Drift Reality > Washington, DC > June 2003

June 22 - The weather is getting better yet paradoxically, I find myself less and less inclined to go out as each week passes. Maybe I've come to the point that I enjoy doing things sober or perhaps I am just getting sick and tired of having a blast but not being able to remember substantial parts of it. I don't know, but it is a bit scary. I didn't go out on Friday night and on Saturday, had all of three beers at an Irish pub in Bethesda, Flanagan's.

I called up my friend Ryan and he said that he had drank too much the previous night. Feeling a bit drowsy myself, I opted to try and find some compromise between being a complete waste of humanity on a Saturday night and raging like a rock star. This middle-ground turned out to be Flanagan's in Bethesda. In a posh city with a stagnant nightlife that revolves around yuppies and their children, Flanagan's is a sort of dirty oasis in this desert of aristocracy. They have a drink special everynight and due to the innate nature of the place, you can guarantee that the drink special will be a good beer and not some fruity liquor drink. Also, you don't have to wear anything in particular to go there and you don't even have to pretend like you want to talk to anybody or even that you like anyone. You can go there and sit down and drink good beer and it smells a little bad and just enjoy yourself. So there.

June 10 - Groggy as always on a Sunday morning, I awoke and stumbled into my former bedroom, which was being painted. Perhaps I should have taken a cue and moved my clothes out of the closet, but I've never been one for performing tasks that I deem unnecessary.

I smelled something funny as I reached for a t-shirt and then realized that my arm, which had rubbed against the door, was now covered with white paint.

"Shit," I said as I heard my Mother walking up the stairs.

"Jiyan, be careful because there is wet paint on the inside of the closet doors," she said.

"Too late," I responded.

I walked to the bathroom and began scrubbing the paint off my arm. After I had gotten about 75% of the paint off (remember, I don't like to perform tasks I deem unnecessary), I decided to get dressed and have breakfast.

I went to reach for my t-shirt and suddenly realized that I had just rubbed my arm against the door once again. Shrugging my shoulders, I just put my t-shirt on and went downstairs.

My Mom, pointing out that I had paint over my arm said, "I know how to get rid of that."

With that, she disappeared for a moment and then emerged with a paper towel with some sort of pinkish fluid on it. She began rubbing it on my arm and I realized that it was remarkably effective at getting the paint off.

"Thanks," I said. I began walking into the kitchen but then suddenly realized that my arm was beginning to burn.

"It's burning," I yelled as I dashed to the sink. "What did you put on my arm?"

I then looked onto the counter and saw an open can of Strypeeze. The can had a skull and crossbones on the cover. As my Mom dashed into the kitchen and began scrubbing my left arm vigorously with a sponge, I used my right arm to read the back of the can. It read, "Warning: This product contains chemicals known to the state of California to cause cancer, birth defects, and other reproductive harm."

"What did you do to me!" I shrieked. "You used Strypeeze on my arm?"

"I diluted it," she answered defensively.

I shook my head in amazement but then realized that this wasn't the first time my Mother had done something incomprehensible. I began having flashbacks of the time when she tried to cut my hair and I ended up looking like a leper.

Shaking my head, I looked outside and saw that my Father was doing yard work and he had a white lab coat on.

Ahh. . .the pleasures of a Sunday morning with the family.

June 3 - Does anyone know why Doves don't fly? I was walking home from the gym yesterday and this Dove darted in front of my feet. I watched as it began to run away from me and then I thought to myself, "Jiyan, why doesn't the Dove fly away from you?"

Out of curiosity, I began to follow the Dove and found that it kept walking away from me. Finally, I managed to corner it and as I approached, it attempted to fly, but only crashed into this brick wall that was nearby. It then landed on the ground and then attempted to start running again.

Fearful that it had broken its leg, I called animal control.

"Hello?" A woman's voice asked.

"Yes, there is this dove, and it's walking away from me but not flying, I think its wing might be broken or something."

"No," she responded. "Dove's sometimes choose not to fly."

I laughed and this and answered, "Haha. . .Dove's are pretty stupid."

"No," she answered dryly. "They are not stupid, they just sometimes choose not to fly. I think that means they are pretty smart. They fly only when they want to."

I bit my tongue and refrained from shooting back, "Oh, you mean, they fly away after the predator has caught them and eaten them because they are too stupid to use their wings?" Instead, I thanked her and hung up the phone.