my dad has a variety of them that he made up, and says, and then i use them, and people around me don't know what i'm talking about, and i'm confused by that, because surely they all grew up with my english-as-a-second-language sixty year old father, so why do they not understand what i mean when i say, "i'll be there jolly on the spot," or "manana (tilde) eez gud enough fer me," or, the classic, and my segue (or segway, if you like scooters) into today's topic, "first comes first."
i'm not good at organizing and prioritizing. i'm not good at responsibility.
things i am also not good at:
- being a surrogate father for any girl with major daddy issues, which makes me think i'd probably also not be a very good real father, as my philosophy tends to be GO FOR IT DO WHAT YOU WANT (i don't want to overstep my bounds) oh christ i can't believe you got drunk and had sex with the census guy in my room and now you're upset and YOU WANTED ME TO STOP YOU?
(IT'S NOT EVEN A CENSUS YEAR!)
- grocery shopping. the stores depress me.
- croquet.
- love.
see what i mean? look up at the top of this entry. it's called priorities. how did we get to bulleted lists of my inadequacies (because every entry will get there eventually)?
i have 1000 dollars. should i
a) pay my rent and car payment
b) rent an expensive hotel room and film girls i know pretending to have sex with each other in it
c) buy three pairs of limited edition sneakers that i'll wear once or twice
a is responsible. b is something i used to throw you off, because it's responsible too, 'cause it's part of my work. c would be the bad one.
c is the one i generally go with.
and yet, i know for a fact that i am better at prioritizing than other people. like, say, if you're gonna go on a date with someone and haven't been on that date - you should go on the date before planning out your relationship with them. i am capable of putting those things in the correct order. you should eat when you're hungry, not eat and then justify it by saying you would eventually get hungry (i didn't really learn that until recently, though).
i was at charlie brown's (a bar near my apartment, for all you non-denver folk and peanuts fans) the other night with the roommate, a place i am prone to be with a person i am often prone to be with. we were sitting on the patio, engaging in idle chitchat, if you will, eavesdropping on others (turns out october is the "obsessed with having sex with exes month"*), and generally enjoying the new, plush cushions charlie brown's puts on the outside chairs in the fall/winter (summer is too hot for comfort).
i stood up and expressed my desire to use the restroom, while my roommate expressed a desire for a pack of cigarettes from her purse, which remained inside.
upon entering the bar and reaching our table, i felt a hand grab my ass with a great deal of force and slowly begin to knead.
in the instant before i was able to turn around, time slowed, and i quickly ran through a list in my head of who could be standing behind me. surely it ain't my roommate, who would cauterize her hand until it was a bloody stump upon even accidental contact with my ass
(don't even ask what she would do if we had sex)
(i'd just get tested for stds OH SHIT BURN ROOMMATE).
i didn't see any girls i knew while walking in, and to be honest, (sadly) i don't think i know any girls who are that specific type of frisky. i assumed it was my one close token gay friend (well, the only friend i have that admits it), who had somehow come down from boulder and was just lying in wait to surprise me (follow him on twitter @matraxis to hear all about his grabbed-tim's-ass-again or got-tim-drunk-and-tried-to-make-out-with-him-almost-successfully-because-tim-loves-anyone-who-loves-him exploits).
i turn around and look deep into the eyes of a man i've never seen before, who looks exactly like my high school math teacher, down to the plaid wardrobe, mustache, and pulled high khakis.
i look confused. he stands there for a second. weaves toward me, then back out. still kneading my ass.
"are you down with the homo?" he asks.**
i'm just sayin', if it were me? i'da switched the order of the two actions around.
*here's why this idea is strange to me - i once made a pie chart to explain how i spend all my time (for therapy):
** i responded, "i'm sorry, man. no," which is my standard response to the many, many people who find me super attractive but i have no interest in, due to them being the wrong sex,*** or having a lazy eye, or them being more than 5 pounds overweight, or really really liking bands like 311.
*** speaking of which, this is like the eighth time a dude has hit on me in the past couple of weeks. do i have really good hair recently or something? (@matraxis are we still going to tracks on saturday I NEED TO FEEL LOVED)****
**** my roommate, who doesn't get it because "i look at you and gay is the last thing i think" (same here, i'm fat and sloppy and believe only in stereotypes), said maybe it's because i have some sort of "feminine intuition" - as in (according to her) i understand women really well (i disagree with that statement. a lot.)
