squeezing my juices.

Sunday, July 7, 2013

It's hard maintaining my personal brand of "hates self, lonely constantly, despises where she lives, has no life, uses Internet as only friend" when I now actually love myself, am around great people constantly, love where I live, have a life, and use the Internet rarely.

Anyway, last night I decided that I’d use a couple hours of my time to sit at a bar that has a real nice vibe and slowly read a book that I’m supposed to be reading.

I kept getting distracted by the conversations around me. To my right were some folks that apparently work with a music producer, and to my left there was a musician and some sort of manager or executive. I could tell it was a manager or executive because he spoke solely in cliches. Not a real ounce of human conversation or hint of intelligence came from him from any point, it was all, “it is what it is”s with him. Hate, hate, HATE people like that. Used to date a guy like that. The cliches. The “It Is What It Is” guy. The pointless sentences. The overused, discounted phrases. Say something real. Stop wasting air.

I quickly decided that I wouldn’t enjoy the book or anything much more than I would eavesdropping on their private conversation, which distinctly reminded me of the people I used to be forced to associate with in Nashville, so I propped my Kindle up on my lap. Literally propped. It served no purpose other than a prop. The book meant nothing to me.

The musician guy was steadily consuming beer as his manager or executive or whatever was slowly sipping a soda and pretending to relate to him. When the guy brought up the topic of girlfriends, the manager offered, “Well, you know, the juice is always worth the squeeze.”

I’d heard this expression before, specifically from my friend when she was telling me why she changes the laces in her sneakers to match her outfit a few times a week. I loved it then, but I really loved it yesterday. Specifically because I doubted that this manager knew exactly what “juice” was being extracted via the “squeeze.”

And that expression kept coming up. When the guy talked about moving to New York or how he wasn’t getting along with whomever it was he was working with, this suit person kept saying, “The juice is worth the squeeze.”

At that point, mama (me), was feeling pretty confident that the juice was worth the squeeze. ‘Cause that’s so true, you know? The juice (benefit) is always worth the squeeze (labor). By the time I was about to get out of there, I had to do everything in my power to stop myself from walking over to them and pointing in the suit’s face and saying, “YOU’RE FUCKIN’ RIGHT ABOUT THE SQUEEZE, MAN. YOU’RE SO RIGHT.”

Because, like, even if I don’t respect this man, and I didn’t, he was right. The juice is worth the squeeze. It’s always worth the squeeze. Unless it’s not and then you just have to throw the fruit in the trash and run like like hell to the next bushel of fruits. Or walk to the next bushel, it’s your prerogative. Or go lie down.

But ultimately he was right.