Pointy Shoes and Late Nights

Ok, so for the past year, perhaps two you've had this urge to go out and do the things you hear people your age are doing. The bars, the music, the men, and all that jazz. And you reason with yourself, no it's so empty and it's just distraction, it's not really living. But nevertheless you have that quiet resentment that you aren't one of those people just going out. To be free and careless and not thinking for once.
So I've decided to screw resentment, if I'm so curious I ought to quite complaining and just pursue what I want. I went out. I went bar hopping with my friend. I danced with men, cute men who I'd never imagine would be interested in me. And then the French man named Alex who kept offering to buy you drinks and ragging on American boys with their red-neck round shoes and how a fancy French man knows to wear pointy shoes, etc. Who teaches you to dance with the whole sweep her back and stick his face in the nook of her neck dance. Yeah, it was like that.  And odd for someone as technically naive as I am. And I recall thinking this guy is seriously pissing me off. And I recall lying, "I have a boyfriend" so he might leave his drunken flirtations for another girl.
But thankfully another fellow comes along named Pierre, this one isn't French, who takes him outside and literally saves you. Thank God for Pierre. But I seriously need to learn how to tell a guy NO. For by that point of the night, who gives a shit that he paid for your drinks?
What's interesting though, is that despite all these pretty boys and fun flirtatious smiles, I really wish I were just home hanging out with that guy-friend of mine who likes to wear my butterfly wings and sing niggunim.
So it was a long night, full of stories similar to these and yeah the dead, empty feeling lingers but at least the resentment is gone.

Eeny-Meeny-Miny-Mo

So if you're not clear where you stand, what does that make you? Aside for uncertain...
There's faith in the bigger, greater things, that there is a G-d. That there is a purpose. That there is a reason hidden behind every subtle breeze that moves every bloody leaf and all that gorgeous stuff.
And then there's the cynicism, the skepticism, not even so much trying to point out flaws but just...realizing gradually that it doesn't add up.
That it boils down to whether or not you believe all the things you've been taught, and realizing that you love those facets of knowldge but you don't know if you can believe they're all true.
So where does that place you?
At an age to young to really know what's going on, with the humility to accept that yes, there might be more and an unwillingness to shut the door to something greater, what does that make you?
Because I have my doubts, and I don't feel guilt, but I doubt that I've really got it all figured out.

Purim Day

Comes after Purim night.
And this time we got out of the neighborhood, saw the crowds, saw the people. And you're in a smoke filled room with strobe lights, chassidish jews gone "off the path" and everyone is dancing and yelling and holy crap, Rabbi Nachman is playing so you're jumping around.
And then the guy you've kind of always liked really might be asexual, not gay but not exactly a fully-charged hormonal beast most dudes are, but hey that means you've just found yourself a new best friend.
But then that night you dream that your moshpia comes to save you, to pick you up from the random location you've found yourself in and it reminds you of that time, when you were a kid, you went to McDonalds for a birthday party and ordered a cheeseburger;
You got a cheeseburger? You know cheeseburgers aren't kosher!
Yes mommy, but I wanted to try it.
So it's the same ordeal, that nagging curiosity to see just what happens in those smoky rooms and the loud places full of laissez-fare carelessness. And it's not so much a temptation, but a curiosity. Just a curiosity.
In either case, here's some music:

CocoRosie and Absolut

Let's be a happy drunk, a cheap date with three shots of absolute, my gawd that was easy. Anyhoo it makes carrying the groceries that much a happier experience and the firesticks (cigarettes-I coined the term,  anonymous coined the term), the firesticks smell oh so fine and Iron and Wine is playing on Pandora and the lonely little compartments of New York become that much more romanticized. And then little thoughts float in your mind, you know the stuff like, does any of it really mean anything? Not the more technical things, let's say big picture. You know, Life the Universe and Everything. Maybe 42 really is it. (Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy reference people.)
Ok now CocoRosie is playing on Pandora. I really don't know how I feel about these chicks. I kept clicking "dislike" and yet pandora is persistant and I'm finding perhaps it's one of the acquired tastes. Tastes for a subdued, drunken state.
I'm going to go read up on Hobbes now. (That's hardly true, I'll likely sleep and read it tomorrow.)

The Introduction

This is my second blog. This second blog is anonymous, the first blog is not. The two are mutually exclusive aside for the common element of their author, namely me. Aside for that, they're mutually exclusive. Let's not nitpick now...
The notion of blogging is ultimately a bit narcissistic, I can admit that. But I like writing and I like writing uncensored. So I can be anonymous and I can talk to the vast interwebs without a worry in the world.