PERPETUAL DISSATISFACTION: Volume 2; Number 3: Miscreant Horror-Children
Ok, so I realized that it’s been quite some time since I graced you all with a venom-laced, anger-instilled rant blog. What can I say, things have been fairly good. And I’ve also been way too busy to write lately – which I suppose could be the subject of its own venom-laced, anger-instilled rant blog. But it’s not the subject of THIS one, so if you really wanna hear about how I’m sick of working and kinda want to run away and start a gang of pre-teen thieves like Nutsy Fagin in Oliver Twist, well just call me in the office during a week day, and you’ll get that rant then. This one’s about something different.
Let me start off by saying that in an effort to find something to inspire enough rage in me to write about, I asked Liz to get me a bootleg copy of Transformers 2. As of yet she has not, because LIZ IS A SLACKER. However when you seek, the universe provides and I found my vitriolic muse tonight as I drove around the corner on my block; in the form of the rodent-children that seem to infest the street I live on. Now some of you may remember my Facebook status from last week where I told you all about how I already ran afoul of a couple of these vermin when one of them decided to kick his skateboard under my car as I pulled into my driveway. Well, one crushed skateboard and an obscenity-laced scolding later and you’d think the lesson would have been learned. I mean, I always assumed that rats could communicate with one another. Well I guess these other shaggy haired bags of shit didn’t get the neighborhood memo, because about six of them were skateboarding all over the street in and around the area in front of my house.
Now look, before anyone accuses me of just being a dick, I actually have no problem with that - in theory. What I absolutely DID have a problem with is they’re skateboarding in the street AND THEY DON’T FUCKING MOVE WHEN THEY SEE A CAR DRIVING TOWARD THEM. Honestly, I really don’t feel like having my life ruined because I killed some asshole kid who doesn’t have enough survival instinct to not do a bad Tony Hawk impression in front of my car. The mind boggling thing is that there’s a public fucking playground three blocks away, and these aren’t young kids that can’t leave the block I’m talking about, they’re like twelve or thirteen. It’s just fucking mind boggling to me though. When I was a kid, I was taught to have a healthy respect of the street, and by healthy respect I mean nightmare-inducing fear. My parents and older relatives had me so wary of the street that you’d have thought the blacktop had the power to independently reach up and crush the life from me somehow. If I ever did what these kids do on a daily basis, I’d have been screamed at, physically restrained and probably got a spanking too. So automatically, when I see one of these little fucktards running around in the street without a care in the world its a little jarring. And I know it’s because their parents came from some shithole third-world country where they don’t have heavy traffic (or roads, or television, or houses not made of dried mud). Which is exactly whose fault it’s going to be when one of these kids gets himself crushed to death by an oncoming motorist.
Now I’m not necessarily saying that I’m hoping an out of control cement mixer comes barreling down the block and takes out six or eight of these little motherfuckers in one clip, but I’m honest enough to say that part of me thinks it would serve them and their mystery-race parents right. And another thing, what the fuck are these kids even doing on skateboards anyway? They’re not white kids, this isn’t San Francisco and this isn’t The Lords of Dogtown. Fuck, it’s not even Gleaming the Cube. Shouldn’t these mongrels be selling trinkets for dollars and trying to pick people’s pockets or something? These little fucks haven’t even had the common decency to wipe out spectacularly while I’m watching so I can at least get a good laugh out of the whole situation.
In all seriousness, I’m at my wits end with this situation. I'm waiting for the day when I'm backing out of my driveway at less then 5 miles an hour and I hit one of these fuckers because (despite the fact that I looked a hundred times and made sure I knew where they all were before I started moving the car) it never occured to one of them not to dive lemming-like into the cars' path. The only thing resembling a solution I've been able to come up with is that I'm considering sending out an anonymous mailing to everyone on the block… something along the lines of “attention neighbors of questionable ethnic origin, your lack of parenting skills is putting your children’s lives in danger. Tell them to get the fuck out of the street when they see cars coming down the block. If I have to stop short again, or be delayed while I watch one of them continue to throw a ball or stumble his way through just one more casper or kick flip before he lets me pass, I am going to find you and feed you your child’s skateboard. Hopefully you can read English”. Yup, that sounds perfect.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Club Night, One of the Reasons I Love Life
Alright so picture it, the room is absolutely packed - wall to wall people; and it’s taken fifteen minutes just to get a spot at the bar. Not that it’s done any good anyway, because the bartender seems to have you on the “pay no mind” list. The asshole next to you is way too far into your personal space, and some inconsiderate bag of shit nearby has just lit up a cigarette, despite the fact that it’s illegal and the club has an outdoor smoking area. The music’s way too loud for such a small place, and the DJ keeps talking over the songs to shout himself out. Overall, it’s just a sweaty, uncomfortable, annoying situation, but you know what? Even if that perfect storm of a horrible club experience really happened, I’d probably love every minute of it. Club night really is one of the reasons I love life.
Over the past five years or so, I’ve watched as most of my friends my age have settled down, gotten married and in some cases had kids. And to be honest, I couldn’t be happier for them. That’s the next step. The logical step. The step you’re supposed to take. But it’s not the right step for me, not yet anyway, because over that same period of time, my love of the nightlife has not only stayed at the same level as it was very first time I ever went out, it’s grown exponentially. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, and I have to conclude that going out at, umm… my age, is way more fun than it was at Twenty-one, or even Twenty-Five. Obviously having more money now than I did then helps, but that’s not really it. Or not all of it anyway, I’m not gonna lie, being able to pop a bottle in the VIP is a lot of fun every once in awhile. But truth be told, I’m in love with every aspect of a night out at the club. Looking forward to getting dressed up, meeting new people, talking to girls, dancing, drinking and chilling with friends are the things that keep me from wanting to cut my wrists every Monday morning. These things are the reason that, especially in the summer, I go into party robot mode and try my best to get out and mingle at least three or four nights a week. In fact the only thing keeping me from starting every weekend on Wednesday night are the limits of my own human endurance. Unfortunately, going out at night and getting up at 5:30 every morning to hit the gym aren’t exactly compatible. But, a physically and mentally exhausted next day at the office is somehow worth it if I get to spend a few extra hours chillin at the club the night before. Big shout to my man Lou by the way – whether Louie Vegas is behind the bar or with me in front of it, it doesn’t seem to matter. Somehow Lou either brings the party with him, or it seeks him out, and the end result is almost always a night to remember. Thanks for that, brother!
Sometimes I worry that I’m addicted to this whole nightlife thing. I mean, I literally could spend hours at the club, sometimes even by myself, just watching people (and also usually making fun of them) – whether it be (to steal a line from Jagged Edge) “the girls in the club in their best outfits, just showin’ that skin, tryin’ to make a nigga wanna spend”; or the guys tryin their best lines out on those girls. Watching them succeed or get shot down. Good dancers, bad dancers, everyone in between, all there to celebrate life and have a good time, these are among my favorite things in the world. Maybe that’s a bad thing, maybe I should have other priorities, but right now I don’t care. I’m having way too much fun - and while I do acknowledge that I’ve been doing the nightlife thing for a lot longer than I have left to do it, to me that just makes it all the more important to make every one of those nights out count, especially because I don’t have that much time left. I may love this whole thing, but I am NOT gonna be that guy at Glo with the 70’s moustache. You know who I mean, he used to always be at Posh and Mirage, gotta be in his 50’s... Yeah, that guy’s still goin out. But I definitely still got a good year or two left in me before I gotta worry about being him, so I’m gonna take advantage. And so should you! Come party with US!
Over the past five years or so, I’ve watched as most of my friends my age have settled down, gotten married and in some cases had kids. And to be honest, I couldn’t be happier for them. That’s the next step. The logical step. The step you’re supposed to take. But it’s not the right step for me, not yet anyway, because over that same period of time, my love of the nightlife has not only stayed at the same level as it was very first time I ever went out, it’s grown exponentially. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, and I have to conclude that going out at, umm… my age, is way more fun than it was at Twenty-one, or even Twenty-Five. Obviously having more money now than I did then helps, but that’s not really it. Or not all of it anyway, I’m not gonna lie, being able to pop a bottle in the VIP is a lot of fun every once in awhile. But truth be told, I’m in love with every aspect of a night out at the club. Looking forward to getting dressed up, meeting new people, talking to girls, dancing, drinking and chilling with friends are the things that keep me from wanting to cut my wrists every Monday morning. These things are the reason that, especially in the summer, I go into party robot mode and try my best to get out and mingle at least three or four nights a week. In fact the only thing keeping me from starting every weekend on Wednesday night are the limits of my own human endurance. Unfortunately, going out at night and getting up at 5:30 every morning to hit the gym aren’t exactly compatible. But, a physically and mentally exhausted next day at the office is somehow worth it if I get to spend a few extra hours chillin at the club the night before. Big shout to my man Lou by the way – whether Louie Vegas is behind the bar or with me in front of it, it doesn’t seem to matter. Somehow Lou either brings the party with him, or it seeks him out, and the end result is almost always a night to remember. Thanks for that, brother!
Sometimes I worry that I’m addicted to this whole nightlife thing. I mean, I literally could spend hours at the club, sometimes even by myself, just watching people (and also usually making fun of them) – whether it be (to steal a line from Jagged Edge) “the girls in the club in their best outfits, just showin’ that skin, tryin’ to make a nigga wanna spend”; or the guys tryin their best lines out on those girls. Watching them succeed or get shot down. Good dancers, bad dancers, everyone in between, all there to celebrate life and have a good time, these are among my favorite things in the world. Maybe that’s a bad thing, maybe I should have other priorities, but right now I don’t care. I’m having way too much fun - and while I do acknowledge that I’ve been doing the nightlife thing for a lot longer than I have left to do it, to me that just makes it all the more important to make every one of those nights out count, especially because I don’t have that much time left. I may love this whole thing, but I am NOT gonna be that guy at Glo with the 70’s moustache. You know who I mean, he used to always be at Posh and Mirage, gotta be in his 50’s... Yeah, that guy’s still goin out. But I definitely still got a good year or two left in me before I gotta worry about being him, so I’m gonna take advantage. And so should you! Come party with US!
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