Sometimes I'm tempted to become a street person, cut off from society. But then I wouldn't get to wear my outfits.

I tend to differentiate 'real life' in my descriptions of my behavior, and it's most certainly a way to avoid said life-type all together.

This 'real life' specification usually comes as a pretext for something raunchy I'm about to say, or an explanation for something vulgar and inappropriate I've already done. Lest I confuse the average reader (which is probably an overstatement of the few people who read this), I cite the following examples of some real-life utterances of my past:

Ex. #1: 'In real life I would NEVER have peed on the street, but I had a bunch of whiskey, so.'

Ex. #2: 'I'm not really attracted to him in real life, but when the whiskey's flowin..'

So I guess whiskey tends to be my other life.

On the other hand, I also feel like in real life people shouldn't get sick, families shouldn't go bankrupt and misunderstandings shouldn't result in the ends of friendships. People too young to get married shouldn't be getting divorced, and newlyweds shouldn't be scraping the barrel and not celebrating Christmas this year.

I have this thing, where I tend to cry more at TV and movies than I do at real life. It sounds sick and unhealthy and wrong, but it's sometimes easier to get touched by the problems and triumphs of people we don't even know than it is to face the reality that is surrounding us outside fictional narrative. Easier to watch Ally McBeal get her heart broken than feel my own break, and much more satisfying to soak in the inspirations of well-written films than risk writing one myself.

Real life can just be painful and unfair in ways I prefer to ignore, and somehow with all the happy there inevitably comes an equal amount of sad. Best friends are faced with challenges impossible to comfort, and children have to parent their parents through difficult times. The most secure lose their jobs, and the least deserving lose their loved ones.

But with each of these trials comes a silver lining, sometimes thick enough to turn the entire cloud platinum. Character is reborn and friendships are strengthened, and people come into our lives whom we'd never have met had we not been faced with unexpected adversities. True friends reveal themselves, which is more vital than many will credit; it is much easier to stick around for a wedding than it is for a funeral, to stand as a bridesmaid than it is to sit as a shoulder to cry on.

Mostly the good and the bad remind us that people are what matter most. Not the faults we find in others, but the joy we find in their faults. I often need to be reminded that needing to cry is not a sign of weakness, but a tribute to living in the present and learning from the past. It is essential to remember that everyone has issues, everyone is crazy in their own personal way, but just because being flawed is not unique does not mean we don't each have unique flaws to deal with. No one's problems are more important, and all deserve equal attention. When I am down you've picked me up, and when you're in the shitter I'm ready to carry you.
Ally McBeal is currently my main source of wisdom, so here's a piece I've bitten off:
'Imagine thinking when you go, it will have mattered that you lived. And then consider the alternative.'

Know that it mattered that you lived, and don't hesitate to remind those important to you that their lives have touched yours too. Even if the cheese of it all makes you vomit, it's worth a mention, yeah?

And while we're at it, let's remind some people who don't have an angel on their shoulder that their lives are worth something too. Tis the season, right bitches? Real life hurts, but it also heals.

Creepy.

Ho ho ho.

Congratulations, you're stupid in three languages.

I have absolutely no ability to maintain patience with idiots. I honestly don't think I'm even capable of it. And most certainly not in the workplace.

The fact that this acute intolerance causes irrepressible flare-ups of angry in me doesn't even make me feel ashamed, but rather justified. Here's the thing: Some people's voices make me want to commit murders and other heinous crimes as it is. When those voices ask me stupid questions or try to pawn their work off on me, I near the ragged edge of a catastrophic meltdown.

To add insult to my excessive injury, many hours of the day I also wish I had disc jockey headphones to block out the cerebellum-grating obnoxious laughter from choice idiots in my general work arena, and it quickly becomes the focal point of my concentration.

How the HELL am I supposed to get my work done in a positive fashion when all I can think about is how much I want to slam that guy's idiot face into his keyboard? You're a distraction, Idiot Face Guy. Fix it.

Mostly I think the genesis of my anger is the fact that most of these people not only perform the same job that I do, and make the same amount of peasants' wages, but many of them inhabit job titles above my own. And make more money. And don't get fired for being idiots.
I think I might be becoming caustic before my time. I always imagined that my senility wouldn't set in till I was wrinkley, decrepit and unable to get sex* - it was at this point that I'd be allowed to make inappropriate comments and exhibit senseless animosity while sipping on whiskey neats** on my porch. But working in an industry where 'the bigger the douchebag the higher the paycheck' is the mantra has shoved me 50 years into the future on the bullet train to Crabby Town.

So no, I will not do your work for you. And no, I will not put on an air of sweetness when you're asking me the same stupid question for the fourth time.

Instead I'll put my headset in one ear and my earphone in the other, and catch up on some more Ally McBeal while I pretend not to hear you at all.

Choo choo!

*I'm already halfway there.

**Better make it two thirds.