With a Little Help From My Friends...

I'm For: The Darkness's new album (It's like Queen reincarnated with a sense of humor), half days at work, good books (I'm taking suggestions, please post comments), my sense of humor between 4.5 and 6.25 drinks.

I'm Against: My still broken sternum, vodka red bulls, hangovers that last into the late afternoon, my blogs that ramble on too long, trying to coordinate social gatherings, and hippies

On the way back from studying in mid march I recieved a text message that read: "Hey it's Caroline from your childhood, I have decided to live an amoral life. Bye."

At this point I had not spoken to Caroline for nearly three years, I had no idea how she had gotten my cell phone number or why she had chosen to reveal her new life philosophy to me in this manner. I called her back to try to put this revelation into some kind of context, but she did not answer and never returned my call.

I have always taken great pride in my selection of friends. I view all of my friends as far above average people for their qualities and talents: weather it be an undying loyality, great taste in movies, supurb listening skills, videogaming talents, or just that indescribable "it." As a result of my keen eye for friendship talent I have been graced with an increidbly diverse company that constantly inspire me to become a better person than I was the day before. By the same token I come off as kind of a judgemental to those people who don't understand mycriteria.

You can experience some of the talent of my friends by clicking on the links on the right side of the page. If you want your shit added go ahead and put in a request, go ahead beg I like the power.

Caroline is no exception, she has always been incredibly bright and talented with a magnetic charm that radiates from her. The first time she spoke to me in middle school she condescendingly uttered "At least you match." This comment was directed to my style that I was rocking at the time, soccer warm ups with adidas memorabilia. Even though the comment was rediculous, I was pretty taken aback that one of the more popular girls in my class had taken interest in my style and in the next month I was decked out in Tommy Hilfiger and Courdorys. In spite of her posh popular stylings, Cari had a total individualistic flair and took over every room she entered with her bouyant personality. So when I had recieved the text message regarding her new moral worldview I was a little shocked, but not entirely surprised.

My updates of Cari over the last several years were bits and pieces of secondhand information that I recieved from old friends. She got into Stanford for academic merit, only to be kicked out for getting drunk one night and trying to burn her dorm down. (I told you my friends were unique, how many people get into Stanford let alone kicked out?) After getting kicked out she worked in Lake Tahoe extorting money to go on a whirlwind trip throughout SouthEast Asia. With a stint as a stripper in Australia. When she got back to the states she had turned into an enlightened hippie living in a commune in Berkeley. All of it was a little too much to believe, the story of Cari had become a legend at the level of Paul Bunyon and I was not quite ready to believe it.

So when she called me last and demanded my address to come pick me up and hang out for a drink, I had to take the opportunity. She showed up at my door full of the energy that I fell in love with in 7th grade. After a short display of some avante garde martial arts she greeted me with an enthusiastic hug. She looked as if she was auditioning for a broadway production of Hair. She wore a headwrap that gave her darkened hair a playful look. Her face had a self drawn star on the right cheek which was the only shred of makup that graced her remarkably beautiful face. The rest of her outfit was dirt brown from head to ankle, because of course she wasn't wearing any shoes. She unabashedly wore a tank top revealing her authentic hippie pit hair, which I struggled to avoid eye contact with for the remainder of the night.

Within seconds she opened up to me as as if we had talked every day over the last three years. She quickly confirmed all the rumors and stories unleashing epic tale after epic tale. Here are some examples

Her monthlong hitchhiking trip to Mexico with her new boyfriend which she met during a period that she swore off men and became a lesbian.
Her abandoment issues with men that led to a stint of polyamory (multiple open sex partners)
Her amzing ability to do any drug without becoming addicted
Her world renound dance skills that draws crowds at every club she attends
Her performance of the Tempest in a 3D venue off a a bay area landfill, where she nearly destroyed her play by sleeping with the lead, and the director.
Her life in a commune while part timing her $14,000 a quarter education at Stanford

Each story was followed by a more epic tale that belonged in a novel or National Enquirer headline. Over the next two hours I sat trying not to have my jaw hit the floor, avoid eye contact with her pit hair, and avoiding the yuppies reaction to my strange companion. I found myself replying with generic phrases like; wow, thats so crazy, wild, interesting, cool, awesome, and holy shit man. After all how the fuck do you go story for story with a person that just told you about skinny dipping in thunderstorms, or voyueristic sex tales in your boyfriends sisters house while the mom is in the room across the hall? Tales that start out the other day in my cubicle, or this one time at my party in college don't quite compare.

At this point of the evening I began thinking about if I was "really living." Had I just become one of those average people droning away at a cube? Working for one of a million companies that produces shit for other people to consume, so I could pay for random shit that I deemed worthy of my efforts. Is this what life is all about? Was this what I am meant to do with my life? Am I missing out on a world of experiences?

I have not quite come to a conclusion on all of this shit. I have decided to involve myself in more random experential activities once my chest heals but the fact of the matter is I do a lot of shit already, and I like the stuff that I spend my time doing. Excluding watching shitty reality tv dramas because I am so tired after work.

Cari's life is phenomonal in the regard that she has lived out all sorts of experiences and seems to have done very little damage to herself emotionally, excluding an extrodinarily inflated ego and narissism complex. However, as much as she has thinks she is cultured and worldly outside of Highlands Ranch she still feeds from its ambillical cord. She still goes to Stanford on her parents dollar and therefore can live in hippie commune in Berkeley without any consequences. Assuming she graduates from HR she is attempting to get her parents to pay for holistic medical school which is what "she really wants to do." It's very conveinent to be a hippie doing whatever the fuck you want when you live in a bubble like Berkeley where people think thats cool and you have someone busting their ass sacraficing their personal life financing your shit. When your thirty-five and mommy and daddy don't want to do that shit you either grow up and move on or become a transiet depeding on other motherfuckers to do your shit.

This whole hippie thing is very conveinent and selfish. As long as your not hurting anyone else or mother earth it's all gravy. But the fact of the matter is you're not stopping wars, you're not saving the planet. On your watch the environment is going to shit and we are carrying on a war that makes about as much sense as Vietnam. All you fucks are doing is consuming drugs, fucking, and doing what is convienent for you while other people do all the work. You want to be a drain on the system at least do your part to change the planet, you picked me up in your mom's Chevy Suburban for christ sakes.

Man, I hate Hippies