Anonymity inspires abject honesty.

I cry a lot! In some ways, yes it seems I cry too much. But not literally, if you'll be patient I'll give you a compelling example.

Last night I went to a bar, more specifically the Up Front. Including only sparse details I'll go over the entire night, and it's rather pitiful end. You can judge me...but be gentle, oh yes gentile.

Her name, does it really matter? in the final moments of the evening I realized she was just another girl, another person. One who feels so patently confused with life that they wander despondently from one arm to the next thinking there is some dignity or wisdom in being complacent...easily intrigued. To say she annoyed me would be an understatement, but to say that the whole scene at that bar confronted me like a vicious bout of influenza might be rash yet fitting.

Instead, an evening that started on a whim, was closed with one unwilling to make the final leap-of-faith, and the other unwilling to be the fool. It was a tiresome, frustrating night. I slept alone, and she did too. I think I slept naked though.

To dispense with the vagueries.

I arrived home shortly before midnight. My cell phone rang to Bach's Cello Concerto (something or other), her name appeared, I pressed the button, and sighed, inaudibly. She addressed me, the greeting I rejoined; a natural smile traced her lips -I knew- as one did mine, and I relpied:

Me: It would be nice to go, I need about fifteen minutes to shower is that ok?
She: I won't mind, just come.
Me: Perhaps I would yes, but you see I haven't bathed in twenty four hours, my hair is so matted I was labeled a vagrant by these mischevious ruffians.
She: Really? No...course, ok so fifteen minutes is fine, call me when you're leaving.
Me: I will. How was your day...

I asked her other varying questions about her day because I generally care, although I often pretend, to myself, that it is of no consequence. Within twenty minutes I had left my front door. The stars shown brilliantly, as though to mock our muddled, daily affairs, this is unimportant, a mere detail in transition, one necessary waste. And she met me at the end of her driveway. I moved ski poles and boots out of the way for her, and when she passed I noticed a trace of perfume, peppermint I thought.

We drove straight there, she told me of her day and how she is unimpressed with guys who know big words but have no character. I restrain laughter, and say, But what about troglodyte? The entrance was guarded by two bald, cretins who spent their time, undoubtedly, debating politics or tax law; their arms stretched pallid from short sleeves with fingers at their ends that snatched my student id, jerked, and a curt, Your REAL id, was uttered. As is customary with these "bar" moments, I did my best to hide the fact that although I was here and smiling ardently, I was in fact deeply depressed by the fact that a man has to prove his worthyness in a sweaty, cramped box where bad musicians habitate.

I offered to buy her a drink. Wisely she chose water, she must know me. And then we made our way to a nice place where you could stand and look at people, how nice, mirth flowed like mana from heaven. Her roommate walked by, and I thought these exact words, Wow she's hot. I bet she's great at stuff like being a bar maid, and she was! Excellent bottle control. Then other people she knew walked by, they talked, and most were guys; but this was, sadly, a welcome distraction for us as we had very little to discuss. Why so little? Well an underlying question was being debated, individually, between us. She takes me for an introverted asshole who won't live and like all woman she feels like I must be liberated. And I was simultaneously reliving every failed relationship I've been in, which came to this very point. Why, for women, does a man have to make some public nuisance of himself to earn her trouthe? I mean for Christ's sake, I am at the bar, is that not enough. No! But of course.

You see if a man lacks somethings like for instance, insatiable wealth or prestige amongst his living morons, then a man will have to dance or do something profoundly illogical to earn her chastity. The question that was ultimately raised was why didn't I dance, why didn't I have a good time, why didn't I leap to praise the band with some foot-fancy? Everyone else seemed to enjoy the band.

Then the unfathomable happened. It seems as though some unknown man to me had once nearly or possibly had dated her some months prior, and was there. Not only there but refusing to talk to her, which was somehow affecting her night. Now, I don't assume to know any extensive behavioral patterns in women, but I will go so far as to say that growing up with three sisters will teach you a few things, even more so if say they're considered very attractive.

Drawing on my extensive past knowledge it felt like I'd been 'had.' It was an appropriate response. I was that guy to do stuff with, because she knew I wasn't really do anything anyway (other than ruling hard at everything, that is). I was that guy that made her feel smart, made her feel like she was better than all those other girls who just dated stupid guys that always made them laugh. But rather than beating my chest and reverting to my arboreal tendencies, which doubtless would have burdened her home like a petulant bairn, instead I -shamefully- talked with her about nothing till three in the morning.

I dropped her off at the end of her driveway. I asked if she needed an escort up the slippery slope but she declined; it was obvious what I would have done, still reeling from the blow and all. The blow being a decision we'd made to discontinue further efforts, or more it was thought that things would never work out entirely. I made no rebuttal. It was ironic though, as I had ended the relationship twice prior and now it felt like, for some cosmic reason yet unknown to physicists, that this time it would be binding.

I drove home, wondering how it mattered that I wasn't going to see her tomorrow when before I never cared?

Thoughts of Violence at a Wedding

I had the pleasure to attend a wedding this last weekend. The climax of the night came when a ruddy-faced and overweight (and obviously drunk) usher sat near the food line reminding all who passed, "Hey, make sure ya get two buns, otherwise it's only half-assed !" He laughed to himself each time he recited his delicious pun, and he made sure to tell everyone, for it would surely be a shame to not bless the entire party with his top-rung humor. I thought to myself, "Should I kill this man? No, not here, in the midst of such joy and mirth."
I later found that he was married to my cousin, and then I thought that maybe I should go through with it. But I opted for the prime rib instead; rare, of course.