We're on the road to nowhere....

No Matter How Desperate, I Am Not A Taxi Service.

So I was sitting here tonight, watching movies... a couple of good ones, Desperado and Office Space, both of which I was given a craving to watch by mandingo recently, either through his journal or through conversation. They're both really freakin' great movies, and watching really freakin' great movies is, in my opinion, a quality way to spend your time, but there's a time and a place for everything. And there should be a decent ratio of how many Saturday nights you stay at home to how many you're out having fun. And lately my Saturday night fun ratio's been the pits, so tonight wasn't exactly the right time to sit on my ass and watch movies. So even though I was thoroughly enjoying myself, I had an underlying sense of guilt throughout, urging me to get up, put some clothes on, and just get the fuck out. For no other reason than to be outdoors -- get OUT.

As I was thinking these thoughts, I got a call from Lindsay, the friend that persuaded me to go to the strip bar. Tonight he told me he had three other guys with him, they were going to a club (non-strip) and had plans of getting incredibly drunk and wanted me to be the designated driver. I had done this many times before, and each time I'd done it I'd become more and more annoyed with the situation. I'd driven them from place to place while these people, most of whom I really didn't care for, had loads of fun, and I just drove. Their drunkeness only served to rub my nose in it, because I wanted to be as fucked up as they were. It was a strain on my willpower to keep from imbibing the good stuff with them. The whole situation, each time, wasn't one I was comfortable in.

So tonight that thought had a brief tug of war with the feeling of lonely desperation that had decided to take up with me. Ultimately my good sense won out and I told Lindsay that I wasn't much a fan of that particular club (which was a truth -- it plays god-awful technoshit, and I can't stand that...) and I'd take a pass on it. I didn't tell him what I was thinking: Drive your own god damn selves ya fucking lushes.

Now I feel the need to make it a Ron Livingston double-header and watch Swingers. And Great God DAMN, if that's not a fine movie...