August 30th, 2013

I promise the next note will be the conclusion to Analog; swear it. No really, I swear.

“Coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous.” -Einstein

        I can't make this stuff up.

        You wouldn't be interested in a short retelling of a Friday night in my world? Okay, stop reading.

If you are- follow me on this text based adventure!

Let's start when I wrote my last blog post "Green-Eyed Monster". I jotted down some of my thoughts around four in the afternoon. (This is currently off the list; being edited.) I was jealous of my close friend, Tyler the Hair Gel. I won't go into the details of why or what, but needless to say, I was jealous. I don't run from confrontation. I embrace it, sometimes even thriving in debate or passionate wordplay. 

        I was texting him pretty regularly. Words like asshole, jerk, dickface, chucklehead, and douchebag were exchanged.  You know, the words of modern day poets and scholars. In any case, between us, these words are the ways we affectionately communicate with each other. It's a pretty strange friendship, but I wouldn't trade it for anything.
        He shows up at my house to talk about it out of the blue. This is why we get along. He's not afraid to sort crap out and doesn't run from positive conflict. Even in the event that I'm being irrationally stupid or angry, like I was, he showed up anyway to sift through the emotional garbage.

        Fast forward a bit.

        We sort through crap and start chewin' the fat like usual. My favorite thing to do lately is sit on a curb somewhere and have a smoke with him. Not a real smoke, but one of those clove cigarettes (Djarum Bali Hai's this time)... you know, the classy way to get lung gunk installed. We sat in front of my house and talked about whatever we talked about. I don't remember specifically, but it's always hilarious and good-hearted; even when we use words like asshole, jerk, dickface, chucklehead, or douchebag.
        It's right about this time I decided I was going to reach out to this girl I've been talking to a bit. I texted her to see if she wanted to hit a movie later. Texting, yeah, don't judge me- I already think it's stupid. Regardless, that's what I ended up doing. She returned with a suggestion of some ice cream. I'll never turn down ice cream. I'll leave the details of that part of the night out. Not my place to tell the whole internet. Long story short, I had a good time.
        I checked my phone after parting ways with her. Tyler was downtown at Dublin's and wanted me to come hang out with a few friends. Already in that general area, I thought "why the hell not?" The clock was hovering dangerously close to midnight, but I'd been pumping myself with caffeine all day and was feeling pretty sociable. On the way over to that side of town 'Times Like These' (Here's a link.) hit my speakers. I don't know what it was about this song but I turned it down and started talking at the sky again, to the big man upstairs.
        The conversations must be getting pretty repetitive for his inbox. Always I ask for a sign and for the wisdom and insight to see such a sign when it presents itself. To be open to not walking right by one, oblivious. I feel like one of those people that just doesn't take the hint lately. Nevertheless, this is what I open dialog about. Maybe it should be considered monologue?
        As I pull in to a parking spot on Main Street, the song ends. Some group of half-drunk "tough guys" whistle something or other about my truck. I'm sorry I keep my truck clean I guess? I feel pretty badass in a leather jacket. I realize this is silly, because I'm a 140 pounds soaking wet. Cross the street at the white walking man, present my terribly photographed license to the bouncer sitting at the door, walk in and see the trio. I sit myself down and look around at the crowd, interesting group people. There's a bunch of yelling conversation going on, the live band was loud--- and terrible. I've never heard someone slaughter Billy Jean so... so... it was awful. I imagined that I could do a better rendition by putting a guitar into a blender; chasing it with some spare gravel and a stray cat that just happens to be in heat.
        To my overall point and theme. I ran into her not twenty minutes after ending my conversation with the Sky. Is that a sign? You tell me. As you'd guess it, that love on sight thing kinda plagues me, but she's trying to move on and I'm trying to move on so I didn't press the issue. I felt like I was going to start secreting poetry from every pore or something. I wanted to tell her how beautiful she still looks, how my heart still races, that kind of really terribly cheesy cliche verbiage. So instead, I decided to try my hand at twerking. I'm kidding, don't picture that.
        We moved on and I tried not to stick around as to make her uncomfortable or anything. In any case, the deep sloppy bass of that dingy dark room was not doing anything for me anyway. Though I did want to clap for the guy attempting to do his best impersonation of a dancing robot. It was not a good impersonation of a dancing robot. By the by, the crew moved on to Murphy's to check out the happenings down there.
        Outside the night sky at that pub, the women were stupidly good-looking. We kept pushing each other to walk up and mingle and flirt, but whenever one of us got the courage (I wasn't interested *see above) we pretty much got shot down. A fourth of us were even dressed in suits! I would like to say that the very intoxicated duder that walked up and introduced himself as 'Bobby America' was absolutely hilarious. This cat had a fake mullet, cowboy boots, and an awful patriotic tank top on to go with his persona. Oh man, it was terrible.
        To bring this inane run-on text to an end and validate my point; I'm torn between what are coincidences and what are indeed otherworldly signals from some greater being. Only thing I can really do is continue to question my faith and solidify what I believe. Just maybe things will become clearer with enough time. If you're out there reading this, and you know who you are, I'm still head over heels. Am I sorry? No.
        In even simpler summary: Thanks to a pretty girl letting me buy her an ice cream, great friends, and Bobby America; the Black Dog stayed home last night.

[ 100 % ] *Apologies for any terrible grammar errors or run-ons, I wrote this in about 15 minutes. Out to door! Away!