I've never had a lot of female friends. Early on in my life as a fat kid with a lisp, I was tormented by my fellow female classmates. Recently, I had the exact same feeling I used to get when I was invited to slumber parties in 6th grade. I specify the 6th grade because that is when people suck the hardest in life.
At 32 years old, I didn't realize it was possible to still have the exact same feeling I did when I would be trapped at a girl's slumber party against my will in the 6th grade.
I guess I'll begin my story now...
Recently I have had meetings with someone regarding some professional endeavors that I was told this person would be an appropriate facilitator to expanding these endeavors to a bigger audience. I'm speaking in code because I have too. Sorry.
Most of the time I have the feeling that I was put on earth as a big fat joke and at any moment I'll be beamed back up to my home planet where we can all have a good laugh about "that one time when I was sent to earth." You know when you see that leathery methhead with the Skeletor face under the overpass and they are just gettin' after it talking to themselves? They are in a crazy bubble and have no idea what is happening outside of that sphere of rotting mental consciousness, right? Right. If the saying "history repeats itself" is a true statement then I can honestly say that I'm on a repeating loop of the same situations/same type of people but with different costumes on. It's like watching the zombie in the Resident Evil video game that is hung up on the pixel and is continuously walking into the wall about 2 inches from the open door.... THAT is my life. So what do I do? I reset the "PS3" and hope that it healed itself or I just stop playing the game for a while. I realize that was potentially the longest and strangest metaphor I could come up... Roll with it.
So.... This story begins with a friend of a friend of a friend who recommended this person professionally. The function of this person is still relatively unknown to me but I was convinced to give them my time because they have some great ideas to slam on the table. I should've known from the get-go that it was nothing more than horseshit because the initial email dialog contained nothing but exclamation points and flash created smiley face icons with various hats on. I hate that shit. Actually from now on if I get an email with that bullshit in it, I'm going to reply to them with a computer virus in an attachment entitled: LOL
After working a 10 hour day I decide to go have this meeting. Worst decision ever. A revolving door of chaos began the second I walked into the crazy bubble of this person. With wine stained teeth, sloppy overly emotional monologues about internet love and the attention span of a dying fruit fly, I knew anger tossed in shame would be the result of this meeting. Remember in that movie "Contact" when they get the transmission from outerspace and it was white noise with the pulsating sub-phonic humming intermixed with imagery of apocalyptically tragic events in history...then a butterfly or a child picking a flower... then Hitler... then back to the static again.... Remember that? No you don't do you?
Anyway, that was what it was like to try and hold a conversation with this chick about business endeavors... WHICH IS WHY I WAS THERE IN THE FIRST PLACE!
I had the friend one time who had terrible emotional problems and he would go into grocery stores and crush loaves of bread to get kill out of himself. Let me say this- That day I had some kill in me before I met with "The Professional." No lie, I remember looking up and seeing a baguette and thinking of how great it would feel to dig my nails into it.
Several hours go by and this chick is DRRRUNK. Really drunk. Nothing professional has been discussed at all and now there was a new member of our meeting... a random guy that she was making out with. This is where the slumber party analogy comes into play. THE SAME FEELING that I had in 6th grade when a group of chicks would invite over guys to make out with and somehow I ended up watching C-SPAN with my friend's dad in the garage feelin' like an asshole.
Bottom line is this... I have nothing to report about this yet because it isn't over. I'm looking at it as material ripe for the pickin'. I can't get too specific in this blog but rest assured there was a lot of juicy juice comedy nuggets that came from that night. Some things are so funny and so specific that if I wrote about it, a few people would definitely know who I'm wrecking on.
If I have time and a way to block a few people from reading this, I will continue on with the story later.
Until then, drink some wine and watch "Contact."
