Drugs, Misanthropy
Posted on September 4, 2007
Filed Under Daily, Failures
Saturday night, me and the girlfriend went over to Tagaytay for a little intimate downtime. It was nothing short of incredible: We stuffed our face with arguably the best pepperoni pizza I’ve ever had in my life and some putanesca, ate half-pound burgers and Philly cheese steaks afterwards and had a blast getting shit-faced (and sexually inappropriate at one point–This is debatable though. I mean, how can two people who are girlfriend-boyfriend be ’sexually inappropriate’ in the first place. I mean come on, people get into relationships just for all the sexual inappropriateness.) with pitchers of green mango margarita.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I had shitloads of fun–but only because my girlfriend was there. If she weren’t I probably would take comfort in just speed drinking my alcohol and not so much as look at anyone in the restaurant or bar I’m in.
Worse, I’d probably bite the waiter’s head off for returning my card to me and telling me how it’s maxed out when obviously, I still have 2k left on my 100k credit limit–Unless of course the curtain rods I carded the other day already reflected on my statement and, in that case, my card is already maxed out. But yeah, I’d still yell at him and attempt to punch him simply because it’s sort of my coping mechanism. And I like yelling at people. And tits. Yelling and tits.
In light of these and other things that happened to me when caught in situations like the above, it has become more clear to me that I hate people. I’ve always known that I am uncomfortable being around people I didn’t know, but as I get older, this “hatred” is growing more into something like “murderous ill will.”
When I’m out, I survey the location and conclude, almost instantaneously, that everyone is an asshole. Now, I think this has something to do with my low self-esteem. I honestly don’t know why my self-esteem level is such and this concerns me sometimes. Do I not feel up to snuff with these muscle shirt-wearing college kids talking loudly while drinking their beers and feeling up their up their hot girlfriend’s skirt? Do I feel awful because I do not dress as well as some of these corporatey-looking douchebags who talk with a weird accent to their colleagues about stuff like “equity” and “dividends?”
Or maybe I feel indignant because I know that 90% of women in whatever bar or restaurant I’m in have little to no interest in talking to a chubby guy who looks like he hasn’t shaved for a week and whose only talent is to write bad jokes about his penis size on the internet?
Maybe it’s a combination of all of the above.
Whatever the cause maybe, the underlying ultimate outcome is that this quasi-misanthropy I have going on is seriously affecting the way I live my life. After Saturday, which found me wanting so bad to destroy the bar I was in and the stupid little show band playing there, I realized that the only things that kept me from doing so was my girlfriend, the pitchers of margarita I already paid for, and the promise of drunken sex (which doesn’t really mean anything since we all know that “Joyce”, my bird, loses her will to fight when his drunkard master downs one too many margaritas). This kind of attitude needs to stop. And the way I see it, I only have one choice.
And that choice would be to up my uptake of controlled substances. JUST JOKING. Doing drugs is pathetic. If you’re over 20 years old and you’re still doing drugs but you’re not a rock star or something, get a life. Seriously, drugs are awful.
(If you’re my boss or anyone whose opinion of me could have a significant impact on my career, please stop reading now)
No, actually drugs are awesome. And I feel that drugs would definitely help me with my bouts of wishing death upon people. Had I popped a Valium or two last Saturday, I probably wouldn’t have wanted to leave the bar 30 minutes upon getting there and instead would’ve sang, danced, attempted to fly or talk to King Fucking Arthur–all of which would’ve led to disaster but nonetheless would’ve been fun. I mean, as opposed to enduring 2 hours of hating people, going back to my hotel room with the girl friend, getting NO SEX at all and weeping quietly to myself in the shower.
The main problem with this idea is that I recently saw my psychiatrist and she cut my Anti-depressant, Xanax dosage by half. So you know, access to the drugs I’m addicted to these days is kind of difficult. (Of course there’s always 24k Drug Mart over at Katipunan Avenue which, as far as I know, dispenses Valium and Xanax without the need for prescriptions)
So yes, this is all I have so far. If you have a better idea to help me curb my misanthropy or you’re a pusher selling the items I’m looking for from the trunk of your car, please hit me up. Help a brother out here. Assholes.
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12 Responses to “Drugs, Misanthropy”
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The Star
Mike "Fucking" Villar
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"The personal blog of Marketing Strategist, Rising Internet Star, Man Blog editor, child pornographer, alcoholic, and cokehead-- Douchebag Jones--Err, Mike Villar! -
Umm, no? Where the fuck’s your street cred? Ever since 24K was raided a couple of years back, theyve stopped selling Vis.
I know Helga. I was just testing you. And guess what? You passed!
Stop criticizing me and start HELPING me!
I have a prescription pad I got from my aunt, would that help?
The hell would I need a prescription pad for? What do you think I am? An addict?
(emailed you)
I’m not about to go back dating drug dealers just so I can get (and share!) free drugs. You need me to help you? RE-DISCOVER GOD, MIKEY, RE-DISCOVER GOD!
How’s the FACE?
Raise your hand if you know somebody named Helga who comes up with the stupidest ideas!
*Raises hand*
NO SEX my ass!
Of course your ass gets No Sex. What the fuck are you? A Fag? *Badabish!*
Wow! you have a credit limit of 100K and you maxed it out? That’s cool, American Express gave me a Platinum credit card that has a credit limit of 580k, shucks I could not max it out…
Your girlfriend’s a hottie
I like tits too. And SEX! With a girl!