Hairy Asian Chode Stack
I've been feeling sort of crappy this past week. I think I can place full blame on the weather. I absolutely abhor weather like this, that sort of cold, damp, grey, windy, drizzly shit that must mean God has PMS (She's a woman, you know). Which is why I was none too excited about National Talk Like A Pirate Day, a day that usually would brighten my spirits and improve my overall morale. I was reminded of this holiday the night before, which is way too short of notice. Plus it was a Tuesday. Essentially just a shit day that I felt no desire to go "Yarr" and shanty about. Too bad, because usually these are revered past times of mine. But I was totally not in the mood.
I realized on my birthday last year that I don't like holidays. Holidays sneak up on you and tell you what to do, and I'm uncomfortable with that. Here was a day that I'm supposed to be lively, surly, and pirate-like for the enjoyment and amusement of myself and those around me, and I could barely muster a piddly R. It was depressing. All I wanted to do that day was sit and be by myself. I would've been perfectly happy just being a sad sack in my room all night, but here I am invited to this party where I have to drink rum straight out of the bottle (which, for those of you who know me know that is my one weakness) and chortle with reckless abandon and glee. I was not feeling that at all. Much like on my birthday, where I felt like anti-celebrating: Here I was, 20 years old. The shitty, pointless birthday where you can't even drink your sorrows away. I did nothing that night, which was exactly what I wanted to do. I was in the mood to hate the world, to mutter "Fuck" to myself as assholes passed by outside. I wanted to be a damn recluse who was hated by all. I wanted to wallow in my sadness. I did. It made me think of Christmas, Thanksgiving, Halloween, Easter, New Years Eve, all the holidays that once excited me at the mere prospect. I would get giddy as a child waiting for Halloween, preparing a costume long in advance, excited for candy. No more. Now holidays seem to creep up on me, conjoling me into celebrating when I don't want to. Last Halloween I sat on the computer, sick as a fucking dog, waiting for children to come to my door and get candy. One family did and that was it. I surfed the internet, ate some candy and went to sleep. It might as well have been any other day. And I wasn't even really disappointed in the lackluster day; frankly, I was somewhat releived that I didn't have to go expend energy on doing things. I don't know when this blase feeling towards holidays began; I guess it was so depressingly subtle I never noticed.
I've always been a proponent of not being guided by the day but guiding the day. If you want to talk like a pirate, don't let some punk-ass day sneak up on you and tell you when. Wake up one morning, dress to the nines in pirate gear, and Yaarr at every motherfucker that passes your way. Steal a bag of chocolate gold coins from the local convenience store at sword-point and ride away on a stolen skateboard with a sail, cackling all the way to your wenches shore. No need to do it on Talk Like A Pirate Day. Do it when you feel like it. What right does a holiday have to tell you what to do?
So my attitude on Tuesday was quite poor. I was thinking to myself I wanted nothing to do with pirates, drinking, or anything of the like. I was fully prepared to sit in and be bummed all night. I certainly had gotten used to that last year. But I went to the party anyway. Good to stop in and say "Hi" to the folks there. Except there was no one there. It was just me, my friend Skippy and a handle of Captains. I didn't want to drink that night, because, as I had been advised, Depressants + Depression = Rocky Shores Ahead. So I had a little bit (I can never completely turn down free booze. Come on now). Eventually my roomates and our friend Nathan showed up, and we just drank and talked. Ocassionally we'd Yaar. I eventually stepped up and drank straight from the bottle. We reminisced about good times in the past, ate Loaded Spud chips, and generally had a merry time. We all left ridiculously drunk. I had had a wonderful time, completely unexpectedly.
I got to thinking that night that holidays can't possibly be so bad if I had so much fun. I don't like being forced into anything, even if it's having a good time, but sometimes I need to. Part of me, a part that was for so long very prominent, always wants to sit alone, do nothing, and give into my sorrow and laziness. It is incredibly nice to have the ocassional push in the right direction to let me know life is not the shit-hole I've made it out to be, it's not over, and I shouldn't resign myself to any negative feelings. So I now understand and appreciate holidays, perhaps even better than I ever did as a child. Christmas used to be about presents, Halloween used to be about candy. And they still are, and always will be. But now I can go in seeing them as reasons for life being worth living.
Thank God Talk Like A Pirate Day happened in September. I would've missed out on a lot.
I realized on my birthday last year that I don't like holidays. Holidays sneak up on you and tell you what to do, and I'm uncomfortable with that. Here was a day that I'm supposed to be lively, surly, and pirate-like for the enjoyment and amusement of myself and those around me, and I could barely muster a piddly R. It was depressing. All I wanted to do that day was sit and be by myself. I would've been perfectly happy just being a sad sack in my room all night, but here I am invited to this party where I have to drink rum straight out of the bottle (which, for those of you who know me know that is my one weakness) and chortle with reckless abandon and glee. I was not feeling that at all. Much like on my birthday, where I felt like anti-celebrating: Here I was, 20 years old. The shitty, pointless birthday where you can't even drink your sorrows away. I did nothing that night, which was exactly what I wanted to do. I was in the mood to hate the world, to mutter "Fuck" to myself as assholes passed by outside. I wanted to be a damn recluse who was hated by all. I wanted to wallow in my sadness. I did. It made me think of Christmas, Thanksgiving, Halloween, Easter, New Years Eve, all the holidays that once excited me at the mere prospect. I would get giddy as a child waiting for Halloween, preparing a costume long in advance, excited for candy. No more. Now holidays seem to creep up on me, conjoling me into celebrating when I don't want to. Last Halloween I sat on the computer, sick as a fucking dog, waiting for children to come to my door and get candy. One family did and that was it. I surfed the internet, ate some candy and went to sleep. It might as well have been any other day. And I wasn't even really disappointed in the lackluster day; frankly, I was somewhat releived that I didn't have to go expend energy on doing things. I don't know when this blase feeling towards holidays began; I guess it was so depressingly subtle I never noticed.
I've always been a proponent of not being guided by the day but guiding the day. If you want to talk like a pirate, don't let some punk-ass day sneak up on you and tell you when. Wake up one morning, dress to the nines in pirate gear, and Yaarr at every motherfucker that passes your way. Steal a bag of chocolate gold coins from the local convenience store at sword-point and ride away on a stolen skateboard with a sail, cackling all the way to your wenches shore. No need to do it on Talk Like A Pirate Day. Do it when you feel like it. What right does a holiday have to tell you what to do?
So my attitude on Tuesday was quite poor. I was thinking to myself I wanted nothing to do with pirates, drinking, or anything of the like. I was fully prepared to sit in and be bummed all night. I certainly had gotten used to that last year. But I went to the party anyway. Good to stop in and say "Hi" to the folks there. Except there was no one there. It was just me, my friend Skippy and a handle of Captains. I didn't want to drink that night, because, as I had been advised, Depressants + Depression = Rocky Shores Ahead. So I had a little bit (I can never completely turn down free booze. Come on now). Eventually my roomates and our friend Nathan showed up, and we just drank and talked. Ocassionally we'd Yaar. I eventually stepped up and drank straight from the bottle. We reminisced about good times in the past, ate Loaded Spud chips, and generally had a merry time. We all left ridiculously drunk. I had had a wonderful time, completely unexpectedly.
I got to thinking that night that holidays can't possibly be so bad if I had so much fun. I don't like being forced into anything, even if it's having a good time, but sometimes I need to. Part of me, a part that was for so long very prominent, always wants to sit alone, do nothing, and give into my sorrow and laziness. It is incredibly nice to have the ocassional push in the right direction to let me know life is not the shit-hole I've made it out to be, it's not over, and I shouldn't resign myself to any negative feelings. So I now understand and appreciate holidays, perhaps even better than I ever did as a child. Christmas used to be about presents, Halloween used to be about candy. And they still are, and always will be. But now I can go in seeing them as reasons for life being worth living.
Thank God Talk Like A Pirate Day happened in September. I would've missed out on a lot.
posted by MC Harv at 8:39 PM
3 comments
