3:28 a.m. - 2002-08-06
corporate
i have never typed anything here while inebriated. i have never put anything up on these pages that i haven't proofread to the umpteenth degree. hey, you know... that's what livejournal is for.
but i am about to. so please, forgive the unecessary grammar inconsistencies, and the melodrama.
today, i saw a 'friend' of mine. we aren't really friends, so to speak, but a convenient label/stereotype hasn't been invented to hem in our relationship that neatly, so i will just stick with the original definition. hey, did i mention i was drunk?
he is going to law school. he is all of the things i am not. hardworking, plan-laden, ect. though he denies it, the man has an exceptional grasp of the myriad and sundry uses of the mighty-mighty post-it. his girlfriend is perfect. blonde hair down to just so, lithe body, tattoo where most cute girls tend to place them (lower area of the back). wide smile, pretty eyes. borderline vacant handshake. i bet she drives a honda civic or prelude, but dreams of a miata or a compact SUV. no aston martin/mercedes 350 SL (unless it was a convertible) for this girl. not like i am one to talk, of course... and this is where we come to the crux-like metaphor of this drunken rambling:
my 'friend' and his girl pull up. i have, once again, lost my keys, possibly in my friend's truck. not unusual, for i seem to lose anything remotely tangible. call it the curse of my father. anyhow, they pull up. and this girl gets out, and suddenly i realize why i will always be ... strange. she is there, and he is, too; looking like they just sauntered out of an abercrombie and fitch show window, coming to check on the poor young grasshopper who can never seem to find her way without a bit of guidance. his truck is beautiful, gleaming white.
and there i am: standing in front of a 1988 grey lincoln towncar, with one side looking as if it had been thrust through a giant can opener, and the other looking like a wrecking ball just happened to pass by the front and back ends of it. it is coated in silly string that has solidified by now, because though it was a practical joke on the part of my employer one evening while i was tending bar, i think the silly string has character, so i left it on.
it was embarrasing, to say the least. i tossed out a vauge attempt at politeness, at manners; breeding. but, please... find me the person with aristocratic values and silly string all over their massively dented automobile, and i will get down on my knees, kiss their feet, and call them daddy.
i looked at the two of them and thought, 'i will never been good enough'. which is wrong, of course, if one were to run the gambit logically. but, as any sane (logical) person knows, emotions rule logic any day. at least emotions subside; i will get over the personal embarassment. but still...
what's the use of being quirky/artistic if i am ashamed of it? does that make me ashamed of me?
fuck it. perhaps i should just go corporate. i hate all that feel-good, inspirational crap they try to pawn off on posters next to the water cooler. sometimes, it is truly depressing to know you really could be whatever you want.
