Chinatown mischief. Shout out to the Peak Organic Brewery.

“Drunk conversations and my boring life;” The tagline thing that sits neatly under my blog title. It’s clean, edgy, and has probably been used thousands of times before in different shapes or forms.

The ‘boring life’ bit is a self-aware defense mechanism I’ve adopted to place myself at an advantage. I’d rather be called [stupid, boring, ugly] and be surprising than, [smart, interesting, attractive] and underwhelm. I’ve actually attributed this mechanism to being the second child. My older brother, by two years, was my primary father figure. I had a sad, widowed mother, so he had to grow up quick. He was expected to be the man of the house. And he was well-spoken, and handsome, he was smart, athletic, and good with girls. He was also arrogant, still is. I grew up thinking I would never be a better man than he was, so I never tried.

He was well spoken, I’m well written. This digs deeper into how personable he is compared to me. He’s very much extroverted, so crowds feed him energy. He has a strong personality so he can easily made that crowd listen to him. Crowds affect me adversely, so of course I’d rather sit behind a keyboard. Doing that long enough facilitates a strong, written voice.

He’s handsome, I dress different. He’s also four inches taller, like why? My brother used to dress in what I’d call ‘preppy clothes.’ Which meant Hollister, Aero, American Eagle etc. So to take control of my life and carve a new image, I bought a skateboard and started wearing ‘skateboarder clothes.’ I was terrible at skating, but the clothes remained.

He was smart, I took to the creative arts. He was logically sound; some would say he’s math smart. Not that being math smart is a thing. I always thought it was an excuse for people to be lazy. “Oh, I’m not naturally mathematic,” or, “I just don’t have the math gene.” I can do math, and I do it very well. It was my decision to start writing, mostly to take my brain diarrhea and spill it on paper. I’m not a ‘natural writer,’ it took a lot of work, time, and solitude to be this average.

He was athletic, I played different positions. That can totally be read as homo-erotic and incestual, but I won’t change it. My brother and I played football and ran track. He was a cornerback, I was a noseguard. He ran the 400, I ran the hurdles.

He was good with girls, I’m uhh still not.

The first half of my tagline, the ‘drunk conversations’ part, has less to do with alcohol and more to do with my social competence. I’m introverted, I’ve mentioned that before and I’ll mention it again, but I shine in one-on-one interactions. And I shine the brightest when I’m drunk or very tired. It must be this energy thing (refer back to Steven’s Energy), because I’m very surface level when I’m awake and moving. I observe my surroundings, joke around, let my mind go wherever it pleases. I indulge on video games and television and food and sex. It’s like I’m punishing my brain for trying so hard. And I’ve never been one of these people who love hearing their voice. It’s difficult for me to talk without purpose so I’d rather stay silent. I can’t do the masturbatory intellectual monologues with the academic language and the closed eyes with the elevated chin. However, drinking hyper-focuses my mind on whatever is in front of me. I’m sure it does that for most people, but my mind is all fucked and it helps slow it down. When I’m drinking I can have meaningful conversations. I can care and listen and digest people’s thoughts and ideas. I can riff and raff and enjoy another person without wishing I was alone in my room, comfortable and safe. Drinking makes me love my voice. Myself even. And life and music. It’s fucked and I’m aware enough to understand that I use alcohol as a crutch. But so it goes.

This is more or less a drunk conversation, only it’s 3:17am and I’m sober. Hope it was boring enough to justify my tagline.


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