The Butterscotch Brigade (Version A)

“What’s your favorite color?”

I’ve worked at this store six months and now they want to get to know me? As if my aggravated harangues against each and everything they stand for isn’t telling enough?

Am I the only one who finds “what’s your favorite…” type questions pointless at best, and often demeaning at worst? Reducing the world’s only organism capable of deep thought, creating and supporting an opinion, yet still able to change said opinion, to a mere three word response?

Are your pleasures so simple that they can be summed up that easily?

Color for what? should be the response. I’m certain my attitude for/against both purple and sage depend on how they’re being used. Are we talking bedroom? Living room? Car? Car interior? Sky? Grass? The context plays a vital role in any and all decisions I make.

This dilemma came to a head a while ago at the beach. My girlfriend, while in the midst of the drunken revelry that was her week long birthday celebration, quizzed me on my favorite sexual position. Then became angry when I didn’t (couldn’t) come up with an acceptable answer.

Happy birthday honey, I got you our first argument!

The “I just enjoy getting laid” response didn’t work. She steadfastly refused to believe that I’m really quite simple/basic when you come down to it.

Refused no matter how many times I offered it.

She wanted a position, and all I could give her was an indeterminate. Shouldn’t feeling and mood play into it somehow? Cut me a break, all I know about relationships I’ve learned from countless episodes of Saved By the Bell. Is this why A.C. and Jesse were always fighting?

I mean I love the Stooges’ Funhouse. Have since I first heard it in high school. But I don’t feel the need to listen to it everyday. Not even every month anymore, now that I’m better adjusted.

Sometimes I want screams, others Max Roach’s manic drumming. Occasionally I’ll throw on an album I’m (pretty) sure I don’t enjoy, just to make sure of it!

Change, variation, and reassessment are all part of what makes being human fun. My friends and I used to mock my brother for owning Portishead’s Dummy. Now we champion 3 and mock him about his deep(ly) inappropriate knowledge of feline sexual behavior. (Seriously, ask him anything you need to know about a cat’s penis, and he has the answer!)

Maybe I’m just moody, along with my natural obstiancy.

To make amends, I bought her what every young woman wants for her birthday:

A zombie birthday cake! Chocolate and brain-eating zombies, who can resist?

Factor in some sparklers I found disguised as candles, and there was no way she’d remember the previous night’s (actually that morning’s) argument! Until she reads this! Then I’ll be as dead as my decorations!

And now for the Butterscotch Brigade (Version B)!

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