· Of the large amounts of things that I’m self-conscious about, nothing is as existentially troublesome as my lack of significant chest hair. Now I certainly have some chest hair, but it’s akin to an adolescent’s peach fuzz facial hair. This peach fuzz chest hair makes me question my own Hispanic-ness. How Hispanic/Latino can you really be if you don’t have an impressive chest rug? In my case, I fear that I should maybe start checking off a different box on governmental forms when it comes to ethnicity.
· It shouldn’t, but sometimes drinking stresses me out. It should be a fun activity – debaucherous even – but it’s hard to enjoy yourself when it becomes an “art.” What I mean is that I don’t understand this new cocktail culture where you go to a bar, sit down and watch the bartender mix a $12 drink with a hokey name like “The Caribbean Sunset.” I don’t want to discuss the use of fresh fruit juices and bitters. I really don’t want your opinion on how the Tequila is barely noticeable and mixes extremely well with mint. I don’t want the bartender advising me on the “correct way” to drink the cocktail (apparently you are supposed to savor every sip – ponder it, dissect it like some abstract idea). Well fuck you buddy. I want to taste the tequila. I don’t want to think about all the ingredients in my drink. I want to drink it at my own pace (CHUGGING) and get on with my evening.
· Without any hint of irony or shame, I’d like to state for the record that I fully endorse “high-fiving.” I realize this aligns me with David Puddy from Seinfeld but that’s ok. You can have your bro-tastic fist bump. The stuffy hand shake is all yours kiddo. Leave the half-handshake-half-hug to those who are smoother and cooler. Next time, in a social situation, whip out the high-fives. Maybe even go around the room handing them out like pamphlets of AWESOME. But be sure to be cognizant of the shorter types and not extend your hand too high. No one likes a TOO-high fiver.
No comments:
Post a Comment