“No, I don't hate Balboa. I pity the fool.”

Didn’t get done with work until late. Mostly I just got distracted at work and didn’t wrap up my distractions until late. I got home without any plans whatsoever, fairly comfortable with the idea of spending the remainder of the day watching movies, maybe skating down to 7-eleven, hanging around my apartment in my underwear (‘cause hey, my roommate’s still out of town). As I was coming inside, though, I ran into Monica and Whitney, two of the girls that live in the building next to me. (As I’ve said before, they’re sort of like my sisters.) I hadn’t seen Monica in like probably 2 or 3 weeks, so I talked to them for a while. They were planning on going to see Dodgeball at 10:15 with a bunch of people and invited me to come along. I was cool with it, I hadn’t seen it yet, though I found the strong undertone of the activity was to facilitate them inviting some dudes from across the street that they were “totally crushing” on. Eh, a dollar movie is a dollar movie. And it would still be fun.

“If I know Mary as well as I think I do, she'll invite us right in for tea and strumpets.”

Yeah, well after a call from Izzo, and the pausing of “Being John Malkovich” I made a dash to Toys R Us to check out the reported re-release of some vintage style Star Wars figures. I was giddy to see the likes of the original Millennium Falcon and TIE fighters of my younger days. I got back to my apartment close to 9:45 or so. I was finishing up my movie, and I had forgotten about the invitation to Dodgeball until just after 10. I got up to go and then realized “wait…why haven’t I heard from anyone?” Now obviously I could have called someone up, or just gone and found them, but this seemed to reveal something larger. A character element (some call these ‘flaws’) of mine. I hate being invited by obligation. I hate being a charity. I hate being pitied.

“Did you invite that kid to your party?”
“Max Fischer?”
“Come on, Dad. There's gonna be girls there.”
“I'd rather die. Pull your head out of you’re A.”

That may sound extreme, but everyone has been to a party or an event at some point in there life, where they weren’t really invited because the host or orchestrator was thrilled to have their participation. The organizer invited them because of a couple of reasons. That person was present or overheard the invitation being given. “So what’s going on, Friday?” or “Cool, what time is that at?” [Insert awkward response and invitation here.] Other times it’s a “considerate” parent that insists on an invitation being extended. “You should invite that drooling retard kid from up the street, she seems nice.” And perhaps other times it’s simply that it comes up and they don’t ‘not like you’. “Hey, you should come.”

There are definitely degrees with which we appreciate the company of others. Some are just fun to be around, you’re funnest times are when you are doing nothing. You simply appreciate each others’ company. Others we will attend events or go to activities with, or friendship revolving primarily around external forces or influences I.e. Your buddy that you only hang out with to play HALO; the dude you laugh and joke with, only in your chinese and political science classes; the girl you call up to hang out with, only when you’re “lookin’ to score.” (I think the kids are calling that a…uhh…“booty call”)

“[F] sympathy! I don't need your [f’in'] sympathy, man…. I NEED my [f’ing] Johnson!”

But nobody wants to have sympathy friends. People to hang out with them because if they don’t they’ll feel bad for you. Well maybe there are people who want pity friends. I call those people ‘losers.’ I like it when my friends want to hang out with me as bad as I want to hang out with them. Equality. Nobody really likes to have the lower or upper hand. It’s just awkward.

“That's right, yeah. I got some old debts I've got to pay off with this stuff. Even if I didn't, you don't think I'd be fool enough to stick around here, do you? Why don't you come with us? You're pretty good in a fight. We could use you.”

So I didn’t go. I sat back down and watched “Bubba Ho-tep.” A delightful film about an elderly Elvis Presley (who traded places with an impersonator some years back and ended up in a coma and in a nursing home) and JFK (who had his skin dyed black by the CIA and then was hidden away in the same nursing home), who come together to battle an Egyptian mummy on the loose, sucking out the weak elderly’s souls, through their rectums. Yeah, I know you may think it sounds weird, but I liked it and no one there felt awkward or uncomfortable...probably because it was just me...

“You are a sad, strange, little man. And you have my pity. Farewell.”

…sorry I didn’t invite you.