I hate your wedding!

          I get to watch a giant tool-bag get married on January 1^st! I am so uninterested in weddings based on my being subjected to the same event, devoid of creativity in comparison to the last, at least twice a year since birth. These weddings are reminiscent of a film you may have seen 37 times and you still watch it, almost hoping some new twists pop up. My stomach is already noticeably queasy based on the myriad of forth coming emotionless, brain-dead conversations I will have to endure. I have NothinG in common with any of these people! The gap isn’t generational, it’s 100% social. It’s like Leave it to Beaver meets Pulp Fiction; that’s the most apt description of the social gap I can make. Just thinking about the level of conformity they’re gleaming with makes me squint. It’s not that I hate them; I just know they think of me as a dirt-bag… And that’s a tasty thought!

           

           Approaching this event I forgot to become successful again. I also have no date; I lost my hot Asian girlfriend, and haven’t been able to find a Suicide Girl to replace her in time for this shit.

These are the events I look forward to “groundhog daying” at this wedding…

1.    Arguing with my dad that dancing to Abba’s Dancing Queen is tantamount to me raping myself.

2.    Four dozen unnecessarily strong handshakes. I wonder what Chuck Liddell thinks when this shit happens…

3.    How much goddamn Vermouth did he put in this? 

4.     Four dozen different people who know what I should do in life not hesitating to give me unwanted advice.

5.     Why can’t you play “Manic Depression”? Isn't This is a wedding?

             So, in summation: I look forward to a magically uninteresting evening with a hangover brought on by self pity. I will shake hands with insecure adult males! I will drink the shittiest martini on earth! I will not dance to Dancing Queen! These events will happen, and I will once again be a spectator to this circus of conformity.

Lex 

I hurt myself today

I bit my tongue at 3:33 Tuesday. I let the blood pool in my mouth as I basked in the sting and metallic flavor of the lapse in judgment that brought me this discomfort. As drops of fresh blood forced their way through my clinched lips, I rushed to the bathroom to assess the damage. In the mirror I relinquished a shot glass worth of my own blood into a snow white sink. I stood and watched the string of reflective crimson liquid exit my mouth. The white marble slowly becomes smothered in red. In a mesmerized state, I stand and watch the blood flow down the drain then crust over and dry. A dull pink trail is all that’s left.

Beer snoB

     I am not a financial superman by any stretch of the imagination; this doesn't mean I can't have standards. I am considered Beer snob/connoisseur by my family and friends because I refuse to drink trash. I never drink beer from a can, and I will never drink: Budweiser, Miller, or Coors. I drink beer for the taste and arguing that Budweiser, Miller, or Coors make great beer is to argue that McDonald's, Burger King, and Wendy's make great burgers... They DON'T! So when I show up at a function with a 12, no wait.. 11 pack of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale (or something) I basically brought it for myself. This sets of an incredibly predictable wave of events:
1st. I get the comment: "you always get the expensive stuff"... This would make sense if it didn't usually cost the same.
2nd. I get the: "that's pussy rich-boy stuff"... This is usually uttered by the winner with ketchup on his shirt who brought Keystone Light; immediately after saying the kind words, he grabs one of my "fag" beers and leaves. (every f-ing time... without fail!!!)
3rd. "Is Pale Ale beer?" You guessed it... I hate everyone I know!
             
              I also never claimed to be a genius, but apparently knowing the difference between Pale Ale and Lager, beyond the taste difference, fits the criteria. Which brings me to this conclusion: nobody expects the guy in the Motorhead shirt to know anything. I know this stuff because I am cursed with the inability to enjoy things on a base level. If I am to like something it must become obsession Whether it be music, movies, cars, video games, or beer. I do understand that this is all relative and I am not on a crusade to save your palette from the sewage you ingest. It's just alarming how many times I receive the answers "I don't know" or "because it's cheap" when someone tells me they love Bud Light... Those aren't reasons... They are excuses!

Lex