Not to degrade him in any way, but he's a beginner when it comes to this social scene. More and more when I compare myself to the people around me I realize that I am not the loner that I oftentimes proclaim myself to be. Mainly the discrepancy stems from the fact that "being a loner" and "feeling alone" are two things entirely seperate, and in reality, I spend most of my time surrounded by other people. If geographical standards allowed it I would not even sleep alone, however travelling to Washington every night remains impossible, lest I finish inventing teleportation.
But looking at myself as this sort of sick, cruel, social professional who knows how the scene goes and how to operate at various events, he suddenly looks up to me a little more. He asks frequently now, "Any parties this weekend?" I usually indulge him with a small list of ones that I was thinking about going to and let him know that if he'd like I'd be happy to take him; for just as I had last year, the urge to get out of his shell has suddenly consumed him. This boy is getting married in six months and he hasn't gotten to party yet. Nevermind that I started his downfall by handing him drink after hapless drink in order to turn him into one of the funniest people alive; drunkenly dancing with the best of them while throwing away his anxiety to talk to anyone and everyone for almost four hours straight. Upon walking him home he ran out of people to converse with and proceeded to converse with leaves... yes, leaves.
However when he asked me last night it was a little different. My other friend spit laughter from the passenger seat and told Zak, "No, Matt's going to be taking it easy for a while." Embarassed I nodded, "Only party I know of is the one I tried to kill myself at last night." Zak eyed be through the rear-view mirror, "Oh?" I told him, "Yea, big mistake, I'm going to lay off the parties for a while."
The story may be a familiar one to anyone. I went to a party with my friend Brendan, currently occupying the passenger seat. Low-key, as it were, with only about 30 or 40 people, music throbbing out of over-taxed computer speakers, numerous containers of alcohol, jungle-juice, cupcakes, and for some unknown reason, a fog machine. A cigarette yeilded to a beer, a beer to a cupcake (not very tasty
), a cupcake to rum and coke, rum and coke to a tequila shot, a shot to Jack in the Box, and Jack in the Box to some pot. The end result of this progression was a night that has been replayed to me almost entirely from other people's perspectives because mine is limited to two events, listening to Brendan's roommate grunt "Stupid Toilet" and shortly thereafter punching Brendan in the balls.
I remember falling over, I remember how hard it was to hold myself up on the wall in the bathroom, how my arm kept weakening and I almost fell into the hallway, I remember the movie on TV not making any sense because portions were missing, I remember realizing that I wasn't remembering everything. I remember how much it hurt to throw up as my insides turned outward, how my abs hurt in the morning from attempting to vomit so much, Brendan and Jake patting me on the back to encourage me to vomit, and how the stench of pot and vomit was stuck in my nostrils. No, it wasn't fun. In fact it was dangerous and I hate to know that in the future I will recall the event as the time I gave myself alcohol poisoning.
So I'm done with pot now, and drinking is on hold for a while.
But looking at myself as this sort of sick, cruel, social professional who knows how the scene goes and how to operate at various events, he suddenly looks up to me a little more. He asks frequently now, "Any parties this weekend?" I usually indulge him with a small list of ones that I was thinking about going to and let him know that if he'd like I'd be happy to take him; for just as I had last year, the urge to get out of his shell has suddenly consumed him. This boy is getting married in six months and he hasn't gotten to party yet. Nevermind that I started his downfall by handing him drink after hapless drink in order to turn him into one of the funniest people alive; drunkenly dancing with the best of them while throwing away his anxiety to talk to anyone and everyone for almost four hours straight. Upon walking him home he ran out of people to converse with and proceeded to converse with leaves... yes, leaves.
However when he asked me last night it was a little different. My other friend spit laughter from the passenger seat and told Zak, "No, Matt's going to be taking it easy for a while." Embarassed I nodded, "Only party I know of is the one I tried to kill myself at last night." Zak eyed be through the rear-view mirror, "Oh?" I told him, "Yea, big mistake, I'm going to lay off the parties for a while."
The story may be a familiar one to anyone. I went to a party with my friend Brendan, currently occupying the passenger seat. Low-key, as it were, with only about 30 or 40 people, music throbbing out of over-taxed computer speakers, numerous containers of alcohol, jungle-juice, cupcakes, and for some unknown reason, a fog machine. A cigarette yeilded to a beer, a beer to a cupcake (not very tasty
), a cupcake to rum and coke, rum and coke to a tequila shot, a shot to Jack in the Box, and Jack in the Box to some pot. The end result of this progression was a night that has been replayed to me almost entirely from other people's perspectives because mine is limited to two events, listening to Brendan's roommate grunt "Stupid Toilet" and shortly thereafter punching Brendan in the balls.
I remember falling over, I remember how hard it was to hold myself up on the wall in the bathroom, how my arm kept weakening and I almost fell into the hallway, I remember the movie on TV not making any sense because portions were missing, I remember realizing that I wasn't remembering everything. I remember how much it hurt to throw up as my insides turned outward, how my abs hurt in the morning from attempting to vomit so much, Brendan and Jake patting me on the back to encourage me to vomit, and how the stench of pot and vomit was stuck in my nostrils. No, it wasn't fun. In fact it was dangerous and I hate to know that in the future I will recall the event as the time I gave myself alcohol poisoning.
So I'm done with pot now, and drinking is on hold for a while.