Frustration levels rising....

Someone once told me that I was cynical, in fact I was the most cynical person that they knew.  I think I am more of a realist.  I take life, discount it and everyone in it, and evaluate the results, believing little to nothing of what is being presented.  Anyone who isn't cynical to some degree is ignorantly waiting for bad things to happen to them.  But enough about that.

Last night I went out with some friends for dinner.  I don't know why I agreed to go, and looking back I should have told them to kiss my ass, because I should know better.  These friends are loosely termed as friends; the kind I will see when it is convenient, but I would never go out of my way to see them.  They are usually expensive, where every meal is over $100 a head, and every event costs in the hundreds of dollars.  They clearly live beyond their means and are inconsiderate about what others want. What bothered me so much about last night wasn't that it is restaurant week (which, by the way is the worst way to visit a nice restaurant, in my opinion), but it was the whole deal.  After the intermezzo I found myself sitting listening to the conversation at the table.  I don't know what it was about specifically, but it was no different than any other conversation that these apes could contrive. It hit me like a ton of bricks... "Why am I sitting at a table, out late in NYC (9:30 or so) in a suit, hot as Satan's ball-sack, paying $100 for a meal that isn't that good, listening to the opinions and thoughts of people that wouldn't know how to use Silly Putty?"  At that moment, all flavor left my mouth, and everything tasted flat.  I wanted to reach across the table and choke the living shit out of each and every one of them.  I could feel the rage boiling up inside of me.  My blood became fire and my nerves as cold as ice.

I contemplated getting up at that moment and walking out.  Like in American Psycho, I could see myself taking my steak knife (still with wild boar and rabbit sausage on the blade) slitting the throats and stabbing everyone I was sitting with.  Later I was so angry with myself for sitting quietly through the rest of the dinner privately hating all of them vehemently.  They look at me and talk to me as if I was just like them, and that makes me feel like an average chump. Needless to say that I won't be seeing them again, under any circumstances, except maybe their funerals, if I can be bothered.