I'm my own worst enemy, I swear. I think myself into corners, not unlike Winnie the Pooh painting himself into a corner in that delightful children's story.
(How did he get out? If memory serves, it somehow involved him gnawing off his right foot, but I can't remember why, or how that could ever help.)
All too often, I just sit and think and ponder and stew, and lose all perspective on my problems. Occasionally I hit up friends for advice, but... I dunno, it's just not the same without grilled meat, abundant testosterone, and of course beer.
Enter last night.
A picnic table on a patio, delicious kabobs on the barbecue, excellent rock and roll music in the background, and a steadily-growing forest of empty brown bottles... let me tell you, we solved a lot of the world's problems last night on a noisy corner in the Annex.
These days, it's almost as if being a Guy is frowned-upon. Men are supposed to be sensitive, politically-correct, logical, in touch with their emotions... and hey, I'm all for that. I'm that way most of the time. But sometimes it's great to just let it all hang out and bitch about the world with your brothers-in-arms, light up some foul Nicaraguan mini-cigars, and get ripped.
(Sorry, liver — looks like you lost out this time. Hey, at least I didn't take you to Homecoming.)