(To all of those out there reading this: One, Sally feel free to read this one. I don’t think there is too much in it that will upset you. Two, my editor took a few liberties in the editing process and I only recently discovered them. I left them for posterity sake though)
Many people have found that one of the negatives of growing up is you tend to grow apart from the friends you made as a child. It makes sense if you think about it; people change, move, get married, have kids, grow up, grow old, grow apart, get sick, and die. It is one of the negatives of aging. As a child the world is an endless array of possibilities. The person you ride bikes with down to the 7-11 to grab Slurpees, even though your parents told you not to go there without them, will one day have his or her own life across the country only to be heard from occasionally on social media. (Only a short 10 years ago or so, even this wasn’t possible, and the only way to know where someone ended up was through rumors and local lore with tales starting with, “Did you hear where Kat went?”). Fortunately for me, even with all of the crusades I ventured on, the many times I decided it was time to pack my bags and head to a different part of this globe, I am lucky enough to have one friend (this is not a retelling of the story of my best friend, so please continue before growing bored and assuming I have run out of wonderful tales to tell) who, through all of the hurdles Life put in our way, has remained one of the lynchpins of my existence.
Writer’s note: Some people doubt the validity of this story, but trust me, everything I talk about here honestly and truly happened.
Like many other people in this world, as I approached my thirtieth birthday, I slowly began to realize my life wasn’t anywhere close to where I wanted it to be. I was Matt Wright. I was not supposed to be in the situation I was in. I was supposed to be a well-known writer, as well as an exceptionally popular socialite who people enjoyed having at parties. I was not supposed to be a failing real estate agent who was slowly losing his house and struggling with the fact that, not only was he single but, the last girl he thought he was dating had been with someone else the entire time. (Thank you, Julie.) I was supposed to be a member of the elite. I was supposed to be better than everyone else because, let’s face it, I am better than everyone else. Struggling with all of these different aspects of my life, I also started thinking about leaving the DC area because I was tired of dealing with its fake, plastic, hypocritical demeanor. Nevertheless, I was still there and about to celebrate my thirtieth birthday.
(*Sally this is mostly readable, per Carter, but not entirely since the story you heard had some very edited lines. So when you get to quotations proceed with caution*)
As I regularly talk about, I enjoy the occasional (multiple and daily) drink. Although that didn’t become a regular thing in my life until I was a few years past my 21st birthday. I wasn’t a fan of the taste of beer, liquor, or anything really. I was, on the other hand, a huge fan of smoking pot. This probably explains why I wasn’t a huge drinker at the time. I would get high, then I would sit on the couch, debating whether or not I should go to the store to get beer, or if I should just sit there playing Tony Hawk on my PlayStation. Tony Hawk won on a regular basis.
I do remember one day I was “in the mood to drink” and on my way home from work I picked up a case of Corona. I still had that case a month later with only three out of the almost pristine packaging. Obviously, I was not a huge drinker at the time.