Sometimes I have trouble filtering. If I consume even a drop of alcohol (Fine. No. I’ve never stopped at a single drop, but shut up, I’m trying to tell a story here), I lose the ability to not to tell you exactly what I think on any subject, including unpleasant things I think about you. I just…tell it like it is. Well, I tell it like it is for me. And I tend to think that my perception is universal reality, so I can get quite passionate about your flaws as I list them out for you after my second martini. But only because I’m doing you a favor. I honestly believe that I’m just trying to help. Honestly. There is absolutely no malice involved. I just get alcohol in my system and it occurs to my brain that what you really want — no, what you really need — is for me to tell you about what your problems are. My brain assures me that surely if I see your problem, then several other people are thinking it and you might not know it, and don’t you want to know? And so even though its uncomfortable for most parties involved (and I often make these revelations loudly, which tends to get several people involved), I’m convinced I’m doing you a favor.
Some people are mean or angry or happy drunks. I’m a truthful drunk. And this is a very dangerous variety of drunk to be, especially since I’m also a drunk that does not remember the next morning any of the shit I tell people or even who I may have talked to. But if I try hard enough, sometimes I can conjure up a memory of the look on someone’s face when I tell them exactly what I’m sure that they need to hear. Coming from a friend. Who loves them. And then I try to piece together what I must have said in the morning hangover fog, but I know what I must have said because I just think to myself about what I really believe about that person and with 100% accuracy, that is what I told them.
Needless to say, I avoid alcohol around those I do not care for, but I’ve never gotten a beat down, because like I said, I don’t say these things with any sort of malice. I say this with grave concern and love, like when I tried all throughout college to get one of my guy friends to just admit for once that he was gay. I pleaded with him for three years to just come out, but he swore he wasn’t gay. He wanted to know why I thought such a thing. I told him the tight turtlenecks he wore, coupled with the track lighting and the crystal wine glasses he had in his dorm room, along with the key lime pie he was so fond of baking kind of gave it away. No, perhaps it was his slight gay lisp that probably was even more telling. But I suggested this out of genuine love and affection, which makes people less likely to punch me in the face, I think. And it turns out he was gay. And he actually thanked me for my incessant drunken pleading in college. It helped him come out faster, he said. But then he disappeared from my life quickly after that. (But I don’t care because now I have Thomas. Ah, Thomas. My fabulous queen.)
I don’t have a problem approaching complete strangers. Because I spontaneously fall in love with some of them and convince myself they need my advice. Like the time I was at my company Christmas party and I told my boss’s boss’s girlfriend that he was a total prick at work, but I could see that she was a really nice person and maybe that means he really isn’t as terrible as I think he is and maybe she could work on him a little more and tell him to chill out. Or dump his ass, because he is kind of a fuck face (I never tire of this expression) and I would if I were her — all this while he was standing right next to her. But she was so NICE. I just thought I needed to tell her. Maybe she didn’t know. It got a little awkward after that.
But maybe God sent me to this earth to give people a clue. To help them out of their misery. Or just embarrass myself. Oddly enough though, I think my friends would tell you that this is my best trait. They want me to meet their new significant others immediately because they know that I won’t lie if I think the new guy is a total douche. Even my boss gets me drunk on purpose and then grills me with questions so she can figure out who is sleeping with who and who is talking shit about her and whether I’m going to quit or what. And then there are the times I’m with my friends who are drinking and getting all pissy because they haven’t found someone to marry yet and I just very kindly tell them that maybe nobody wants to marry them because they’re fucking crazy. Or maybe too passive-aggressive? Oh, and that I wouldn’t date them either. And yes, earlier when you asked about whether your ass looked big in those jeans, you were spot on. It does. You are embarrassing yourself. But I’m only telling you because I’m the only one kind enough to do it.
But my revelations aren’t always bad. Noooooo. Because I think positively. And if I think good things about someone, I’m not afraid to show my love for them. Like when I spotted BD across a crowded bar in 1999, several months after we had a few dates that went nowhere, and I graciously told him in front of several of his friends that I felt bad that he had absolutely no game because if he did then we might be together because when I met him an angel told me that he was The One, but he ruined it because he doesn’t know his head from his ass when it comes to dating and now I might be lost forever to him, and now he’ll never get laid by me. Ever. Ever! (I forgot to mention that I was kind of in a serious relationship with someone else when I told him this. That dude should never have let me go out drunk by myself). But that guy wasn’t The One. And BD was and I felt strongly that The One should be made aware of how much he was fucking with destiny. But I don’t know how much game I had if I told a guy I went on three dates with that an angel told me he was The One. In front of his friends. That is creepy. But I don’t have a good friend like me who is willing to tell me about all the mistakes I make. Luckily, when BD is drunk, he is quite tolerant of women talking about having sex with him, so he listened. And we got married. So its not like its all bad, right?
So I will make an offer to the internet populace – if you want my opinion on something, I will promise to drink my requisite two glasses of wine and ponder your question. And I will tell you what I think. Exactly. Send me pictures or inquiries to firstname.lastname@example.org and I will let you know. For real. Because I love you.
Oh, and Oprah – because I love you the most of all, I will continue to supply you with all of my thoughts about you via this blog. You needn’t email because I already know all of your problems and awesomeness that Gayle will not, cannot, reveal to you for fear you will kick her ass to the curb. I’m just keepin’ it real. Because I love you too.