Most people are part of a close knit group of friends in high school. Then, as the years catch up, they tend to drift apart.

From my observations, it seems college is the typical catalyst. People go to different schools, begin new careers in different places, meet their future husbands and wives...it's an old story.

I consider myself lucky that I've managed to maintain the same friends I've had since I was 18. Admittedly, some of those high-school compatriots have drifted far enough out that I've lost sight.

Proximity and life in general keeps me away from seeing the old gang as often as I would like. Thankfully, we have a mailing list that does a pretty good job of keeping the bonds intact, albeit a bit strained at times.

Something I used to hate was the reminiscing. We had a lot of good, granted irresponsible, times in our youth. Without fail, if you collected more than three of us in a room, the conversation invariably returned to our "glory days". It grew so tedious, I felt like we weren't moving on, our friendships built on the drinking and partying of our youth.

In the past few years, the reminiscing has largely stopped, or at least I've stopped partaking. This wasn't a conscious decision, it just seemed like we finally grew tired of beating the horse.

Tonight, I was talking to one of the few folks from the Old Gang that I'm still in frequent contact with. In our earlier days, he was always the person to cross the line, the instigator. The topic of drinking came up, specifically relating to this article . For the first time in a while, the crimes and tribulations of our deviant youth came up.

I guess the timing was perfect, because I actually enjoyed reminiscing. As a responsible adult, I can't possibly admit the nature of ribald excess we reveled in as early 20-somethings. But it was nice to revisit those hazy alcohol fueled days and nights.

On one hand, it's clear in retrospect that we are lucky we didn't do any serious jail time or end up dead or at least maimed and diseased.

On the other hand, I can say without an ounce of vanity that our wild nights are the things of movies. People not present during those days would shake their head and silently call you a liar, were you to try and actually recount some of the events.

Perhaps I should feel ashamed for some of the things I/we did, but I can't help but feel a bit proud that few people have a "wild story" that holds a candle to our misadventures.

And for better or worse, they were almost always fueled by copious alcohol consumption and a fearless, instigators attitude. We played off each other, escalating situations from inappropriate to ridiculous, to mythic.

I won't claim that we lived harder or faster than anyone else, but we were more alive than most of our peers.

I realized the best part of this pit-stop on memory lane: I was able to reminisce with a person who barely resembles the same person ten years ago. And we are still friends. We've grown, we have careers and have fully entered "life". We don't need the tales of yesteryear to keep our friendship relevant, but we also share the bond of drunken depravity.

I'll Drink to That.

I don't like dogs. Never have.

I realize that I live in the minority on this one, so I try to be accepting of other people's preferred pet.

But in my home, I don't want the smelly beasts. There has been only one dog that I even remotely liked, and she was no larger than a cat and smarter than most people.

Unfortunately for me, my cousin has two of these animals. Which means that when she comes to visit, so do her four legged monsters. Generally speaking, they are fairly well behaved, but I feel like I walk around febreezing and vacuuming every surface in my home after they leave.

Through no invitation of my own, my cousin and her boyfriend are staying at my house tonight. It wasn't an invitation I extended, but I love my cousin and I couldn't say no.

I thought it might not be too bad, after all, they were planning on dropping of their stuff and then heading to Columbia for the Gamecocks game. Hell, I probably wouldn't even see them until Sunday as I was spending the day at work and they wouldn't be back until very late.

Except I didn't realize that dropping their stuff off included the dogs.

To be fair, they did put the one dog in a crate and the other is pretty well mannered, both were confined to the "bonus" room.

When I got home after a long day at work, I was surprised with instructions directing me to take the dogs (!) for a walk. Annoyed, I did this very thing. Grudgingly, I scooped dog feces up with a plastic bag. I muttered and bitched the whole time.

Well, apparently, I didn't let them poop enough. I thought I would check in on them, mostly to make sure the room wasn't getting destroyed.

Guess what I found? More dog shit.

Which I've just finished scrubbing from my carpet.

I really don't like dogs. They rate equally with fucking house guests.

I spent a bit of time tonight sitting alone in the dark listening to the 5.1 mix of The Social Network soundtrack.

Like Ghosts it's an acoustic album. While Ghosts is an amalgamation of rich textures, aurally touring a lush environment evoking thoughts of rain-forests and angry industrial sites, The Social Network OST feels like it's telling a story.

Having no desire to see the movie, I can't be certain that it actually jives with the movies tale. As a creation taken in it's own right, the soundtrack spins yarn of near chip-tune sounds, lending it's story a vintage technology feel.

And it's depressing. Parts seem to try and suggest hope and even conquest, but outright happiness is missing.

----

Sitting in the dark, exploring my minds narrative of the music, it occurred to me that this isn't the story of the album so much as my own mental state, superimposed on 8-bit ambient music.

Is happiness a general state of being? I certainly feel happy. Sometimes. But it's fleeting, a rush that fades away when logic and reality creeps in on the edges.

I'm not unhappy either. But as a generalized situation report, I don't feel like I can honestly state that I'm just happy. My happiness happens in manic bursts. Moments of extreme elation and contentment.

Moments that seem to temporarily blind me to the truth of my particular lot. The optimism I feel during these peaks is quickly replaced by a sober truth: You can't be optimistic about something that is impossible.

Wishing and hoping simply doesn't get you anywhere. At some point you have to face facts. Armed with this knowledge, it seems to rob the highs. All of the sudden you can't just ignore the truth of the whole affair.

Self actualization shouldn't be our goal. Realizing your potential means accepting your shortcomings, life's road-blocks. Blissful, willful denial grants you moments of unwarranted hyper-happiness.

"The Truth Shall Set You Free" is something people say without fully understanding the truth about the truth. Knowing the truth means you acknowledge that life has plateaus. Points where you simply can't elevate any further.

"Ignorance is Bliss", in my opinion, approaches the horizon of fact. A more perfect statement might be "Willful Ignorance is Bliss". By simply not knowing, or acknowledging, my own limits in life I can feel positive about the potential.

The problem with all of this, of course, is by ignoring the reality of your situation, you're destined to fail to reach those wonderful heights. You aren't going to be rich. Or famous. Or marry the person you love. So how do you cope? Anti-depressants? Suicide? Resign yourself to reality and your fate therein?

Or just find a way to delude yourself even further. Push the niggling facts deep down and ignore the cancer they inspire.

-----

Tonight I listened to "The Social Network" soundtrack.

But this morning I stayed in bed until mid-day, I ate banana blueberry pancakes and I ignored the realities of my life.

And I felt happy.

I tend to write things on this here blag with the understanding that there will only be two types of readers. People I know in real life that I know read it, and random strangers.

I realize that the entire idea of plastering my random thoughts on the wide world of web is in and of itself an act of narcissism. Private journals are a place to collect your thoughts for yourself. Possibly even for posterity.

Blogs, on the other hand, are places you post your thoughts in the vain hope that someone actually gives enough of a damn to read your drivel.

So why then was I surprised to learn that a friend actually reads this?

Out of left field today, my friend asked a question about the sunflower seeds post. To be fair, we work together, so she knew the players in the "that shit will kill you" conversation, giving her a particular insight in to the whole thing.

One would expect I would just take it in stride. After all, I sign all my email with the URL. Hell, my email is on the same domain. It's not like I take any great pains to hide it from the public. But at the same time, I immediately felt embarrassed.

It was like being 30 and your mom finding condoms on the dresser in your house.

My mind started racing "Have I posted anything potentially embarrassing? Have I said anything about her or my other co-workers? Jesus, what kind of light does that site put me in?"

In short, I went momentarily retarded. I could actually feel my face flush red hot. Of course, I've always taken great care not to name The Company. I seldom address anyone by their given name. Which isn't to say it would take any great detective to put two and two together. But still.

Of course, the entire thing was ridiculous. I put this stuff out for the public for all the self-serving vain reasons anyone does it. I want people to read, to comment. But the convergence of on and off-line was rather jarring.

Now of course, there is a part of me that wonders: Just how meta will the entire experience be if she decides to read this post? Reading an article written about you reading an article.

It's like aiming a camcorder at the tv it's connected to.

The wonderful thing about having your own blog is you can post the most inane shit with no one to stop you.

Hell, it's even expected.

So, on to my particular brand of inanity.

For years I wore Armani's "Acqua di Gio" cologne. I don't remember who exactly recommended it to me, it was either Alynnk or CJ. In either event, it was an excellent call. I loved the stuff. Still do.

Two years ago (or so) I realized that it was incredibly common. Worse, it was common among all the people I don't want to be like. That is to say, high school boys and their frat party counterparts. It was time for change.

Tyler and I embarked on the great cologne challenge. We sniffed and snorted more fragrances than anyone should ever endure. Giving ourselves headaches over multiple trips to the mega perfume counters in the Abu Dhabi mall.

A decision was finally reached. Sort of.
I opted for a bottle of Hugo Boss "XY" and Joop's "Jump". Funny thing about the XY, I hemmed and hawed, ultimately deciding against it. So I thought.

On the way home from the olfactory outing, I kept smelling something wonderful. Tyler smelled it as well. It was my arm, where I tested the XY. 'lo and Behold, it was a great fragrance. It just took a little time to react to my body (or our noses were too burnt..). We did a U-Turn and bought a bottle.

All was not well for long, however. A few months later, the XY broke on a trip back to the US, rendering every toiletry I owned ruined and turning me off of the smell. The Joop was an abject failure, turns out there is something about it that gives me fierce headaches. I was back to the Armani.

Last year, I started sniffing mens magazines. I happened across Givenchy's "Play". It was an instant hit. I ended up opting for the evening version, "Play Intense", and have worn it (mostly) since then. Occasionally I will flip back to the Acqua di Gio or Boss.

But it's time for something new. I'm not fully out of the "Play Intense", but it really doesn't please me for a good every-day wear. In fact, I've reached the point where I don't particularly care for it at all.

So, I'm on the hunt again. Sadly, sunny Sumter doesn't have anything better than a Wal-Mart for your perfume needs, and I really don't know where to start. I've given thought to buying another bottle of XY, and I seem to recall liking Lacoste "Essential"...but that's all I can come up with.

Which is why I ask you, dear internet- Based on what you like and what I've admitted to liking, does anyone have any suggestions? I don't have the time or inclination to spend multiple trips at a mega perfume counter, much less a suitable cohort.

Extra credit if you recognized the lyrics in the post title. Physical pain if you recommend "Chaps" or "Grey Flannel".