Brennan Failed

To start, I'll just go ahead and admit that on walking into the midnight showing of 'Inglorious Basterds' on thursday, I ran into a wall. You might recall my last post, when I ran into a door. I did not simply graze the wall, no no no. The wall met my face and knee with brazen impact. My knee and brain were on fire for the entirety of the Nazi-killing. If that alone did not make me feel like a fool, it happened because I was looking down at my borrowed Nintendo dsl. My eyes focused on the little screen, gathering force gems in order to open the next chamber & shooting phantoms in the back with my bow and arrow, I forgot that if you don't want to run into walls, you must look at where you walk. Not to say I don't run into things when I am looking at where I walk, but usually I can count rigid walls out of the picture when that's the case.

The most interesting part of this preposterous event is that I was asked by at least three people, when I told them what happened, "what'd ya do that for?"

Well I was merely most intrigued by the wall's solid nature and was wondering how it might feel to crush my kneecap and skull right against it to the point of seeing stars for numerous minutes. OBVIOUSLY.

More important than that atrocity, though, is a description of my new neighbor and what happened when we met.

I arrived home sometime in the middle of night. I saw him lingering out by his car. His spiked blonde hair shone among the midnight sky. Never a good sign after 1996. He had a drink in one hand, a cigarette in the other, but he was one of the people who DO NOT look cool when smoking. Intending to walk straight into my house without a word, I strode confidently past his house and toward my own. Sensing his goal but dreading it, out it came desperate and disgusting. "Hi. I'm Brennan." And although multiple feet away, I give a sort of halfhearted "Oh hello... I'm j..." over my shoulder. "So how old are you?" came his inevitable reply. "I'm 21." No kindness was in my voice. Even when there IS kindness in my voice, most human beings cannot sense it (or so I'm told). But on he went, "So you are 21? That's cool, j... you like to go downtown, j? A bunch of my friends like that.. we like to go down there... do you ever go down there for bars or anything?" "I'm not much of a partier..." I said. "Yeah, me neither," he said, taking a gulp from his cup, the smoke from his cig drifting over the hedges. "But seriously," he continued, "would you wanna go downtown sometime?"

There was a point in my life when I decided that it was okay for me to be blunt, even though I'm simultaneously praised and despised for it (but mainly despised). At that point in the past, I discovered that there is no point in putting up with downright simpletons. I don't have to deal with idiotic children my age who do not understand what it means when someone doesn't want to speak to them and who wear oversized Bob Marley t-shirts that they probably bought in union square on their family trip to NY, sag their pants, hang out next to their car with the beat up fender, drive terribly, and prey on people who obviously don't give two cockroaches who they are or where they want to go because when it comes down to life in general, they want to go nowhere.

So I said

"No. I hate downtown." which was entirely true, and as he stood there speechless I went inside.

On a fabulous note, I got to hang out with my accomplice the other day. I call her my accomplice because she's my right hand lady cousin. We rip up the mall with our dweeby antics, and we stay in victoria's secret dressing rooms for far too long.

PS. I'm sorry if anyone likes Bob Marley... for some reason the oversized Marley shirt is too much for me to handle. It may also be because my older brother's hippie moron of a girlfriend always wore one... the same one... every day while she was living in his twin bed and feeding out of our refrigerator like a parasite. Sometimes explanations are important.