Conversations and Monologues (pt. 3)

Look, if you don't understand what is going on by now (there have been a couple of previous posts like this one), then scroll through the archives.  There isn't the largest audience for this blog, so I'm sure you follow these posts.
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'Well you have to be good at something.'
'I fucked two sorority girls in one night.'
'That's nothing special.'
'They were sorority sisters and their rooms were right next to each other.'
A slight pause.
'Okay, that is something special.  But I mean outside the realm of fucking two girls in the same house, what are you good at?'
'I can't really think of anything.'
'Didn't you go to college?'
'Just because I went to college doesn't mean I'm good at something.'
'You didn't graduate?'
'Oh no.  I graduated.  But there is a difference between GPA and IQ.  A high GPA means you have a great attention span.  IQ means you are actually smart.  Having a high GPA just means you studied and did well on tests and the such, that doesn't mean you are smart.  You can take all that Cum Laude and Summa Cum Laude shit and shove it because out in the real world, GPA don't mean a damn thing.  I have the IQ, I didn't have the GPA.'
'I would think that having those honors would get you interviews and jobs at highly sought after places.'
'Those Cum Laude motherfuckers are the ones that get the best and everyone else is left with the scraps.  They sit there in their corner offices and sneer at us and our lower paying jobs.  Doesn't mean those people getting those interviews and jobs are any better at it than I am.  It just means they think they're better than me'
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'You know what I think the most American image is?'
'Bald Eagle.'
'Big Mac.'
'Apple Pie.'
'No.  No.  And No.  Bottled beer.  Not those short fat bottles or those eleven and a half ounce bottles, I'm talking long necks.  Twelve ounces of glory.'
'I don't know man, that's kind of a hard sell.  Especially when there are so many other options out there that represent this country.  You know, think about the Bald Eagle flying through the Iraqi skies getting ready to drop a bomb from it's talons.  It doesn't get more American than that!'
'Murica, fuck yeah!'
Laughter.
'I'm serious about the bottled beer.  What goes great with bottled beer?  Grilling.  Which is also a great American past time.  Think back to your childhood when your family had a cook out.  You know, grilling hot dogs or burgers.  You and your brother out in the backyard playing catch.  What was your Dad drinking?  Sure as shit wasn't some microbrew that was made with fruit and tannins.'
'I think tannins are mostly in wines, dude.'
'Shut up.  It was something like a Budweiser or a Miller or a Schlitz.  It was a long neck bottle with condensation running down the side because it was so fuckin' hot out.  The clear glass bottle and you could see the foam at the top.  It was the sound and the smell of the grill.  It's something to look back at and think to yourself "This is what I want to have when I grow up."  That's why when it comes to grilling season, I buy long neck bottles of beer.  I like to have that connection to a nostalgic time when there wasn't a thing to worry about.'
'That's quite the speech.  But your burgers are burning.'
'Shit...'
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Conversations and Monologues (pt. 2)

Part one and a description of what these posts are about can be found here.  Enjoy. 
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The one thing I remember from ice fishing as a kid is losing the feeling in my toes.  Every single time.  I could wear wool socks and regular socks and another pair of wool socks. 
They would always go numb.  I don't understand why.  Being in a shanty with the propane heater. 
It never failed.  Just looking down the hole, watching the fish gather around the wiggler.  Hoping for the big one to take it, but it never did.  It was always the smaller ones.  The best times can be so miserable.
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'It always made me feel good going home during school breaks.'
'Yeah, it was nice to sleep in my own bed.  Not some dorm room concentration camp type bunk.
'Well, that too.'
What were you talking about?'
'Whenever we go out to the bars and see everyone who didn't get out.'
'What about 'em?'
'It makes me happy.  And sad.  They are stuck here drinking their lives away.  Working at gas stations and connivance stores.  It's sad that it happens.  But to whom it happened to makes me happy.'
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I've only dealt with death a few times in my life.  It didn't affect me at all.  It was just one of those things that happens.  Great Uncle So and So, Second Cousin Johnny, people you haven't seen in years.  The people you met once when you were ten years old.  How do you respond to that?
Okay.
That's too bad.
So.
That sucks.
You don't want to appear insensitive but at what point do you draw the line?  Is it okay to not shed a tear for your second cousin, but have an emotional break down for a grandparent's ex-wife who was still awkwardly close to the family?
The lines need to be defined, but every person reacts so differently.  To be emotionally cold is the way to be.
When I was nine, my dad's mom died.  I don't remember him being outwardly upset.  Maybe that is the way I am.  In control on the outside, but deep down falling apart with grief and agony.  I like that idea.  A facade to show the world how strong you really are. 

Conversations and Monologues (pt. 1)

I found an old notebook from college.  It contained part of an assignment from the creative writing classes that I took.  Yes, I took a creative writing class.  Two of them, fuck off.  It was a great escape from the history classes and were two of the best classes I took.  Anyway, part of the assignment was to write something that could start or be part of a short story.  I just re-read everything that I wrote and thought to myself that just having these conversations and monologues compiled together is pretty cool as they stand.  So I think I'm going to try to continue this.  I am going to continue this.  I've always enjoyed writing.  Some of this stuff is from college, some if it I am writing now.  I won't put any dates on them to keep everyone guessing how old or how new something that they just read is.  That's part of the fun. 

I remember partaking in a summer activity called 'Young Authors' when I was a kid.  I randomly found it in a box my mom kept for me from my childhood.  It was a short story about a baseball that was hit out of Tiger Stadium by Cecil Fielder from the perspective of the baseball.  The irony of his son playing for the Tigers now does not escape me.  Anyway, I remember tying it up on the typewriter (yeah, typewriter) we had.  I read it just a few years ago.  It was awful, but what do you expect from a nine year old?

Anyway, I thought that it would be fun to put these 'conversations and monologues' out there for anyone and everyone to read.  These are going to be shorter posts as I break up the writings so there isn't one long ass post that you get bored reading.  So just a few at a time.  And just a heads up, there is some strong language in some of these.  I do my best not to censor myself when I write.  And sometimes there are some dark themes.  These are not my thoughts, these are my writings so don't worry about my mental state or anything like that.  I am hoping to make these posts recurring amongst the political, sport, and the random.  Enjoy.
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Beep.  Beep.  Beep.  Be.
Silence. 
Groggy awakening postponed for nine minutes.  Then eighteen.  Then twenty seven.  Then...Shit!  Late again.
The covers fly off.  Rushing to dress.  Hoping time slows down so you can make it up.
No breakfast.
No shower.
No clean teeth.
They feel fuzzy from a night of cigarettes and beer.
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'I love the sound of rain.  On the windows, car roofs, tent canvas.  It's....Zen.'
'Do you know what Zen is?'
'Does it matter?'
'If you find someone who cares about it, yes.  It could, in fact, matter.'
'Do you care about it?'
'Not necessarily.'
'Then what's the problem?'
'I was just saying.  You generalized.  Generalizations can be bad.  That's all.'
'Right.'
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'You can't honestly tell me you are one hundred percent satisfied with your life.'
'Right now?  No.  There are some things I would change.  But in the end, I think I'll be happy with it.'
'By the end, you may not know yourself.  You could be stuck in a home confined to a wheelchair.'
'That wouldn't be good.'
'No.  No it wouldn't.'
'But I would be satisfied that I did what I could to prevent myself from years earlier being confined to said chair.'