The never-ending quest for non-sobriety. Things are looking bleak in NJ for any good sources, so it was a trip to LI that had to be made. I had the best chinese food ever. No, seriously... it was the best EVER. Real chicken. Not rubbery and nondescript. Anyway. I had the pleasure of meeting the most plastic female on the planet last night. Her voice: shrilly. Her intelligence: not present. She was truly something I like to call a "defining moment." "Defining moments" are those times where you're observing people, usually in small to medium gatherings, and you pick one person out of the rest to study and you then begin to assess their personality and lifestyle. After studying them for a short amount of time, you notice they do something that completely fits your assessment of them, and at that moment, you know you were correct. This is a "defining moment" and they make me giddy. This girl was maddening. Saturday nights are usually poker nights, and this jewish-looking chick wanted to so desperately fit in that it was nauseating. She called me "sweetheart" which is an immediate sign to me that she's a phoney POS, especially since she was the same age as I am. Anyone who is the same age as you, and calls you 'sweety' or 'sweetheart' should be automatically qualified as a shitbag, as the red flags flap about in the torrent wind of their bullshit. Pete and I just watched her, and rolled our eyes time after time at this chick's lameness. She waxed intellectual about football, in a room full of crazed fantasy football guys. Bad move. She made it painfully clear that she was a tool, as all of her info was way off and sounded as if she heard it somewhere while half paying attention, and wanted to be down and parroted it, but was completely wrong. It was humorous. I laughed much. As we were leaving, she said "It was SOOOO great to meet you! I had a lot of fun!" meanwhile, I didn't say word ONE to her. So I stare at her blankly and said, "You don't even remember my name." and she just kind of giggled in a confused manner, knowing she had just been caught red handed, playing the "I'm a big plastic asshole!" game. I thanked whomever there was to thank that I'm nothing like this girl. I may be a sarcastic, blunt, troublingly honest prick, but at least I don't deny it. I generally don't hate people per se, I see them more as objects to be pitied. I don't see myself as better; I see myself as different, but nothing completely unique. I guess you could say I'm your average schlep interested in talking about those things which no one talks about, and becoming emersed in debates as to whether or not tomato sauce is a condiment, and what the ACTUAL definition of condiment really is. I must be off to scour away the dead skin cells and replenish the sheen to the proteins growing out of my skull. Hair is weird.
Fakeness
11:52 a.m.//01.09.05
Current state: Worn out
Sound: Silence (IS GOLDEN!)
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