Victimology

I think that one of the weirdest parts of not really being friends with Spliff anymore is the connection we both have with other people. I have a hard time going to places I know she likes to go because I don't want to see her outside of the office. I don't want to be forced to talk to her in public and I don't want to have to pretend for more than 40 hours per week that I have any desire to be in her life. But that is kind of a weird feeling, even though it has been that way for well over a year now.

In the office, I don't have to make small talk. We talk about work. And honestly, I don't have an issue most days having to spend at least 8 hours with her. We still laugh about stuff and we are "work friends" and I am totally fine with that.

I recently got back into touch with a friend of mine from high school who stopped hanging out with me shortly after (his best friend) J and I split up. I always thought that the reason that we stopped talking so much was the fact that J was his best friend and, even though we had all been friends for over 5 years at that point, I was not. I could see where that would be weird for him. And J. And even me at that point. But, that's the thing with break-ups. You don't always get custody of all the friends in the divorce. And I have been around the block a few times, and I am okay with that. 

Needless to say, last night when BB and I hung out for the first time in over 6 years and he told me that the reason he stopped hanging out with me wasn't because of J, but (like so many others of my friends) because of Spliff, I was pretty…well…I don't really know. I was definitely a little pissed that her selfishness had cost me so much time away from someone that I cared so much for and I was obviously hurt that he didn't make an effort to tell me this before falling off the planet for six years. But mostly, I felt an overwhelming sense of "DUH".

Spliff always had a way about her that made everyone really comfortable. My guy friends (not all, but many) always had crushes on her and, at least with the ones that she wanted to remain friends with (which was only really two of them) she was pretty clear that she wanted nothing romantically to do with them. And those two, followed her around like puppies for years and just pined and pined. But the ones that she didn't care about? Chewed up and spit out. The thing was? I DID care about them. I was the reason they met her. I felt responsible. And I was the one who had to hold their hands through the whole crushing mess. And eventually, because I lived with her for 8 years, I lost a LOT of friends over it.

Last night, sitting with TT (who was a victim, but is now the best thing that ever happened to me) and BB (former great friend and also a victim), I giggled. Because yeah, it sucks that they both got burned by my former BFF, but they both made it. And now have girls who won't treat them like shit. So? Everybody wins. And everybody hates her. (Which also makes me giggle, cause I got the good friends in the divorce.)  There was not really much thought of her at all until BB waved me over to point out the bartender. A guy I used to talk about a bit here, on this blog. Spliff's unicorn. The one guy she could never really have. He broke up with her at least twice, both times crushing her into tiny blonde pieces and both times she was begging for more. (And the last time we spoke of him, she would still take him back.) He did to her what she did to everyone else. And there he was.  

The Molester, having been a friend of mine, also since high school, was the one of my guy friends that all of my girl friends wanted to date and that all of my other guy friends wanted to be. To me, he was just "The Molester". But to Spliff, he was a god. And last night, standing there with two boys that she crushed and the boy who crushed her and knowing that I had lost touch with all three at one point or another because of her, I realized it. There was no doubt in my mind that not being friends with her is the right thing to do. In the end, I just wanted to hug them all (and then maybe slap TM for good measure) and thank them for reaffirming JUST how much I have because I don't have her.

Moral of the story?

Connection or no connection: Removing her from my life has brought me my boys back. And I wouldn't trade that for 20 Spliffs. (Unless they looked like Taye Diggs. Then I would consider it.)  

Uno and Karma Chameleon

We've accidentally become addicted to Uno. This happened once before with Scattergories when The Molester was stopping by a lot but it has been years since Uno has been such a big part of my life. Last week, during an impromptu visit from Clifftopher and an unexpected bottle of Captain, we rediscovered our love of the game and after the ridiculous 7 person game on Saturday, Spliff decided to officially dub Tuesday "Game Night".

Last night, "Game Night" involved my total ass-kicking of Clifftopher and Spliff and then the complete interruption of the game by The Kid and Anthony who showed up late. And then I kicked their asses too. I am an Uno shark. It's true. I draw 8 million cards and act like I am going to lose and then just when you aren't expecting it, BAM! I kick your ass. Because that's how I roll.

We had a pretty good time, actually. I suspect that, in the future, The Kid will not be invited due to his inability to stop talking long enough to keep track of what is happening in the game, but then again, after a few cocktails, neither can the rest of us and then before you know it, someone (Anthony) is dancing with a chair. I strongly recommend "Game Night" to anyone who likes a good level of madness in their lives. But, of course, you need a reasonable amount of booze or there might not be any chair dancing and that, my friends, would be a travesty.

I have to say, though, the highlight of the whole night was right about at bedtime. Spliff had long since not so subtly announced her migration to bed and stolen the music and taken it with her and TK and I were just about done with one of those conversations people have when they have just started seeing each other and aren't really sure what the heck is going on when "Karma Chameleon" came on my iPod. This is not unusual because I am a huge nerd and my iPod is completely jam-packed with music that most people would be ashamed to admit that they like (Hello?! Air Supply! WOOT!) but even in the dark, I could see TK's eyes light up.

"I love this song!"

"You aren't even old enough to KNOW this song!" (He really isn't as young as I try and make him feel, but it is fun...and the song did come out before he was born...Don't do any math, I will punch you.)

This is when he kissed me. And it was the kind of dreamy kiss that can only mean...

"I love you, Patrick Swayze."

"Did you just call me Patrick Swayze?!"

And that, my friends, is all she wrote. I kicked him out of my house and then hit him with my car.

(No, I totally laughed my ass off because that is the kind of sense of humor that I need at 2 in the morning.)

Out of Hiding...Sort of...

The past couple of weeks have been pretty hectic. I managed to get the sinus infection from hell the day after Magfest and then struggle to get rid of it through the Ben Harper show and work and tests and a bunch of wine drinking with Spliff and The Molester. I think it has gotten out of my system now and I am pretty excited not to feel like I have been hit by a bus.

I picked up another job at a book store, just for the holidays and am starting some time this week. I am pretty excited about the discount even though the thought of Black Friday makes me want to run and hide. But it will be nice to be surrounded by so many good books all day, even if I don't get to just sit around and read them. I figured that I might as well do a little more with my time and make a little extra cash for the holidays. I have managed to do just what I intended to do and take a 5 month vacation involving sleeping late, doing homework, visiting friends and seeing shows and I am perfectly okay with giving up my free time during my least favorite time of year. That's right, people, just call me Scrooge.

This year, I fully intend to pretend that the holidays are not happening and spend them working my arse off. I don't want pumpkin pie or a tryptophan overdose. Mostly though, I don't want to turn 28. I am thinking that if I just ignore the birthday, it won't happen. You think it will work?

I Spoke too Soon

Just when I thought the transition was going to be easy.

Turns out, the townhouse that “we” fell in love with is already taken. Which is both good and bad. The part that sucks is that the rent was perfect and the deposit was NOT one month’s rent (it was only half!). This is a rarity. Normally, I’ve found, people want the first month’s rent AND an equal deposit. I’m not shocked about this. I just wish it wasn’t so.

Anyway, it looks like we will be going with the second place apartment. Which, was only second place due to its lack of fenced in yard, and you know…second floor. It is, in fact, three blocks or so closer to the beach. (Thus, putting us three blocks from the beach.) And because we are spoiled brats, we are still further from it than we would like. Yep. We are bitches. (I feel the need to quote Winona and just say, “Lick it up, baby. Lick. It. Up.” Ahem…I feel better, don’t you?)

So, the plan is to put the deposit (of entirely too much money) down on the place today. We have already spoken to the lady who seems enthusiastic about renting to us anyway and being that we already know the neighborhood (it is just a few short blocks from our LAST shack…er…apartment.) and the neighbors (Magic Mike and The Molester will be closer than EVER.), it won’t take much to get back into the groove of living there. I’m excited for my psyche, not so much for my bank account.

I’m sure it will all work out. Now I just have to focus on getting all of my shit packed again! AGAIN. Next time, I am setting fire to all of it in the front yard. Except Ernge.

Shoes...

For the past few days, I have been having very short, very strange dreams. Like commercial break dreams. And oddly, even though I know that they are coming in when the major dream pauses, when I wake up, I can only remember the commercials.

I spent most of Saturday hung over and having cracked out conversations with people about creating new holidays and dressing up like thumbs and taking surveys. But somewhere between all of that, I slept my face off. When I woke up from my five hour power nap, I remembered the commercial break.

I was getting dressed for something. Wearing a wine colored dress (one that I actually wore to JB’s wedding a few years back) and I couldn’t decide which shoes to wear. The thing is, I was sitting on the floor amidst about 675 pairs of black shoes but none of them were the “right” shoes. It was very stressful. Very stressful indeed.

The next dream took place at a school. Not my school. Just someone’s school. And I was in charge of showing someone around. So naturally, at lunchtime, I led her to the courtyard. Which wasn’t so much a courtyard as it was a huge field with concession stands next to a football field. Maybe there was a pep rally going on. The Molester was working in one of the stands alongside of the field where we decided to sit. I bought drinks from him and then realized that I wasn’t wearing any shoes. TM gave me his bright, Astroturf colored (“crystal green”) shoes to wear and I ended up walking away with them. It was a fairly pointless dream, but again, involved shoes (or a lack thereof).

The last one that I remember didn’t involve shoes but a friend of mine who has been paralyzed from the waist down since we were sixteen. We were at a party, sitting at a table where I wouldn’t have been able to see her wheelchair, and she miraculously stood up and walked to the door. Like nothing was different. I called her on it, and she said, “Where have you been? I have been walking for three weeks!”

I realize that this last one has nothing to do with shoes. But it seemed to me that there was a connection between walking and the shoes themselves. What is going on in my brain?!

Anyway, I looked up shoes in a dream dictionary this morning…you know…when I got to work and probably should have been…you know…working. And here’s the verdict. Strange, eh?

Jay...this post might make you sad...

A favorite memory.

When JB came home for his first leave from the Air Force, I had just turned nineteen. I remember hearing over and over that week, the song that always made me think of him (and still does). I remember driving him back to our side of town when it came on the radio. I remember the conversation stopping abruptly and fighting back tears while trying to decipher the distance between the blurry lights on the road. And I drove, just praying he hadn't noticed.

But my favorite memory was the night at the apartment that Jay, Jeremeho, and the Molester shared. Me, Mikey, Matt, Jay, JB, Jeremeho, and The Molester, sitting on the floor and JB in the sombrero because he couldn’t win a game of Asshole. I remember watching the game intently and laughing and trying to help when TM couldn’t hold up his cards anymore and I remember JB’s failed attempts at faking him out.

I remember being warmed by the presence and the arms of friends that will always be in my heart. I remember tackling JB with Mikey and Matt when the night was over. I remember listening to Alan Jackson and laughing at JB’s belt buckle on the couch after everyone had left, hands intertwined, songs intertwanged, moments interrupted by uncomfortable (but hauntingly comfortable) silences. (No, Jay, I know you maintain that we were making out…but we weren’t…ASK JB…butthead).

That was the first day of the rest of our lives, you know. And now look how far we've come...In life...and from each other...

Stuck-in-my-head Song of the Day: "The Brews" - NOFX