Easy Rider

There was a reason the Buddha wandered for years --and it wasn’t because he was busy touring the Midwest with Peter Fonda. He probably spent too much time sitting in cafés, drinking lattes, getting a little belly and thinking about his mom. In essence, he was sort of a buzz-kill.

I’m just like the Buddha but more popular. Most people like me. They say things like “You have such pretty hair.” “You are so funny.” “Be my maid of honor!” “I’m going to name my first child after to you.”

Nevertheless, I relate to Buddha and his self-imposed isolation and it’s not that I have a fear of commitment. Because I don’t.

I have a fear of other people's commitments. To get out of the last relationship I was ensared in, I actually had to chew through my own femur. Now I hobble around with a fifth of gin, shaking my nub at people and offering sage advice. “Always wear a helmet. Moisturize after showers. Don’t date men who wear fishnet…”

It can be so stressful sometimes, knowing everything at such a tender age. I suppose it has its rewards. I am always either content in my omnipotence, or in some cases, pleasantly surprised when my garbage can hasn’t been stolen.

I’m doing pretty well. It's special. I’ve always wanted to be with someone who would leave me alone and I am not particularly good at, nor am I fond of, intimate relationships.

Unfortunately, I am fond of gin and intimacy seems to go really well with gin; as do cigarettes and more gin. The Buddha and I do not have these particular vices in common, which is why he is not touring the countryside with Peter Fonda-and why he will probably never have his head blown off by a homicidal, mustache-fearing redneck.

Race you to the Bodi tree. Fool.