Why I might be Crazy, v2.0: She’s like a friggin’ Jedi

Oh, she’s good.  She’s continued to take and take, while giving nothing, and she’s managed to make me feel like the whole thing is my fault.  She’s like a friggin’ Jedi.

The Latest:  She asked if I consider myself single.  “Yes,” I reply, since I don’t have a girlfriend.  The follow up question was, “So if a girl asked you out on a date, you would go?”  “Sure,” I said, “depending on the girl.  If I wanted to go.”  Let’s unpack this for a second.  Societal norms in American culture dictate that in heterosexual dating, the man usually asks the woman out on a date.  I can’t remember the last time I was asked out that didn’t involve the name Sadie Hawkins.  But ok, if this mythical female asker-outer, who has somehow caught my eye, asks me out and I want to go, then yes, I’d probably go.  Hypothetically.

“Then you’re not choosing me.”

She proceeds to tell me that she’s going to accept the fact that we’ve broken up (2 months ago), and she’s going to move on.  OK, so what she wants is a guy to date her exclusively.  Back in the Philippines, we have a term for something like that.  It’s…um… BOYFRIEND.

The nail in the coffin is that I’ve been walking around for the past few days feeling guilty about hurting her.  But wait, what exactly did I do to her?  Break up with her 2 months ago?

She told me that the reason she didn’t want to talk to me, during the weeks before we broke up, was that she thought we’d fight.  And she was so busy that she didn’t have time to fight with me.  I accept that.  We had been fighting.  Our recurring fight was that I was feeling like she was putting our relationship on the back burner (because she’s so “busy”), and it’s hard enough being long distance.  I just wanted some reassurance that she still wanted to be with me because her actions were saying otherwise.  Her response to me was that she didn’t want to feel responsible for my feeling secure in our relationship and that I should figure it out for myself.  So instead of continuing to be an active part of this relationship, she chose to duck and cover.

And now that we’re broken up, I’m supposed to choose her?

This coming from the woman who told me she didn’t want to be “in a relationship,” then continued to date me for 4 more months, saying that she wanted to see where things would go between us.  She eventually told me that she loved me, and a month later hooked up with another guy while she was out of town.  But she made me feel like I didn’t understand the circumstances because she had made it clear that we weren’t TECHNICALLY boyfriend/girlfriend.

She says things like, “You think I’m a horrible person,” and “I ruined your life.”  We even had a conversation a while back about how she felt that she had projected a lot of her guilt and insecurity on me throughout our relationship.  But it all came up again in this latest conversation.  How I think she’s a “bad person.”  The only thing I could say in reply is, “If you took a look at a transcript of our conversation, you wouldn’t see the words “bad person” until right now. YOU keep saying that, not me.”

Look, I know it’s hard, but sometimes when you fuck up, the best thing to do is admit it.  Going around saying, “but look at all the times I didn’t fuck up,” doesn’t really get you anywhere.  It makes you look like you’d rather protect your ginormous ego than admit that you did something wrong once.

“I hurt you and I’m sorry” goes a long way.  A much longer distance than “I didn’t do anything wrong!  except for that one thing.”  Because, ultimately, that one thing can be pretty important.

Her unwavering defense of her out-of-town make out only served to further devalue my feelings about the situation.  Every time she said, “I haven’t done anything since we’ve been exclusive,”  just reminded me that she still thinks that I was being unfair to her by allowing her cheating tendencies (for lack of a better term) to hurt me.

And now that we’re broken up, I’m supposed to be choosing her?

The big question mark in my brain was, why is she calling me from the grocery store to have this conversation?  Did she not think that this might be something I might want to talk about?  She kept saying that she HAD to talk to me today.  She HAD to. Then she abruptly had to go because other people were depending on her for something.  Her roommates were leaving to go somewhere.

Through the magic of facebook, I found out that they were going to a party.  Ahhhhhh, so.  She HAD to talk to me?  That day?  Before the party?

OK, I’m not an idiot.  I’ve been made to feel like my imagination is overactive at times, but come on.  Is it possible that she called to get my “permission” to make out with whoever this new guy is, and he was gonna be at the party?  She’s been so wracked with guilt since the last time she went out of town and made out with some guy, that this time she wanted to get me to push her into the arms of another guy.  I can hear her rationalization right now.  “But I told you that since you weren’t choosing me that I was going to move on.”

Oh, she’s good.  She’s continued to take and take, while giving nothing, and she’s managed to make me feel like the whole thing is my fault.  She’s like a friggin’ Jedi.

Why I Might be Crazy

As I watched the Vikings game today, I thought about how shitty it must be to be a place kicker in the NFL.  A lot of times, your team will run out the clock putting all their trust, hopes, and dreams on you to put it between the uprights.  You get one shot.  One moment can drastically change your life.

I might be crazy.  It’s like the episode of the Twilight Zone where everybody’s face is jacked up except for that one woman, who’s gorgeous by our standards, but they keep telling her that she needs to get plastic surgery.  Yep, it’s that kind of crazy.

I keep hoping that there’s a woman out there who can tell me she loves me without completely betraying my trust.  I’ve been told that it was my fault for not satisfying her needs, or that “it just happened,” or I was being unreasonable because, based on some technicality, we weren’t boyfriend/girlfriend.

I feel like I’m the crazy one because there are people out there who wonder why I’m not married, tell me I’m a catch, and say all kinds of nice things about me.  But for some reason, the women I’m attracted to make me feel like what I bring to the table isn’t that special.

I feel crazy because I’m starting to think that saying I love you is one of the worst things you can say to a person.  Those who know don’t talk and those who talk don’t know.  When someone says that they love you, I’d really like to believe them, but I don’t.  Just shut up and put your money where your mouth is.

I might be crazy because I thought that being in love was enough for someone to want to be in a relationship with you.  Apparently it isn’t.  I guess this is like Junior High all over again.  You gotta pass her a note that says, “Will you go out with me?  Check yes, no, or maybe.”

I might be crazy because if you’re with me, I’ll probably assume that you are going to run off on me.

It’s the knee jerk reactions.  I recently called my X (yes, we’ve started talking again) and she didn’t pick up.  Usually she turns off her phone when she’s going to bed, so I was surprised that it rang and she didn’t answer.  But the knee jerk was this:  Instead of thinking, “maybe she’s asleep,” I thought, “She’s probably with some guy.”

I can look at a picture of a group of people and tell if anyone in the picture has a crush on anyone else.  In the past, I’ve used this skill to determine whether or not my girlfriend has been cheating on me.  And I’ve been right every time.  It’s just like Spiderman says, with great power comes great responsibility.  I gotta figure out how to deal with this superpower.

I wish that one day someone will look at me and tell their friends that I’m too happy to realize how miserable I am, rather than the other way around.

It would be different if I wasn’t constantly hearing from my female friends about their loser boyfriends and how they won’t even take them to the movie they want to see or call at decent intervals.  It would be different if I didn’t see these amazing women settling for these nothing guys.  It would be different if I could just take every cheating, ignorant, overly aggressive, “bad boy” aside, smack them upside the head and tell them they’re making me look bad.  But the reality is that they are the ones who make me look good.  But still either not good enough or too good to be true.

Doc Brown and Marty McFly taught me about the space-time continuum.  One moment can change the course of history.  And sometimes I just want to hop in my Delorian and go back 10 minutes before she kisses him and tell her that she’s throwing it all away.  But I shouldn’t have to.  She’s not an idiot.  She, like a drug addict, took full stock of me and our future together and still decided to get her fix.

And that one moment changed everything.

Dum Spiro Spero

President Obama campaigned on the words Hope and Change.  And while you might disagree with his politics, I think we can all agree that Hope is something we all need in our lives.  Especially if you come from South Carolina, where your state motto is Dum Spiro Spero: While I breathe, I hope.

Maybe there’s something in the air down in South Carolina.  Cuz the people have been breathing in and out and have chosen 2 real winners to represent them:  Gov. Mark “I believe in the Sanctity of Marriage” Sanford, and Congressman Joe “I disagree with you therefore you are a liar” Wilson.  Where have all the Southern Gentlemen gone?

The irony of one of the nation’s first tobacco producers having this as their state motto is not lost on these guys.  Gov.  Mark Sanford, who ‘disappeared’ for a weekend and was found trying to sneak away for an afternoon delight with his mistress in Argentina, has been a strong proponent of legally defining marriage as a union between a Man and a Woman because, well,  it’s sacred.  And now Congressman Joe Wilson showed how classy he keeps things in SC by shouting at the President of the United States during a Presidential Address to congress, in which President Obama said, among other things, that:

“…what we have also seen in these last months is the same partisan spectacle that only hardens the disdain many Americans have toward their own government. Instead of honest debate, we have seen scare tactics. Some have dug into unyielding ideological camps that offer no hope of compromise. Too many have used this as an opportunity to score short-term political points, even if it robs the country of our opportunity to solve a long-term challenge. And out of this blizzard of charges and counter-charges, confusion has reigned.

Well the time for bickering is over. The time for games has passed. Now is the season for action. Now is when we must bring the best ideas of both parties together, and show the American people that we can still do what we were sent here to do. Now is the time to deliver on health care…

…If you come to me with a serious set of proposals, I will be there to listen. My door is always open.  But know this: I will not waste time with those who have made the calculation that it’s better politics to kill this plan than improve it.”

Unfortunately, the story isn’t the President’s health care plan anymore.  The story now is how bitter, cynical, and classless the Republican party has become.  And that bitterness, cynicism, and classlessness has been given a face.  A face that bears a striking resemblance to Congressman Joe Wilson.

I think it’s safe to say that Congressman Wilson’s political career is in need of some quality health care if it’s gonna survive.  But it’s not dead, yet.  When your life, political or otherwise, is teetering on the brink, it’s important to remember that there’s always hope.

Post Hoc Ergo Propter Hoc

God is Love.
Love is Blind.
Stevie Wonder is Blind.
Therefore:
Stevie Wonder is God.

For all you non-dead-language-speakers, post hoc ergo propter hoc is Latin for: after this, therefore because of this.  It sounds like it’s one of those old timey proverbs that seem to make sense, especially since it’s in Latin.  The problem is that it’s almost never true in real life.

Here’s an example:  My roommate and I are both actors.  Last spring, we auditioned together for a show.  Neither of us were cast in the show.  So since then, we’ve said, “we better not audition together because neither of us will get the job.”

This is the equation for a lot of superstitions.  I was wearing this tie when I interviewed for the job I got, so this is my lucky tie.  I ordered this sandwich before we won the big game, so I should eat that sandwich before every game.  I paid down all my debt before the New Year, and I ended up making a lot of money that year, so I just need to pay off all my debts and I’ll have a prosperous year.

I’m bringing it up because it’s popped up in my life a few times lately and I thought it might do me some good to let the universe know, via blog, that I can take the hint.

It makes you feel good.  It makes you feel like you’re working toward something.  You feel productive.  But it can distract you from the really important stuff too.  As long as my roommate and I don’t audition together, I have a shot at getting cast.  OR, I could go to my voice lessons, and work on my scripts and be prepared for the audition.  Asking my roommate what time he’s auditioning is easier.

My girlfriend has been marveling at her tan legs lately.  I like her tan legs too, don’t get me wrong, but it’s possible that I just like her legs, but I digress.  She’s convinced that exposure to the sun will give her wrinkles, so she’s particularly careful about letting the sun shine on her face and hands.  That’s the other side of post hoc ergo propter hoc:  If I know this came after that, and If I want to avoid that from happening, I should avoid this.

So you start noticing overweight people eating ice cream and you cross that off the list.  Some friends got married, then divorced a few years later?  Cross marriage off the list.  You tell some friends that you were up for a big promotion at work, and you don’t get it.  I guess talking to your friends is off the list, too.  Pretty soon, you’re not living your own life.  You’re afraid of everything.

I remember back to the week I had a chance to go to Tibet.  The memory that sticks with me is how our guide, a man whose name escapes me, would smile like a Cheshire cat.  It would beam throughout our tour bus.  He had wrinkles, but his wrinkles told a story of happiness and joyful times in the company of friends.  And if that’s what I have to look forward to as I get older, I say bring on the wrinkles.  I’d venture to guess that, for the most part, it’s not exclusively the sun or the lack of skin cream that gives us wrinkles, it’s just a natural part of getting older.  But wouldn’t you want the lines on your face to be caused by joy rather than worry?  In truth, I’d rather have the inevitable wrinkles on my face come from living life to it’s fullest, instead of from trying desperately to to stop dead in my tracks before crossing some line drawn by someone else.

As I’ve been tempted to get myself into better shape, I looked online at diet pills recently.  Not my finest moments, but definitely frought with post hoc ergo propter Hoc mentality.  “Jimbo used to be this big, but after taking these pills he dropped 10 pant sizes!”  It made me think back to my Alcohol Awareness class that they make all the servers take.  The only thing that can sober a person up is time.  You have to put in the time.

So I’m going to the gym.  I’m putting in the time and hoping that in a little while I’ll see the fruits of my labor.  It’s frustrating for now, but hopefully that’ll go away soon.  I stepped on the scale today and saw that I gained weight.  For now, I’m going to believe that since muscles weigh more than fat, I’m packing on the muscles and the fat will melt off eventually.  But who knows?

All I Want for Christmas is You

I am being followed.   NO!  Don’t turn around.  They’ll see you.  Just keep walking.

It’s like that movie, Eagle Eye.  I don’t know how it knows where I am going, or where I’ll be.  But there it is.

I get in the car.  It’s on the radio.  I change the station.  IT’S ON THAT STATION TOO!  I went in to Herbergers after taking a picture with Santa for my mom, and it even found me in there.

I give.  Do with me what you will, Mariah.  You and your high notes that make the neighborhood dogs bark.  DO YOUR WORST.

What’s a guy gotta do to get a little fecking Christmas cheer?

People talk about “the season” and how it’s supposed to be filled with cheer ‘n shit.  Well, try walking around.  Look at the faces of the people.

Stress.

I’m all for chestnuts and roaring fires and cheesy holiday sweaters.  But why do we let “the season” get to us like this?  Today, I was doing a little light Christmas shopping and I was in a pretty good mood.  As I was leaving a store, a girl was on her way in.  I held the door for her and smiled.  The look of “why is this guy smiling at me?” flashed across her face.  Maybe she was having a bad day.  Then as I walked down the street a set of three people passed me, I smiled, again nothing.

Well, I’m not gonna let you muhfuggas get me down.  I WILL BE JOYOUS.  I WILL BE MERRY.  And if you don’t like it, you can shove it so far up your ass that you won’t see it again until the spring thaw.

My niece got a gift from Santa at a community Christmas event and complained, “Worst gift from Santa, EVER.”  She’s eleven.  I wanted to take her gift and give it to another kid.  I wanted her to sit in a cold alley with nothing between her and the outside world except a piece of cardboard.  But I got lost in this thought:

If this is the season of giving, why is there so much emphasis on what we WANT for Christmas?

We make lists.  We drop hints.  We daydream and wonder about what we’re gonna get.  We sit around asking each other what we want for Christmas.  Then we turn around and tell the kids that it’s not about what you get, it’s about giving.  But is it?  How many people do you see HAPPILY shopping this time of year?  We do it because we feel like we have to… or for fear of being judged by those around us who are expecting gifts from us.  For all the time we spend dropping hints there are minutes, hours, days that we could spend focusing on giving to someone else, or at very least, putting that energy into having a better attitude about it.

As I’ve gotten older, what I want for Christmas has gotten less and less important.  When I think about it, I feel like I have too much, if anything.  Why collect more things that will just end up communing with the rest of the mess in my apartment?  Well, because everyone else is doing it.

Then it hits me.  For some people this holiday might be about being “fair” and making sure that I have a gift for anyone who gives me one so that I won’t be embarrassed.  Or maybe it’s a collective succumbing to peer pressure.  But here’s the payoff:  I want to see faces light up.  Like when my baby nieces and nephews pull the wrapper off their presents and get excited just looking at the box.  Like a kid experiencing something magical.  Like when you show up with flowers for your date.  Like in those diamond commercials.  Like when your girlfriend realizes that you have, indeed, been paying attention this whole time.  Or like when you pass a stranger on the street, your eyes meet and you both smile.

Sit The F Down and Shut The F Up

Sorry to use strong consonants.  But lemme sing you a little song about democracy.  If you choose not to participate, then the only choice you give yourself is to SIT THE FUCK DOWN AND SHUT THE FUCK UP.  Cuz the rest of us showed up for the big dance.

Verse 1: The only way to know what you’re talking about is to know what you’re talking about.

Apparently there are all these Catholics up in arms about Altar Boyz.  The theater I’m working at right now has been fielding calls and doing damage control cuz some idiot WHO HASN’T SEEN THE SHOW decided that the show is sacrilegious and blasphemous and wants everybody to know it.  He got up on his high horse, wrote an email, and sent it to everyone in his address book.  Like good little lemmings, they forwarded it to everyone in their address book and we’re off to the races.  The email apparently suggests that people call the theater and express their displeasure for a show that mocks their faith.  But none of these people have seen the show.  NONE OF THESE PEOPLE HAVE SEEN THE SHOW.  So many Jesus quotes come to mind: He who is without sin cast the first stone, judge not and you will not be judged, why do you see the speck in your neighbor’s eye when there is a plank in your own.

See the show then you can hate it and tell your friends how terrible it is.  But until you see it, SIT THE FUCK DOWN AND SHUT THE FUCK UP.

Verse 2: If yer gonna Rock the Vote, at least read the instructions

Ok.  Maybe some of you didn’t take the SATs.  But I remember having to take standardized tests when I was in high school… you know, the “fill in the circle” kind?  And I’m all for creative expression, but I really believe that there are better places to do it than on your ballot.

As if the Californians who asked me how things are “on the east coast” when I told them I was from Minnesota didn’t already think that we’re just a bunch or hicks and rednecks (stupid Fargo accents notwithstanding), here we go again attracting attention to ourselves IN A NEGATIVE WAY.

After all this talk about how important it is to vote and do your civic doody, why we have these idiots who not only failed to read the instructions on HOW to vote, but (in classic passive-aggressive Minnesota fashion) didn’t even have the sense to ask one of the polling place workers for help.  Granted, most elections are not this close, but seriously?  Do you really want to be the guy that gets to yell “Hey ma! ther’ showin’ my ballot on the news!”

See, you might assume that the whole Rock the Vote thing is just to get people to the polls.  There is that component, but the way that is done is by saying, “Look, this is your chance to use your voice.  This is your shot to take part in democracy.”  But for those of you out there who didn’t take it seriously (who filled in the oval for a candidate and then wrote in Lizard People on your ballot, for example), unfortunately for you, you now get to sit down and S. T. F. U. for the next few years cuz you decided to throw away your vote by indulging in your once-every-four-years attempt at humor that no one will see or find funny.

There was a viral video that went around that was a fictonal newscast reporting that John McCain won by one vote and you could input the name of the person you were sending it to as the one person who didn’t vote that day.  We all had a good laugh about that, but now, here we are and the race is too close to call.  Nearly 3 million votes cast and it’s separated by just over 100 votes.

I’m glad you showed up.  But you didn’t finish what you set out to do.  You didn’t fulfill your responsibility.  Instead you behaved like an idiot and now you only have one thing left to do:

SIT THE FUCK DOWN AND SHUT THE FUCK UP.

End of song.

Stay Classy, America!

On election night, my castmates and I went out on our dinner break to the local Applebees near the theater in Chanhassen.  One of the guys in the cast, who lives in Chan, warned us not to talk too loudly about anything liberal.  “This is a Red county,” was the warning.  We brushed it off thinking that it wouldn’t come to fisticuffs if someone nearby disagreed with our politics.  No big deal.

I should preface the following with the fact that at our table, there were your typical musical theater fare… if you know what I’m sayin’.  wink wink, nudge nudge.  OK… gay guys at our table.  GAYS!  I’m talking loud-and-proud, sounds like a bag of snakes, gay at first glance, GAYS!  well, not all of us.  2 of us were reppin’ the breeders, and I was the only brownie–with a pierced lip, so I’m sure that clued the patronage that I wasn’t from ’round those parts.

As we were leaving:

Condescending woman (in a snooty, jr-high-cool-girl tone): “Who did you vote for?”

she shot a raised-eyebrow, smirky, knowing glance at her tablemates.

“Are you kidding?”

“Obama”
“Obama”
“Obama”
“Obama”
“Obama”
“Obama”

“Why?  Who’d you vote for?”

CW: “McCain”

I detected a little wiggle of her neck when she answered.  Then another raised-eyebrow “I told you so” look back at her buddies.

It didn’t bother me so much that she asked… but really?  You’re gonna ask a stranger who they voted for on election day?  Would you also like to know what size underwear I buy?  Kinda tacky and invasive, that’s all.

And the kicker:

Really?  You’re gonna boo the mention of President Elect Obama and VP Elect Biden?  Hm.. Interesting.

Obama supporters, what do you have to say about Sen. McCain?

There’s a saying in one of my favorite movies, The Karate Kid, that I think underlines my point:  “There is no bad student, only bad teacher.”  One of the reasons I voted for Obama was because any good leader should inspire a sense of hope.  Sure, you can win elections by pointing at the bad guys and telling people that it’s their fault for your lot in life and that I’m the one who can protect you from them.  But that only inspires fear of those who disagree with you or have a different world view than you do.  And, as we now know, you can lose elections that way too.

I’m proud to have supported a candidate who demands that Americans are classier than even we might choose to be sometimes.  A leader that holds us to a higher standard and inspires greatness in us.  Someone who believes that pluralism is at the basis of E Pluribus Unum, and welcomes the debate that comes with having differing views.  That’s what makes us strong as a people.  Having that debate and being classy enough to take the high road and respectfully disagree with one another, that’s what makes us Americans.  We don’t live in a society where you’re shot dead in the street if you disagree with the government.  Our government is designed to give everyone an equal voice whether or not we agree.  In fact, it’s our responsibility to use that voice, especially when we disagree with what our government is doing.  Democracy is active.  You have to take part in it for it to work.  You need to love this country for what it stands for: Freedom and Democracy.  And that means that we will disagree, but at the end of the day can’t we at least remain respectful of one another?

When I think of how pitiful it is that people have been wading around in so much negative, closed-minded bullshit that they can’t even demonstrate a mild desire for unity under one flag, it just makes me sad.  In times like these when almost everybody is struggling, what we need is more kindness toward each other rather than disdain.  Otherwise we’re nothing more than crabs in a barrel, just pulling each other down.

Since this election cycle can be summed up in three words, “Yes We Can!”  Here’s three more:

Stay Classy, America.

Make it stop…

Ten days.

TEN.

Then we can all our mops and buckets out and get all this mud cleaned up.  OK.  I know who I’m voting for.  and despite all that, I can’t avert my eyes from the train wreck that is the McCain-Palin ticket.  He’s like the old guy at the end of every Scooby Doo episode, and she’s like the Britney Spears of politics, I’m talkin’ bald, strung out Britney Spears.  They’re hemorraging polling points and republican supporters like they’re standing, arms outstretched, on the bow of the Titanic.

And the 20 year old girl, a McCain supporter, who was supposedly attacked by a 6′4″ black male Obama supporter apparently made the whole story up.  In the immortal words of Little John, “WHAT?”

Then, of course, there’s this:

Ten days.

You and your “Family Restaurant” can shampoo my crotch

I feel I’ve neglected to mention that I got my lip pierced about a month ago. Maybe it slipped my mind. It’s not exactly blog-worthy news, but it provides a context to this entry here, so I wanted to make sure we’re all on the same page. So. About a month ago, I got my lip pierced. Are we good now?

The higher ups at the BGSC reminded me of the rules: no visible piercings except one earring in each ear, and a small stud in the nose.

“After all, this is a family restaurant.”

So now when I go to work, I have to put a band-aid on my face to cover up the piercing. I can’t take it out yet because it is too new and will start to heal back up. So I submit to you the following story:

You’re going to your favorite restaurant. You get a table, and the server walks up. He’s got a band-aid stuck to his lower lip that suggests that maybe he has some horrible gash underneath or he’s possibly been struck with his yearly herpes outbreak. This person will be bringing you drinks, serving your food, breathing in and around your personal space, touching the things that you will be consuming. Add to that the fact that when he talks, his lips move a lot so the band-aid is starting to come loose and flap around a bit. Is that band aid gonna end up in your food? Is it gonna drip nasty bodily fluids all over your coconut shrimp?

or is it as simple and benign as he has his lip pierced and you can’t tell because there’s a farking band-aid covering it up?

The other day, I was standing with one of the female servers and I happened to have my arm around her waist. Another male server just happened to be walking up, trying to squeeze past us to put in an order at the computer behind us, so as we moved to get out of the way, one of the managers walked by and said:

“That looks really bad. The three of you standing there like that. This is a family restaurant.”

I honestly don’t know how much of that statement was in jest, and how much was serious, but it made me wonder what that phrase, “family restaurant” means.

First off, I challenge anyone to find a restaurant where the serving staff doesn’t flirt with one another. Second, I’ve had tables notice that our GM is quite touchy-feely with the female servers, and they were bothered by it enough to ask me about it.

In our increasingly paranoid attempts to behave “appropriately” for the sake of others, aren’t we just trying to be more average? And why do we do this? To instill in the minds of children that the people who are different from them are meant to be marginalized. Instead of teaching our kids that those who look different from them are still human beings that should be respected and understood, we’re demonstrating that only one kind of person should be accepted.

Are you worried that my lip piercing will have people walking out of the restaurant in disgust? Saying things like, “Can you believe that server with that piece of metal in his lip? Seeing that just ruined my whole dining experience.” And how many times have you looked at a couple walking by the lake holding hands and thought, “My god, will you look at that blatant display of affection between those two? Such behavior should be reserved for the privacy of their own home, provided they don’t have sexual intercourse out of wedlock.”

In the immortal words of Mr. Miyagi, “Walk on road, hmm? Walk left side, safe. Walk right side, safe. Walk middle, sooner or later get squish just like grape.”

I refuse to be average, middle of the road. Not only do I refuse it, I feel as though I am incapable of it. If my uniqueness offends you, then feel free to visit your local Family Restaurant. I hear they’re all pretty average there.