major reasons: first, regardless of the case, I’m a strong believer that when a person asks you for something and it’s well within your power to provide it, you have a social obligation to do so; and second, well, I don’t like turning down free booze. I should’ve listened to the alarms that were going off in my head, not to mention the logical arguments an officemate made when she was telling me not to go.

So, once again, Marbles was witness to another one of those nights that would live on in infamy. We had a few beers, and I got drunk, naturally. (Here’s a secret to those who are confused by my actual alcohol tolerance: if we’re hanging out and I get drunk really quickly, it means I’m not having a good time and I’ve embraced the drunkenness.) The Big Man and his “friend” showed up, and eventually, after a quick stop to the Think Tank, we ended up at the gas station, which had also been witness to a lot of memorable nights. (Sadly, I’m hard pressed to come up with an example of a night that was memorable because of good reasons.) It was at this point when things hit the fan. (A little sidenote: Before a certain sitcom made it popular, the whole “nothing good happens after 3 AM” rule was already observed by me and my bar buddies since our college days.) Without divulging too many details, the Tiny Dancer, drunk off her ass, asked if we could get together, and that led to more drama, drama that spilled over the following day that caused a massive effect on my work and my plans for the rest of the month. And I know she might mean well, but god damn, I’ve never been so angry in recent memory.

This whole episode reminded of why the relationship didn’t work out in the first place. It also reminded me that I’m not ready, as I repeatedly mentioned in my last post. It also reminded me how much of “damaged goods” I am if things like this tend to happen to me on a fairly regular basis.

Weirdly enough, the afternoon before all that happened, I woke up feeling good. I felt ready to do things, purse things, that I was previously unprepared for and downright unworthy of. Yeah, we’re back to that.

A New Project.

I ended the workweek with a drink at the Pub, joined by a girl that was actually named Erin. After the completely stressful events from the previous days it was nice to decompress in a bar and just talk about small stuff like writing with a new friend. I went home feeling a tad better than I did the day before that.

In the day that followed, I met with an old friend, the Uber Geek, to discuss a new project that, while it won’t be making me any richer, would give me something of value to focus on, for a change. The Uber Geek has spent the past few years building a life that was ideal to him: normal job during the day, indie pursuits during the night. With two bands and a solo thing going on, he’s immersed himself in his craft the way that I’ve always wanted to but never really had the strength to avoid personal relationships.

Before I went to our meeting, I was deep in thought about what I really wanted to do this year. Yes, the stand up comedy thing is a constant, but writing for TV and making another skinflick didn’t really grab me. (The latter never did.) What with the music video seemingly derailed due to issues with the studio or whoever, the Uber Geek presented me with a nice option. I am going to make the Uber Geek’s first music video. We discussed it, and the guy had a bunch of ideas that were both challenging and apt for the song. This is where my energies deserve to be focused on, I realized right away.

This is going to be fun. The Uber Geek and I have had chances to work together before (the “Binondo Incident” and our collaboration album) but those instances were always marred by external factors. This time, it’s different. I hope.

Look, a rape-stache.
Basically, this is what I needed after the sordid events my personal life has been though: something to actually look forward to this year.

The Quiet Reunion.

Natz finally made his presence known. It was a quiet night of awkward conversation. Still, it was nice to see him, one of the people who’s made the wise decision of selecting me as his best man, again. Considering the relative rarity I get to hang with the Scoobies, ending the semi-stressful two week stretch with one of them is proper.


Now, well, aside from being really angry, I’m mostly disappointed at the odd turnout of my personal affairs. I had fully expected that I could be friends with the ex, you know, for a change, but I guess now’s not the time. That somehow sent me through some sort of funk. But, today’s another day, and here’s hoping that this time next year, everything’s a little more adorable.

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