Before my time.

I recently bought a new shirt, it's green and white striped, from the Gap. I wasn't going to buy it, I was looking for gray dress pants for a friends wedding, and at this time of year I really just don't have much use for a long sleeved shirt. But as I was holding the sleeve out to admire it, still on the rack, a lady walked past and silently, covertly (I dont think I ever actually saw her) handed me a coupon for 25% off anything in the store. Well fuck, I'm already here, I thought. Plus, now it was 25% off. Damn you sneaky sales lady. Seeing that I had already planned on spending money on the gray pants, and failed, it seemed OK to spend a little money on a nice shirt.

A similar incident happened only minutes before, at Ben Sherman, where I had begun my failed search for gray dress pants. They had some, two different pairs of gray pants, they were even on sale. I didn't like them though, and they didn't have my size. I would have to buy a pair that I didn't like, just didn't hate, and then go somewhere else to get them hemmed to the appropriate length. No thank you. But I was already in the sale section. And there was this cute sales girl desperately trying to help me, failing to understand that when it comes to shopping, I am beyond help, it needs to just be done for me. This was the second of the cute sales women to try and help me, I think my sarcasm and cynicism scared away the first. The second had a bit more drive though. That or she just realized that helping someone who does not want your help means you don't have to do a whole lot, just follow and agree with everything. She showed me.

I talked myself into looking at some jeans. I really wanted to make some cut-off jean shorts, but needed to first replace the pants that I would be destroying in the near future. Following me she told me that most of the jeans have that lame shine to them, that does not in fact wash out. It should, and she agreed. I found a pair without the lame shine, she got my size, I tried them on, and wow. Best fitting pants ever. Shit. I was ready to put them back when she stepped up and became a unique blend a cool cute girl, and great sales woman. "Fuck it dude, just buy 'em. They are so cheap." She was right, the jeans were normally like $130 or something retarded like that. Now they were $54, with an additional 3o% off. "Practically free," she continued. But I need a tie too, I tried to fight it. She got me the one gray sale tie they had and explained that I would get both the tie and pants for less than the original sale price of the pants. I was sold. I wasn't happy, but I was sold. And now I have some sweet new cut-offs and a new pair of the most comfortable jeans I've ever owned.

Back to the shirt. I wore it last night. I really think it's a great shirt. It's simple, but it's more than one the many solid colored tee-shirts that I have been sporting for the last year or so. Rotating between black and white. So there I am, at the bar, in my new shirt. With colors. I feel pretty good. "That's a pretty conservative look you're going for," says a friend of mine. Well fuck you very much. I am now instantly self conscious of my new shirt. Could it really be more boring than a plain white or black tee? I ask what he means, am I an honorary member of the NRA now? "I don't know, it's just, pretty traditional."

con⋅serv⋅a⋅tive

–adjective

1.	cautiously moderate or purposefully low: a conservative estimate.

2.	traditional in style or manner; avoiding novelty or showiness: conservative suit.

Am I that boring? I thought, Hey, this shirt is nice. And it's not so plain! Wrong. It's just conservative. Purposefully low. Great.

I was thinking about what all this meant today, while reading some David Sedaris, and watching the Travel Channel. I was recently at a different bar with some other friends, it was I'd say half full, with some moderate music playing. I got a glass of Makers, and talked with my friends, I was pretty happy. I had to pee, and in that time the bar managed to become way over full, the music turned up to 11, and the air conditioning over powered by the dancing and sweating of all the girls there having a great time. I wanted to leave immediately. Really? I longed for some empty bar where dancing was not encouraged, and conversation was possible. Likely filled boring old people, instead of beautiful you girls dressed to look like they aren't dressed. It's a wonder why I have so much trouble with people my age, they like fun things.

During this thought process, I checked the time, it was just past six. I did some quick math and realized I should take a nap. Not that I wanted to, but that if I wanted to be ok for my night shift tonight, I needed it. This is normal for me. Maybe I should join the NRA

Oh no, it's the cops!

I've had a weekend. And I really fucking did it. I worked for basically 2 weeks straight overnight, and then relished in my well earned time off. It was pretty good, and pretty bad.

It began with limitless possibilities, I thought the world was mine. And I blew it. So I had some friends in town, in country is more like it, but they were in New York. And there's this girl, who I haven't seen since last year. It's complicated. Booze was involved. And things got messy. Not in a bad way, but in just a depressing way. It was like, every fucking teen movie ever made. So I leave, shouldn't have been there in the first place. Try to go see this other girl that I know, and am rather fond of. She pours me a drink on the house, I really don't need it. I was upset. I told her I'd call her, she shrugged. I'm leaving out a lot of details, for my own good, it was one of the worst night's I've had in a long time. I lost my hat on the subway coming home at 8 in the morning. I swear to God, by the end of it, I could have just fucking cried.

Enter brunch that morning. All I really wanted was to feel sorry for myself, and let the depression overwhelm my day until it just faded out. But my good friends Jesse and Erica wouldn't let that happen. They forced happiness upon me, I had no choice, and life cafe usually helps. Then others came, Perry, Sean, El Adam, Patrick, and Jaime and Andrew. It was a good time, in which my epically depressing tale became a rather funny story, as it will stay.

So, I was going to call out of work tonight to try and take that second mentioned girl out. She has got something to do, I don't know. Probably lack of interest. Whatever, not the end of the world. Then work calls, I ignored it worrying that they might be calling me to fire me(it was that kind of weekend), but instead they just changed the schedule so I'm off tonight anyway. And now I've got nothing to do. I've done a lot of exercise today, it's hot, I'm sweaty and need to shower.

I've also gotten a new love for Superbad. When I first saw it, I thought it kind of sucked. I saw it again, it still wasn't doing it for me. Just watched it for a third time, blew my mind. So God damn funny.

Yup. I need a nap.

Changing of the guard.

I think I've changed. Come out the other side, if you will. I don't know that it's for the better, I feel like it's more for the bitter. There's a lot to be said about being young, and I feel I've said it all, and experienced most of it. Now that I'm here, on the other side of the law, I feel done. There is little more that I want, and even less that I need. I feel like the end of the Lord of the Rings movies, all the excitement is over, the best part was replaced with a lie, and it should have been over 20 minutes ago. I'm craving some poorly scripted Michael Bay explosions.

I've spent A LOT of money lately, from mishaps with my phones, to random hotel rooms, and I don't even feel it. In a way that's great, I can afford to be a little stupid every once in a while(I'm usually a cheap bastard), but in a way it's kind of sad. I just don't ever care anymore.

All these things that have been here forever, all hidden by a cheap smile, or a rehearsed laugh, I just don't care to hide them anymore. It's like I'm finally okay with my belief that life is one let down after another. And that isn't supposed to happen yet, doesn't that come with age, with seeing the world and letting it crush your dreams?

Here's an idea, let's work really hard, spending loads of money so I can get some lame job that I hate and spend the rest of my life paying off the expenses of getting there. For what, so people are proud of me? I don't buy it anymore. What do I like? I like writing, what the fuck good is that going to do me? The only way I'll ever make money at it is if I get published, and guess what I don't have to go to school to do.....get published. Dumb.

What about people? What good are they? Everyone, myself included, is in it for themselves. Complete disregard for anyone else. Great, way it should be, Darwin at his best. But it's bringing me down. We are raised to see the good in people, until you get old enough, wise enough, to see that it just isn't there. You ever feel like no one sees you at all, never mind the good or the bad? Say, for instance, at your job. Like, if you get paid Holiday days off, and every person at your job gets them except you? And even when you ask why you aren't getting them, you still don't get them, because your bosses literally forget about you? And then they send out letters saying if you don't take your Holiday days within a certain time you can't take them at all, like it's my fault. Don't worry, it's just the money you owe me by law. I don't need it. Please expect me to continue doing a great job. For fucks sake.

This past week was the 4th, I'm stuck at work doing overnights for basically 2 weeks straight, just one day off, so other people can have their 4th of July Holiday days. I haven't even gotten my Memorial Day yet. I know, I know. Get a new job, right? In this fucking economy? So I can get some other job that doesn't give a fuck about any of their employees? Thanks GWB. Come on Obama, Yes we can. Yes we can what?

Money doesn't buy happiness, but the more money you have, the more happiness you can siphon from the people below you. Money doesn't buy happiness, bullshit. Of course it does.

There is this book, called The Hand, or something like that. It's about how the hand and the mind evolved together, as one got better, so did the other. With the hand doing more and more, the mind did more and more, and the when the hand was to busy making weapons to point other shit out, language developed. The hand evolved to kill. To make weapons, and use them to feed your family. Then the brain evolved into a constant competition with every other brain on the planet. And then we got war. You know the big kids who pick on the little kids? They grow up to be big and strong, working dead and jobs. The little kids grow up to make bombs, and use them against the big kids. Mankind is one giant competition to prove your worth.

You know what I think of happiness? For real? I think it lies in other people. My one last hope than human kind is worth a damn, is that when it really comes down to it, we need each other. We don't need everyone, just one other person. And even that is subject to change. Marriage, dating, till death do us part, fucking, prostitution, it's all the same. It's all temporary. But for a short time, stripped down to the bare essentials, lust and fucking animal instincts, it's pure fucking joy. And then it's over. If you even make it that far.

Life is a struggle to continually trick yourself into happiness.

Oh well.

Last night I didn't feel like going home, not sure why, I just didn't. If you were wondering if I drunkfacebookaskedyouout last night, yes, I did. I didn't have a choice. Then I wandered until I found the Standard New York Hotel, a sister hotel of the one I work in, and I stayed there. Friends and family rates still aren't cheap.

It's a new day, a new year. I have Novocaine for all my senses, it's another stupid clumsy story. I'm trying, and trying.