All Apologies

Dear non-existent reader,

I'm sorry I haven't posted in a while. My last blog entry kind of made me lose the will to blog, for whatever reason. I'm now over that though, which is a good thing for you (hopefully). I promise to never desert you like that again (maybe). I look forward to writing many more entries for your entertainment, even though you don't exist. It's kind of like when I was a kid and I played with my imaginary friend, Charlie. Sure, he didn't exist, but he let me put things up his butt. Wait, that came out wrong! I mean, he let me touch him in his naughty spots. Oh hell, I shouldn't have typed that either! Shit, my backspace key is broken! It looks like I'll have to leave all that. I hope that I don't make any more tpyos for the remainder of this post. Yes, that's what those were...typos. If you would be so kind though, please forget that I said anything about putting things up my imaginary friend's cornhole. The same goes for the part about touching his naughty places. Those were very confusing times that every child goes through. You probably experimented the same way yourself, right? Right?

Anyway, expect better blog entries from me in the future (this isn't one of them). And yes, I realize that better is a very subjective term. If my past is any indication, however, you're in for some real mediocrity. I like to set the bar low and then hit it out of the infield (I also like to mix my metaphors). I've been average all of my life and I don't intend to stop being average now. When I played Little League baseball, I was often times the ninth batter and right fielder. As you may or may not know, the ninth batter is typically your worst hitter and the right fielder is typically your worst fielder. I was both. And while some would argue that being the ninth batter and right fielder is far from average, I have this to say. I know you are but what am I? Yes, I just went Pee Wee Herman on you (that sounds kind of dirty). Deal with it.

So, what else could I say? Everyone is gay. What else could I write? I don't have the right. What else should I be? All apologies. In the sun, in the sun I feel as one. In the sun, in the sun. Married, buried.

Okay, that's all I have to say...for now. Until next time, you stay classy, San Diego.

Three Wise Men

As you may or may not know, I recently celebrated my 26th birthday on May 27th. The day after, a few of my friends took me out to the bar to celebrate my birthday. It was probably the most eventful birthday I've had in a long time, but it made me realize something. It made me realize that I'm not like most other people, especially people my own age. I'm seeing this more and more the older I get. You probably have no idea what I'm talking about though, so here is the story.

My friends Frank, Joe, Allen and Mike took me out to a bar for my 26th birthday. Now, I can count on one hand the number of times I've been in a bar, and the same can be said for the number of times I've ever drank alcohol, so I didn't plan on drinking at all that night. My friends, however, had other ideas. I told them though, over and over again, that I didn't want to drink for various reasons (chief among them being I didn't have the money). These protests fell on deaf ears though. "It's your birthday," Joe said, "you have to drink," so I finally relented to the peer pressure and let him buy me a shot. Well, that was a mistake I'll never make again. Since Joe bought me a shot, I could hardly refuse when another friend offered to buy me a "birthday" shot. It would be rude of me to refuse. So, I ended up having to drink four or so shots of unknown potencies (no one would tell me what was in them).

After that, Joe pulled another fast one and told a guy we both knew, named Chad, that it was my birthday. Chad then offered to buy me a shot called "Three Wise Men." I had no idea what was in it, but I couldn't refuse a shot from Chad. You see, Chad is one bad ass mother fucker (and if you somehow come across this Chad, I mean that in the best way possible). I used to play Little League baseball with Chad, and he got kicked off our team because he nearly got into a fight with an umpire. We were like 11 or 12, and he almost came to blows with a grown man. And if our coach didn't hold him back, there is no doubt in my mind who would have won that fight. Chad would have beaten that man to a pulp. So, as you can see, Chad made me an offer I couldn't refuse. Luckily for me though, someone decided to sing "Street Fighting Man" on karaoke, so a bar fight broke out shortly thereafter. I didn't see who was involved in it, but it wouldn't surprise me at all if it was Chad. Anyway, that fight saved me from drinking a "Three Wise Men" which, looking up the ingredients right now, was probably a good thing. I thank the karaoke gods for that!

Okay, so what's the point? I know it took me a really long time to get to it, but here it is. I realized that night, more than ever before, that I don't like to drink alcohol. I don't like the feeling it gives me. I never have and probably never will. Now, don't get me wrong, this isn't some moral crusade against drinking. I have no problem with other people who drink, as long as they do so responsibly. I just don't want to be a part of it. And I know that makes me super lame, and I know that it isolates me from the vast majority of people my own age, but I can't help how I feel. Drinking just isn't for me.

Anyway, if you made it this far, thank you for taking the time out of your busy day to read this. I'll try next time to have a better blog entry than this. This was just something that has been bothering me a lot lately, so I felt the need to write it down.