On Insanity

I think the only time I've ever really good at writing anything is when I'm totally pissed off. The good news is I'm pissed off ALOT. I try to be witty and cool and together, but really I'm just an idiot with anger management issues. To be honest, most of my anger is misdirected and really just a defense mechanism. I got picked on a lot when I was a kid and it used to make me so mad that other people could hurt my feelings so badly that I spent quite a bit of my childhood chasing other kids around with rocks, wondering why they didn't like me even as I tried to bash their brains out.
I'd like to say I grew out of my insanity; that as I matured, a more rational, compassionate aspect of my personality flowered into dominance, leaving me a well-adjusted and caring man.
But, no. That didn't happen.
I just kept getting more and more pissed off. Even as the insults stopped and the other kids became drawn to my dark and sadistic brand of humor, I still could find myself in the middle of a blind rage over the tiniest perceived slight. In short, I was, and continue to be, a huge baby.
Weird.
I really didn't see myself turning out like this. I mean, I don't chase people around with rocks anymore and I haven't thought about murdering anyone in, oh, I don't know, 5 or 6 years, but there's still this whole thing I have with "cool" people and how much I hate them. This can be a real challenge here in New York City.
Lots of stupid people think they're so cool here. And, believe it or not, this place can be a regular cauldron of rage. The good news about this joint is that I'm really good at tuning shit out. The bad news is I work in show business and it's absolutely packed to the rafters with assholes who think they're "cool."
I tend to exaggerate things in my head (because I'm fucking crazy) and I can still go off about most anything. MG bears the brunt of this (I swear, I'm like a bad movie of the week sometimes - Dwight Yoakam would play me...) but she's learned that, like a child, my bawl is much worse than my brawl and tends to ignore me most of the time and forgive me later when ignoring me proves too difficult.
Like, today, for instance. I was absolutely convinced that this chick I work with was talking shit about me. She's 22, fresh out of college, thinks she owns the place, there's no one smarter, she should be the boss - you know the type. I got on IM with the other crusty burnout I work with and launched into an extended tirade (which, regretfully, cannot be reproduced here because we both had to close our chat windows at the same time) about what a fucking stuck-up bitch she was and how dare she and I've got more smarts in the corns in my shit than she's got in her whole head, etc., etc., ad nauseum. My buddy doesn't say anything this whole time. He's just reading along, a smile playing out slowly on his face. Finally, I'm like, "What, dude? What's so fucking funny?"
"You, man. You're crazy."
"Yeah, and your point is..."
"She wasn't even talking about you. She was talking about something totally different. She likes you."
Shit.
"Really?"
"Yeah, man. She was telling the bosses how great she thinks you are."
Fuck.
"But... that's still some funny shit. You should try writing it down."
So yeah, then I feel all bad and shit, ashamed for being such a baby and assuming everything's about me. I walk around with my tail between my legs until I realize no one knows what the fuck's going on because I didn't say anything to anyone and why am I having this dialogue in my head oh yeah because I'm fucking insane. Yeah, that's pretty much my MO.

LIke you care...

Well, me and MG finally found ourselves a place. It's a pretty little 1-bedroom with a big kitchen, lots o' light, a tiny living room and a study. Fourth-floor walk-up, nice building, in the same neighborhood we live now - hunky dory by most accounts. After a prolonged search, we knew finding the right digs would most likely come down to either getting lucky on Craig's List or getting raped by broker's fees. Sad to say, it was the latter. But, hell, it's only money and at least we're finally on our way to being happily situated. We learned a lot about the Brooklyn real estate market during this little venture and we learned more than we wanted to about asking fucking questions before you write the checks, but we did learn. So there's that...
God Save Brooklyn and rent stabilization. I never want to move again.