It is very rare that I get an actual idea for this blog. I usually wait for inspiration to strike, unsuccessfully, and right at the end of the week, somewhere around Saturday night, I get desperate and either accept that some kind of revealing/ embarrassing secret would be told the next week, or write a shitty rant about something. Sometimes even when I do have an idea, it doesn’t work out too well, but because its Saturday and I spent time and effort on writing some fucking bullshit, I put it up anyway. But right now, inspiration is here, in a form that I would never have thought inspiration would take.
I have in my house right now, that most dreaded thing that we young adults have in lieu of socializing – visitors. And they are the exact kind of visitors to detest. Not because they are hateful people, I’m sure they’re not. If they were, then at least you could sit there and listen to them and their hateful talk, and feel amused and superior in your ability to not tear their heads off. No, these are the worst kind of visitors, i.e. relatives of an entirely unknown nature. That is, they are unknown to me. My mom’s someone’s something’s someone.
The irritating part is, I’m fairly certain that if my dad’s someone’s something’s someone came along for a visit, they would probably be equally boring. But the thing I appreciate about my dad is that he doesn’t bother to be in touch with many of his someone’s something’s someone’s. Precisely because they would be the dullest thing to happen to the house since they inexplicably painted it a puke green. Which is not dull, really; its incredibly poignant – it’s a puke green, which if you think too much about, you may be induced to puke. Circle of life of paint and vomit. I will, later in my life, write a book titled “Life of Paint and Puke.” It could be a tell all book about the people I went to law school with, who will probably be some kind of big shots in whatever they do in fifteen to twenty years. Or it could be a parody of “Life of Pi”. I am so-o-o changeable. Hehe. Moffat!
Anyway, this has led me to wonder about all of the things that adults do that make absolutely no sense to me. And I say this knowing full well that my future self may just evolve into one of those pompous creatures that go by that terrible honorific – and I use that word very lightly – of ‘adult’. Not everybody has the good fortune to be as in sync with their younger selves as Stephen Fry, I say with the kind of authority that only youth or debilitating age can bring into discussions about ‘life’.
ME: Enough with the Mamet/Gilmore-speak! Get to the point.
Right. As with my previous post that involved listing things, this will be mildly scattered, given the fact that I will occasionally leave to either get some food (the only good part about visitors like these) or stare at myself in the mirror, wondering about eyebrows, facial hair and make-up. And my pores. Also, since I have promised myself no bullet pointing here, I will refrain from numbering as well. I should mention that some of these behaviors are exhibited by people my age as well. This post may just be a testimony to how much I dislike social niceties.
So. Let’s get to it, shall we? Why do adults have awkward silences? I’m not trying to say that I don’t have awkward silences. I do. But these are brought on by something awkward/ uncomfortable someone said, or did, or someone said about someone doing something. And its always in a group of friends. Then, people my age shut up for about five seconds and then either dilute the situation by saying “Crickets” or taper off into something else.
Adult awkward silences are different. They are brought on because people have nothing to say. And it can happen with an astonishingly large number of people. They would laugh about something in loud, raucous unison which would be audible all the way over in the young people room. This laughter would fade away into the void, leaving behind five to ten adults with after-laugh-not-really-there-anymore smiles on their faces. All of them apparently having a collective brain-freeze on talking points. Then they will sit in silence for about five seconds, in which time, one of the women will bring up some food, or one of the men will bring up either sports or politics. Yeah, I went there. Sue me for being so gender stereotype-y, but that’s what happens most of the times.
Here is what I don’t understand – if you have nothing to say, why not just split up into smaller groups of people who like each other, and do have things to say to each other, and then talk? I know, because its just not done. But seriously, why the fuck not? Or if it’s a group that’s made up of three to five people all doing the after laugh awkward pause, or even the no-conversation-left awkward pause, or the oh-no-we-mentioned-that-thing-all-of-us-non-verbally-agreed-to-not-mention awkward pause, then my question to you is, why on earth are you meeting up with a group of two to three people whom you have nothing to say to? Why? Why are you socializing with people you cant be friends with? Especially if you’re married? Since you already found yourself a fuck buddy for life, the only thing left in socializing should be a drinking buddy or a buddy-buddy. And so many awkward pauses means you’re not going to be buddies-buddies. It means you’re going to fuck-buddies. It’s complicated. See what I did there? Tera tera tera suroooooooor.
Next – why do adults always need to take their children along? I swear to you, we as young adults who barely know each other, have things like books and movies to talk about and as a result, will always have better conversations than you as adults who have nothing of the sort. And yet, I swear to you, none of us really want to visit each other, despite the fact that we have better conversations. You adults bring us along, presumably as a ghastly coming-out/ initiation ritual into the lifelong affliction of meeting people you’re not friends with. More likely, you do it to have more people around to diffuse the awkward.
And here is one of the few things in this long list of absurdities that is actually a bit morally decrepit. Why do you always behave like interfering, judgmental, mean-ass people? “She was wearing blah blah blah, and I don’t like it because blah blah blah” Yeah well, if I wore that, I sure won’t give a fuck what some forty year old busybody thought about it. “You know, he’s a insert-derogatory-tone-into-social group-here. They’re all a bit manipulative/ stingy/ backward/ stupid”. Shut up. Nobody wants to know your opinions, especially when your opinions belong in your ass.
Next, why do the grown ups always want to know how much you’re enjoying things? This may be personal to me, but I really don’t enjoy most of the things they ask me about. College – no, not really. The dinner conversation – no. The people I meet at internships – mostly, no, with a few delightful exceptions. But I cant really say that because the question is “How much are you enjoying this?” Like not enjoying it has not occurred to them. And trust me, I have tried to say that I don’t enjoy it. This more often than not leads to a lecture on how we have to get along with people, struggle, make friends, have polite conversations at dinner parties, in life. No. That is the premise of your social life. I can choose to not make that my social life when I get my adult trophy as hyperboleandahalf puts it.
Why do they behave like what you do with your time on the internet has no value? Granted, twitter or facebook may not be great things as such, but where they lead you, i.e. completely amazing educational videos or blogs, introduce you to new ideas, etc. is very valuable. And when you try to show the adults, they always behave like it’s a phase that the internet and you are going through.
And that brings me to my next conundrum. Why do the adults think that every personal or professional decision you have come to at the age of 21 or 22 is a ‘phase’? Granted, I may change my mind about becoming a tattoo artist but at least give me the benefit of the doubt when I say to you that I may not want to get married. It’s not even a definitive statement. It’s a probably. What is so wrong in admitting that I may not in fact want to get married? Or that I may not in fact, want to make more money than necessary for food and internet? Or that I may in fact like both men and women? Or that my friends do? And that it’s an actual life, and not just a phase that we’re talking about?
I have to point out that adults also have a painful habit of telling their problems to everyone who fits in the descriptor of ‘friends’ in their lives. I don’t mean that I don’t tell my friends about problems. God knows they would drug me if I didn’t tell them. What I mean is that there are friends and then there are friends. I tell about four to five people about my problems and my plans. Almost everybody I know tells four to five people about their problems. Not adults. Adults tell their work friends, their college friends, their proper friends, their friends whom they met after ten years, their friends who are friends because of common friends, their relative/ friends, all of these people, about their problems. And you know what? More power to them. Tell who you want. But then they tell each other about other people’s problems. Specifically, about my problems. Not just problems, no. They tell each other about my opinions. And my dreams. And my interests. In the above mentioned tone of superior know-it-all-ness.
And then all of these adults who know about my stuff would somehow think its okay to talk to me about it. It really isn’t. I would ask for your opinion if I wanted it. And you are not close enough to me to tell me even if I don’t want to hear it. That authority is reserved for my parents, sisters and friends. Not person whom I call uncle/aunty.
And why do they care what I eat? Or when I sleep? Or how much I sleep? Or where I sleep? Really, they care too much about sleeping. And trust me, as a student, I know the value of good sleep, but not so much that I have to tell other people about it. The whole sleep thing is strange. Is it one of the points that you have to remember from your ‘proper grown-up adult’ handbook? “An inordinate amount of concern over the sleep patterns of all people you come in contact with is one of the qualifying characteristics that define you as a proper grown-up adult.” *read that last bit in robotic yet sickly sweet British accent*
Why are they – and this is specifically about parents (like the others weren’t. hehe. But no, this is specifically about parents) – so uncomfortable about sex? I know you don’t want to imagine your babies swoodlypooping. I doubt your babies want to come to you and talk about swoodlypooping (Anybody get that reference? Anyone??). But just the mention of swoodlypooping, and they can’t look you in the eyes anymore. Just because I know it exists doesn’t mean I’m going to be the next Candy Fiveways.
Okay. That’s 2000 words. I think its enough. Bye bye.
ME: At least there was no emo stuff this time.
me: Yeah. I have no more tears left. I started taking this new medication. Its about 40 percent cocaine. It adds some much needed pizzaz to me life.
ME: Shut up.
Anyway, what else is up?
I finished reading A Widow for One Year which had a surprisingly happy ending. Compared to his other books. I already mentioned these on facebook, but since they got likes I figure it couldn’t hurt to say it again.
“Who can distinguish between falling in love and imagining falling in love? Even genuinely falling in love is an act of the imagination.”
“(He) was as deceitful as a damaged condom.”
So I will be moving on to Moab is My Washpot. I have high expectations.
I have discovered/ admitted to my unbridled lust for Jonny Lee Miller. That is one fine piece of British ass. I haven’t become a fan of Elementary or anything. I just watch it because of his face and his body. I gots needs.
I just watched the Lizzie Bennet Diaries. Darcy is really making me happy with his face, and his awkwardness. Oh yes, I likes that man.
Funny and interesting sign-off.