All my life, waiting for somebody -- #1453
It's three in the morning and I'm getting a ride home from a gay guy, after we shared an awkward late-night breakfast. I have no idea how I got here. I mean, I know how I got here, meaning the passenger seat of a purple Jeep Liberty. I drank about three gallons of beer, danced around mockingly to "Poker Face" with a man-loving gay co-worker, and decided afterward that nothing was more important in the world than a Denny's All-American Grand Slam. His friend drove, and my co-worker buddy bailed before the first cup of coffee was even poured, wandering outside to pass out in the back of the Jeep. That part I understand. I just never thought that this would be something that I do. It's like I can't fathom my own life anymore.
I turned thirty-seven a few weeks ago. Thirty seven is SOLIDLY into middle age. To put my age in perspective, if I was Bristol Palin at age thirty seven, my son Tripp would be committing his first date-rape at Wasilla State right now. I'm only a few years away from the big 4-0. I still rent video games at Blockbuster. I impulsively download death-metal on iTunes. I stay up late on the weekends to watch Adam & Eve marital aids being sold on the Home Shopping Network. When does maturity kick in for me? Shouldn't I be worried about my cholesterol level and monitoring my 401K and voting Republican? My age-appropriate friends are out picking preschools and critiquing wine menus at restaurants. I feel like I should get a prostate exam, just to fit in.
Which brings me back to the drunken Denny's run with the two gay guys on a Friday night. I say this to myself with all due respect -- seriously, dude, what the fuck? I don't drop the WTF-bomb because I'm hanging with homosexuals, at least not in any way that conveys a negative feeling toward their lifestyle. I pause reflectively to ponder in what-the-fuck fashion exactly what twisted path brought me to this moment. Like a letter to Penthouse, I never thought that this would happen to me. How does this make any sense? I heeded to the road less taken, and it somehow led me into the Land of the Lost.
Take this example. No less than seventeen years ago -- which again in Bristol Palin years means to look at her infant child and imagine time passing to the point where he commits his first DWI -- I was sitting in this exact same Denny's, exactly shitfaced drunk, and contemplating the moment when my college friends and I would celebrate the ritual that we called "Denny's Club." What is Denny's Club, you ask? After a night of drinking, everyone gathered in the Denny's just off campus and, one by one, pissed in the bathroom sink. Seriously, that's what we did. The Man couldn't hold us down with his hegemonic restroom conventions and conformist urinals. Bear in mind that it was the early 90s at the time, right before the Internet made women sluttier and you could get away with retarded shit like this without worrying about who was videotaping you with their cellphone.
My point being, a second lifetime later, I'm still practically doing the same crap. Sure, many things have changed in my life. I have a job that requires me to have decent security clearance. I own my own home, with my own pets, with waste products that I myself have to clean. Hostesses call me "sir" as they seat me. All these things lead me to believe that I am getting more mature, only I never imagined that this is what my maturity would be like. Or that this is what my life would be like. I don't think I'm complaining about it, it just strikes me as odd that I'm here, doing this. Again, I can't fathom my own life.
My life is a drunken stumble, I guess. I've stumbled into suburban barbecues on Long Island. I've stumbled into warehouse raves and heroin dens, into corporate bookstores and independent coffeeshops. I've stumbled into poetry slams and appellate arguments. I've stumbled into log cabins and oceanside beach-houses. And now I'm stumbling into the same Denny's restaurant again. I sure as fuck don't know where I'm going.
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