Month: October 2015

Hanging On By A Thread

Back in the year 2000, I was a senior in high school. The year consisted mostly of college applications, goofing around in class, and playing sports. Any pressure of doing well in school was alleviated; the work, or damage, was already done, so it was left up to the college gods to determine my fate, as it were. I had a good time.

A big reason for why my senior year was enjoyable was my friends. There was about seven of us that did pretty much everything together. We’d play basketball, go bowling, go to the movies, and hang out on the weekends, and during school we would be in the same classes and have lunch and breaks together. There was a real sense of camaraderie and brotherhood, and though college was on the horizon where our paths would diverge, we felt like the bonds that we created during our formative adolescent years would carry our friendships through a lifetime of different experiences.

Today, I am still friends with only one of those high school guys.

It’s an all too familiar story that for the most part all of us can relate to – losing touch with high school friends. But it’s not just friends from back in high school. The truth is, no matter what stage of life we’re talking about, the friends we make and have can and will likely fall by the wayside. But why is that? Are having our lives go in different directions the reason for this? Is it because people change and are no longer the same version of themselves as they were at a particular time?

I think those are all valid explanations, but the one I believe in the most is this: friendships are fragile, and oftentimes a single instance can break them beyond repair.

It’s not as if I had a huge falling out with my high school friends. That was a case of time growing people apart. But let’s look at the friends that we have amassed in our lifetimes, and more specifically, within the last five to ten years. It could be a comment someone said, or what someone did or didn’t do in a certain situation, but little moments in time can have damaging effects on friendships. Maybe a one-time friend made an offensive comment or perhaps someone left us high and dry in a time of need; whatever the case may be, people are quick to bail on friendships.

It’s a combination of things, I suppose. As we get older, our personal thresholds for bullshit decrease. We become more set in our ways and oftentimes less compromising on certain principles. Our time becomes more valuable and in turn we become more selective on whom we choose to spend our time with. Whatever the reason may be, all of our friendships, no matter how close or strong they may seem at the moment, are all hanging by a thread. And the thread can break at any time.

I don’t write all this to paint a grim picture of humanity (even though I tend to be a misanthrope). I write this to point out that we should appreciate the people we call friends today. It’s human nature to take people for granted, so while we are in the good graces of those we call friends and vice versa, let’s do all we can to stay friends.

 

Chris.

Soon Enough, I’ll Get Fingered

I know what you’re thinking.

No, I am not going to prison.

But yes, you did read that right. In due time, a finger will be up my ass. Is it by choice? Well, let’s just say that’s debatable.

What is life but a mere collection of unique experiences? Shouldn’t we be expanding our horizons, seeking opportunities that will lead to a higher state of enlightenment?

Seriously, get your mind out of the gutter. This is not a sex thing.

I went to the doctor recently. I’m one of those types that never go to the doctor. Dentist? Yes, I get my teeth cleaned regularly, but doctor? Nah. I hadn’t seen a doctor in about eight years. But I’ve been getting migraines and I hurt my wrist at the gym not too long ago. I also figured it would be a good idea to get my blood drawn to see what filth lives inside of me.

The doctor, an older Indian gentleman, asked me how old I was, to which I told him that I’m 33. Hearing that number come out of my mouth sounds a little strange; I honestly forget that I’m not 30 anymore from time to time. Then, the doctor said, Well, you don’t have to get your prostate checked yet, but soon enough. Nobody likes getting that checked. Then he went on to laugh for a brief few seconds.

Like I said, a finger up my ass.

It’s inevitable, not necessarily the finger, but getting old. As I was getting my blood pressure and heart rate taken, I sat in the doctor’s office thinking, This is my life now – doctor appointments with prostate examinations on the horizon. I could have sworn I was that douchebag at the club hitting on random girls with negs and demonstrations of higher value just last week. Where did the time go?

But I guess that’s life. I suppose we ought to savor the moments we have now, be in the present. Do things get better with age? I don’t know. I have no idea what the future holds, and perhaps that’s partly why the present is so great, because we don’t know.

I do know, however, that soon enough, I’ll get fingered. That’s all the future knowledge I need for now, thanks.

 

Chris.

New Coworkers Are Awful

Am I a good person? Clearly, I am not.

I question people who don’t question themselves. How can anyone be so sure of his quality as a human being? Oftentimes I find that those that can make such bold proclamations like I’m a good mom, or I’m definitely capable of getting the job done are the exact opposite of what they’re saying.

I don’t ever want to hang out with someone who never doubts himself, someone who lacks the introspection to question how good of a person he really is.

Just as I say these things, I must admit – doubting myself sucks. Don’t get me wrong, I want to be a good person. I mean, don’t we all want to be loved? Isn’t that the whole point of all this?

The other day, I met a new coworker. Let’s just call her Gina (either pronunciation, conventional or the one from The 40-Year Old Virgin, works here). She’s a woman who, from the looks of her, is in her early forties. In an office where the standard energy level of the employees is at a steady 4 out of 10, she bursts onto the scene at level 9. Her smile is about as fake as Giada de Laurentiis’s, made of plastic, just like Vicki of Small Wonder fame.

That’s all I needed to know right there. She hasn’t even said a word yet. She could be Mother Theresa reincarnated. Not a fan already.

She says Hi, nice to meet you! as if I’m a mentally disabled child – slow, loud, and deliberate. Is this a joke? Is she just fucking with me? I want to tell her to STFU, I honestly do, but of course, all I can muster up is the standard level 4 Oh hey, it’s nice to meet you. Welcome. I can feel my vagina growing. And of course, Gina continues to drone about how excited she is to be here and how she’s so looking forward to working with everyone here. Bitch, please. Your bullshit smells worse than my farts. Actually, they don’t; my farts smell really bad.

I go home that day and I think about this brief exchange. This woman never did anything to me. In fact, she was nothing but polite when we met.

So why do I hate her so goddamn much?

Clearly, I have issues. I must be a horrible person. As time goes on, my inner-misanthrope seems to grow stronger and stronger. Instead of seeing the good, I am subconsciously trying to find any reason to dislike anyone I meet. Perhaps this is indicative of my own self-loathing ways.

But then, during the next day of work, another coworker comes by and says, That new girl Gina, what’s her deal? A-ha! So she is hate-able. Okay, I am not alone. Phew.

I think, to a degree, everyone wants to be likable. Hell, I don’t want to be anyone’s Gina. I don’t want to be the subject of anyone’s hatred just from a mere glance.

At the same time, I can’t control how other people feel. As Trent told Mikey in the diner (Swingers reference), I don’t like some people, and some people don’t like me. Come to think of it, I’m sure that I am someone’s Gina.

So what’s the conclusion? I guess it’s that Haters’ gonna hate. Yes, it’s a bit corrosive to the soul to hate people, period, let alone for unjustified reasons. But hey, drinking is corrosive to the liver, and yet, I still drink beer because it tastes so good.

Trust me, you wouldn’t like Gina either.

 

Chris.