The Story

I don't really keep my room particularly clean. It's not that I prefer a messy room, I actually really enjoy it when it's immaculate. However, slowly but surely I trash it again and then, I find one of a billion things better to do than clean my room. In fact, I don't usually clean it unless I have a Saturday afternoon that I'm not hungover nor do I have a day drinking obligation. This occurs once every three-ish weeks. I take an adderall, blast musicals, and clean my horrible room. I suppose you could say the state of my room is a bit like a lunar cycle. However full the moon is, is a reflection of how dirty my room is.

This of course goes out the window if I think there is a greater than 20% chance I'm going to have sex with someone I want to impress that particular evening. In that case, I will go out of my way to clean my room before I go out so on the off chance than I convert, it will appear as that I live like a normal human being.

However, that is not to say I don't go out sometimes with a thrashed room and through some act of wizardry manage to convince someone to sleep with me. It happens on occasion. Of course I know in the back of my mind that it's going to be awkward when she has to ford a river of crusty gym socks, and I try my best to push for the away game. But often times, that isn't possible and I'm too drunk to give a shit. So we go back to my horrible room, I half heartedly apologize while I'm ripping her clothes off, and then I feel a deep shame in the morning while I'm diving through landfills of laundry in search of a black bra.

I assume this is the feeling that girls get when they realize they haven't shaved in a few days.

I imagine it isn't necessarily a pleasant experience, going to the waxer, or going through the process of self shaving in the bath tub. It's probably a whole thing that takes a long time, and quite frankly, you have better shit to do. Hair removal has a lot in common with cleaning one's room as it is put off until the problem has gotten out of control, or the need to impress someone else is imminent. But again sometimes we forget, or unexpected things just happen. That's life.

Or sometimes you just don't give a fuck about the other person so you have sex with them in a dirty room, with an unkempt nether region. I think we've all been in these scenarios in one capacity or another so it's time to move on. When the dust clears the next day, it's just a story.

The story...
That's why we do everything right?

I was thinking today about all the reasons in the world that one could give for going out to a bar on a Friday night, and I think it boils down to roughly 2 reasons.

1. You are an alcoholic and you are out of booze at home. The bar is closer to you than the nearest liquor store.

I think the term "alcoholic" is thrown around a little too liberally. A true drunk, gets fucked up just because. They aren't doing it so they can do better with chicks, so they can become a maniac on the dance floor, so they can last 20 minutes in the sack instead of 5...they do it because they crave the chemical reaction that booze affords them. A real drunk would probably prefer to do this in the privacy of their own home (or street corner) but if you run out, and the liquor store is closed for some reason but the bar is open, this is one reason for going to a bar.

2. All other people are going out for the story.

Arguments a plenty will ensue.

Naw bro, I go out to get LAID!

Well that's fair. I assume many people have that as a goal of theirs when they ascend upon the town.

But do you really go out for the 10-15 second period in which you pathetically orgasm after a drunken romp with a stranger? Or is it also about recounting with your buddies the next day the pathetic one liner that got her to agree to come home with you. The fact that you guys found her phone in a pile of vomit in the morning, the fact that you ran up a 300 dollar tab on some OTHER dude's credit card because the bartender thought you said DON CLARK not JOHN CLARK.

The point is, more often than not the reason we do whatever it is we do is because we are creating memories. Life essentially breaks down to creating and recounting memories.

One of the most narcissistic cliches is "omg, our life could be a tv show" but the truth is, it could. Your life is a coming of age story, and the peaks and valleys across the way and how you react are what define you.

My argument is not that going out drinking will lead to crazy and exciting things happening in your life that you will always look fondly back on. You could get drunk, hop in a car and kill yourself, I'm just saying that most of us are generally seeking the same thing.

I go out a lot. And I used to think, maybe it was a little too much. Maybe there are better things to do with your hard earned money than piss it away on overpriced drinks while chasing girls. But you never know when you're going to meet your future partner (you never want to meet your future mate at a bar? Go fuck yourself, I'm sure just as many successful marriages started with a drunken blow job than an internet date on Christian Mingle*) or even just an epic night out with a friend who could get sick or move away. I spend hours recounting good times with friends, it's how I personally get through some of the shitty times.

*This is probably not true

One should try to maintain balance with a career they enjoy and some hobbies that don't require 48 hours of recovery time, but you're an adult and you should be able to do whatever the fuck you want. I know lots of people that are doing no drink January and that is fucking awesome for them. I am genuinely proud of them because that makes me happy. Personally, what made me happy last weekend was blacking out, trying to get random chick's numbers all Friday night and watching the entire first season of the OC Saturday and Sunday while I recovered. I didn't make a New Year's resolution because I think they're fucking retarded. I do exactly what I want and I think there is something poetic to that.

And I think if that floats your boat, you should do it too! Maybe I'll write an autobiography some day, maybe you will too. And even if you don't you're still metaphorically writing your own story. Whether that story involved messy rooms or pubic hair or just creating a few good memories with some good company. Look, maybe as a writer I value the art of storytelling, more than others, maybe some would argue that only people that are unhappy focus on their past. But I don't see the two as mutually exclusive, in fact here is some future oriented thinking, this weekend I don't know what I'm going to do, but I'm probably going to fill out a few chapters.

Keep it real, y'all.