I have two biggest fears: to die a lonely person, and to die stupidly. The other day, I was reading a news story about a 22 year old kid who got drunk and decided to climb a smokestack only to fall 100 feet to his death. At first, I kind of laughed at the stupidity of it, but then I realized that it could have very easily been me. I drink, and I can get a clear image of myself climbing tall objects while under the influence. The only difference between me and this kid, is that I probably would have been clutching a bag of Doritos and a cheeseburger big bite smothered in fake cheese and chili from 7-11. In the manner of stupid deaths, I see myself in an obituary of the Washington Post, describing me as “bright and full of life”, only to have lost an unfortunate battle between a micromachine and the corner of a coffee table where I landed on the exact part of the temple that supposedly kills you instantly. I can imagine what people would say at my funeral: “He was so young. How was he killed? Slipped on a micromachine while drunk you say? At 3pm? On a Monday? How tragic.” Except I would know on the inside, they’d be secretly laughing the same way I had when I’d read the story of the 22 year old plunging to his premature, drunken death.
In terms of dying a lonely person, I have a very real and legitimate cause for concern. It seems I’m constantly falling for the wrong person. Of course, as it often happens, I tell them how I feel and the feelings are not reciprocated the way I would have hoped. “Oh, I really like you. But, I think we’re better off as friends.” Listen homo, I don’t need any more friends. Immediately, I’m transported back to the days of when the only clothes I was able to comfortably fit in were an XL Nautica shirt from Marshall’s and Wrangler jeans from Costco. Then I realize I continue to go after the guys that my therapist would say are completely "emotionally unavailable" only because I enjoy the chase of it all. I’m like a small child. I’ll whine and bitch for shit that I know I can’t have, and then once I get it, I’m on to the next one (as Jay-Z so eloquently puts it). I used to put my mother through this every time we walked through the doors of a Toys R Us…or a Burger King.
I seem to be the type of person that does exactly what I know I should not be doing. For instance, say I run into a guy that I used to really like and he asks me to come over the next day and hang out. I think to myself, “It’s better if you say no. Get your dumb, emotionally dependant ass out of this situation and move on. It’s bad for your mental health to be near this person, you shitsmear.” And, without even letting the guy finish his sentence, I’ll reply with, “I’d love to. What time shall I come over? And should I wear underwear?” And so it goes, around in a circle. This is not to say I’m “easy”. I prefer to think of it more as “I’m easily persuaded”. I’m not so sure why people make things so difficult. If this were my world, things would go as follows:
Boy/girl meets boy/girl: “Hi I think you’re attractive. You smell nice too. I think we could have a lovely time together. Do you have cats? Good. I’m allergic. I think you’re funny and have just the correct balance of ‘nice guy meets asshole’, because no one likes a doormat. Shall we?”
Boy/girl being wooed: “Help me unzip these pants. Dinner seems like an unfortunate waste of pleasantries at this point.”
Fast forward to happily ever after.
Of course, more often than not things don’t go this way. But in Andres world, they would. Things would be far simpler, and I would implant myself with a chip in my head that allows me not to give a fuck about anything. In the real world, I suppose it’s quite the opposite. Unfortunately, I do give a fuck, but I don’t want to. My friend Sadaf once told me, “When people/things bother you, think of blank, white computer paper. It works every time.” I try, except my white computer paper, instead of being blank, is filled with a mixture of grocery lists and unrealistic dreams of a white picket fence with Anderson Cooper as my pool boy and the Kardashian train wrecks as my neighbors. Then I realize that Anderson Cooper is far too over qualified to be employed as my pool boy.
When you’re young, it’s so easy to be filled with grandiose ideas of a life full of glitz and glam and a hot spouse to share it all with you. I hope as I get older, these ideas don’t fade. Actually that’s wrong, because what I really hope is that these ideas fade into becoming a reality. For now, I’ll enjoy my cluttered computer paper scenario, as it keeps me excited for what lies ahead. I just sincerely hope that, at the ripe age of 80-something, I’m not wandering around my nursing home asking people if I should come to their room sans diaper, wearing only a vintage XL Nautica shirt from circa 1998.
~ F.A.G.
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