Damages in The Stuff That's Not Interesting But Is The Most Interesting Stuff I'll Write

I wrote recently on another blog about how I discovered I was part of this group of friends that I didn’t realize I had. Literally, the next day, I had a rude awakening regarding my friendship with the whole group.

I’m from a different time when I was an anomaly and straight people were my enemy. Sometimes I think that I’m paranoid and because I look for that kind of behavior I find it. In any event, with the exception of Kevin, I realized that noboby in that whole group actually wants to spend any time with me. Except for the other two, whom I ran into when I decided upon a different course of action.

I decided to go out on my own like I used to. I spent most of my twenties alone in that very club laughing and drinking and meeting new people. Why does that seem so impossible in your thirties? Is it because I’ve embraced my cynicism to such a degree that I can no longer stuff it underneath a haze of vodka and kisses.

In fact, when I was talking to someone, I casually mentioned that I wasn’t a fan of the new Beyoncé song because I felt like it exploited the Black Power Movement. Then I had a drink thrown in my face. I’m not kidding, like in a movie, I had a drink thrown in my face.

Another guy on the dance floor came up to me, patted me on the shoulder and told me to shake it off. Ironically, I did just that. I wasn’t too bothered. Except for the fact that the next couple of days I wondered whether or not it would be possible for me to have a relationship with a non-white man. But that’s a whole different entry.

Needless to say, the night didn’t end well. So I decided to try again. This time, someone bumped into me and a beer bottle chipped my tooth. No kidding. I look like Jim Carrey from Dumb and Dumber now. Not that my teeth were ever flawless. The first day I got a bicycle when I was a child, they put me on it and went inside the house. All they told me was to pedal; they didn’t tell me how to steer. So when I started pedaling and the handlebars turned toward the 1954 Chevy pickup truck in the driveway, I didn’t know how to turn away or how to break. I slammed into the truck and my bottom teeth were completely screwed up. I’ve had crooked teeth ever since. A dentist even told me that there’s no way to get them straight unless I remove them all and get dentures.

A drink thrown in my face, a chipped tooth, someone might see those as signs. Not me. This is the wreckage of my social life, the wasteland of damages that I’ve left in the wake of trying to find myself here in my hometown. There’s nothing for me here, I just have to bide my time and get ready for whatever’s next.