Why Does My Sorrow Make Me Feel So Glad

I just don't see it -- really. She always avoids eye contact when I'm around. She's very stand-offish. In my experience, what this means is "Fuck off. You creep me out, freak show." My gut reaction about these things has been 100% bang on. But all my pals keep telling me that she's just shy. I wish my life wasn't straight from an episode of Degrassi High.

Falling Down

There are unconfirmed reports that someone in my office acts differently when she's around me and has started dressing better. Frankly, I don't see it, but an unidentified source says she's just shy. Then there was a first hand account of "The Long Gaze Incident" forty-eight hours ago, only to be replaced the next day by the "Hours of the Cold Shoulder." Several pundits advise "don't eat where you shit," while others advise a more flexible but careful strategy.

Crap.

I'm So Dizzy My Head Is Spinning

Spin a top on a table, and after a while it will settle in one area. Shake the table, the top will wobble in a random, unpredictable path. Maybe the path will take it off the table. Maybe not. You won't know until the top stabilizes into its new area.

My table has been shaken.

Blame It On The Rain

How To Drink All Night And Not End Up Puking All Over The Craps Table:
1. Drink a shot of JD and/or a beer, or your alcoholic beverage (pronounced bev ar AJ 'cuz it sounds snooty) of choice.
2. Immediately afterward, drink water, or even better, those dandy flavored-water chock full of vitamins nature never intended water to have.
3. Repeat step one.
4. Repeat step two.
5. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
And voila! You're buzzed with no worries of hurling the contents of that $15 buffet over the hot leggy blonde in the skimpy black number over by the blackjack table! (Well, you would have no worries of hurling the contents of that $15 buffet over the hot leggy blonde in the skimpy black number over by the blackjack table if you were to actually talk to her, you chickenbutt.)

How To Ensure That You'll Be Heading To The Las Vegas Hard Rock Cafe Urinals Every 10 Minutes:
1. Drink a shot of JD and/or a beer, or your alcoholic beverage (pronounced bev ar AJ 'cuz it sounds snooty) of choice.
2. Immediately afterward, drink water, or even better, those dandy flavored-water chock full of vitamins nature never intended water to have.
3. Repeat step one.
4. Repeat step two.
5. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
And voila! You'll be in the john so much you start naming the urinals!

Ticking Away The Moments That Make Up A Dull Day

Yeah, you know this demurrer to six causes of action, half of which to which you don't know the law? It should take you only eight hours to draft.

Right. It should take me only eight hours if I had over twenty years of legal experience plus I wanted to do a crap ass job of it, including typos, mistakes of law and bad logic.

I've Gone And Messed It Up, Messed It Up, Messed It Up Yet Again . . .

"Aw, it just wasn't meant to be, Marty." Now I know folks say shit like this to be nice, but they don't think of what is implied from such a statement, or what logically follows from the implications. What do I mean? Well, "meant to be" implies the existence of destiny, and had my destiny meant to include [insert hootchie mamma's name here], I'd be with her. The fact that I'm not means my destiny is not with [insert name of chick I really got along with] and nothing I did would have changed that. OK, so far, so what. Well, obviously this destiny isn't known to me or the well-intentioned person who uttered the phrase. Now, there are poor sods out there who have lived, are living, or will live lives of loneliness and desolation, and it is possible that I might be one of those. If destiny does exist, if I was "meant to be" one of these poor sods, then nothing I do will keep me from a destiny of being seventy, eating government cheese in my boxers, with cats, lots and lots of cats.

So, don't take it the wrong way if I tell anyone who tells me "it just wasn't meant to be" to cram it with nuts and cranberries.

P.S. - No, this wasn't spurred by a disastrous date. Just feeling rather ornery tonight. And TV Chick is no longer a member of Match.com which is making a part of me going, "Thanks a lot you flakey bitch," another part of me going, "Great, she found a boyfriend and was leading me along," and another part of me, well, another part of me isn't effected but wants some sleep (3 days of sleep to be exact) and vodka.

Burn Baby Burn Redux

Hey there buckaroo! You have a steady job that's paying you decent money! You have friends! You have a nice record collection! So cheer up, sport!

AAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAGH! (Um, that's supposed to be Aagh in surround sound).

Deep Distant and Pure

Soooooo, let me get this straight. You don't just hate your job, but your whole profession. You're miserable. The only way you get through the day is to squash all feelings of boredom and anger deep deep down. You spend maybe an hour every three days doing what you really love. You have enough in the bank to live at least eighteen months comfortably without having to life a finger. OK, so why are you still a lawyer?

Good fucking question.

New Year's Prayer

Oh, the wonders of the human mind.

There's a part of me that knows, deep down inside, knowledge as certain as the sun rising tomorrow, that knows that I did something bad in a past life. I hurt someone. I received love I didn't deserve. I shunned what was given. All that I felt today, all that I'll get with tomorrow, everything is an atonement for something I have done and have forgotten. Happiness is not to be expected.

There's also a part of me that knows, deep down inside, knowledge as certain as waking to the first breath of the morning, that knows there is only this life. There is no second chance. There was no forgotten past. All you get is now. You can go at anytime. Every opportunity must be seized. Seconds not spent on pursuing happiness are seconds wasted.

Two mutually exclusive ideas both deeply held. Ain't that a bitch.