Something to Drink to

Throughout history, the human race has unsuccessfully fought aserious dilemma, and I’ve managed to pinpoint the exactproblem. It’s not that some dainty boutique-like cake shopviciously replaced our beloved, manly Big Al’s pizza, whichin itself, is certainly a travesty.

The problem is that nobody ever really knows what everyone elseis truthfully thinking deep down inside where people’s honestopinions and feelings roam freely about like teenagers’ handsafter the prom — or like Cheney’s and Edwards’frisky paws under the table during the vice-presidentialdebate.

Since everyone — unconsciously and consciously —feeds their true thoughts through about 1,000 levels of distortionand B.S., you can’t fully believe a person 100 percent,especially when he or she is stumblingly trying to express feelingson any given subject matter. Sadly, this forces us to rely tooheavily on inference and assumption, both of which inevitablyembarrass the hell out of us in some way or another.

To further illustrate, allow me to provide some examples ofthese embarrassing mishaps that all too often occur, even to thebest of us.

It’s the fiery glare that burns you after almost referringto your current girlfriend by your ex’s name, catching yourmistake just in time, but not quick enough, because now yourgirlfriend thinks you’re a bumbling moron like Hugh Grant inevery movie he’s ever been in — ever.

It’s that moral hangover you get when you wake up themorning after in a strange place you definitely don’tremember going, and you’re too afraid to move because youdon’t want to wake up what’s next to you.

It’s that awkward feeling you get when an unnecessarilyhot girl in spandex on the treadmill in front of you at 24-HourFitness realizes you’re blatantly gawking at her dangerouslyhigh hem-line in the mirror.

It’s the pissed-off embarrassment you feel when youaccidentally turn the sink on too high, splashing water all overyour crotch. This sucks because it forces you to weave through anoverly crowded restaurant looking like you’ve got the bladdercontrol of either your infant sister or your 90-year-oldgrandfather.

Yes. It’s all of these and many more. These types ofscenarios always make you desperately wonder: “What is he/shethinking, dammit?!”

For example, for all the girls who are reading this in some sortof public place where at least eight guys are present, I want youto do something for me. Be a good sport and just do what I say. Iwant you to look up and observe what at least one of those guysjust did.

Did that shady dude suddenly jerk his head the other way?”Oh my God! Was he staring at my legs?” Maybe, maybenot.

He could have been thinking naughty thoughts about you in aTelletubby costume. But he could have just as easily been shockedat how much you resemble his 16-year-old sister — oh,nastiness, dude; pull your head out of the gutter. I meant it in anon-incestuous manner.

Don’t feel bad though, girls, because right now thatguy’s thinking, “Man, that girl thinks I’m adirty pervert who wants to dress her up like a chubby alien-likecreature from an absurdly creepy children’s show.”

The best part about this situation, however, is that you bothfeel a bit awkward, eh? Yeah, that’s what I’m talkingabout. I got you good, you fockers.

There was an instance last week that sparked my curiosityregarding other people’s thoughts.

I was driving back from DFW, admiring the sheer talent andconsiderate nature of Dallas drivers, when my she-passengerremarked that I am “a very pensive person.”

Jeffrey Lebowski would certainly say, “That’s f-inginteresting.” According to dictionary.com pensivemeans “deeply, often wistfully or dreamilythoughtful.”

William Wordsworth was pensive. Bob Dylan’s pensive. JakeGyllenhaal in Donnie Darko was pensive. Mack Mayoisn’t. I could be characterized the same way AshleeSimpson’s producer characterized her: As putting on an air ofprofessionalism when I’m trapped in my own mediocrity.

I’m more likely to focus my intellectual energy towardremembering who produced This is Spinal Tap than staying uplate contemplating the number of levels on which Plato’sAllegory of the Cave works.

This girl’s comment resonated in my mind, however, becauseI now realize exactly what our society needs to clear up theage-old question, “What is that chick/dudethinking?”

Whenever you’re talking to someone and embarrass yourselfcausing an uncomfortable silence, mandatory confessionals should bein order like on “The Real World.” I don’tnecessarily love the show, but the show’s creators, JonMurray and Mary-Ellis Bunim, had a damn good idea even if theproducers do sit tentatively behind the camera, unloading questionafter question on the roommate.

Think about it. Every time some conflict arises in that house,or God forbid, if a drop of alcohol hits somebody’s lips,that confessional booth door flies open and a truthful —albeit sometimes obnoxious — pouring forth of emotion isbound to ensue. Eventually, the real truth will come out.

If we, as a society, would have adopted personal confessionalbooths years ago, many relationships that ended during the heat ofbattle could still be going to this day. In fact, some of thegreatest lovers of all time would still be together if they hadopened the lines of honest communication — or more like it,had them forced upon them.

We could have Brad Pitt’s character from Snatch asthe director of confessional enforcement. He’d standattentive and would be ready to beat the hell out of anyone who wasunwilling to release their inner feelings, thoughts and emotionstruthfully.

Romeo and Juliet. That huge Melvin would’ve been avoidedif they would have sat down and worked out the kinks of the potionbeforehand.

Scarlett O’Hara and Rhett Butler. If Rhett would’vebeen more open with his undying love for Scarlett, and if Scarlettwasn’t such a money-grubbing punk, then wouldn’t Rhettactually have given a damn? Therefore, the marriage would have beensalvaged.

Amy Fisher and Joey Buttafuoco. Okay, I admit it. There’sno way that swing-and-a-miss would’ve worked. Talk about timeto count one’s losses. But for about every other attempt at arelationship in the world, my confessional booths would absolutelywork, forcing people to express their feelings honestly.

And that’s why this week’s cheer-of-the-week is aduo: Jon Murray and the late Mary-Ellis Bunim. Sure they spurredthe slippery slope of crappy reality-TV programming, but they said,”screw ambiguity” with the confessional booths. I drinkto them, and I hope that one day we can all live in a world void oflies and embarrassing misconceptions.