They say you can never go Home...

Soldiers of Sparta were allowed to return home after lost battles, only if carried dead upon their shields. I'm convinced this is a more practical and time-saving way to go about it.

Wednesday, February 09, 2005

... But Keep The Old.

I have, like, only the most amazing friends ever. I’m serious. I can’t even comprehend why they keep me on the friend payroll.

A close buddy of mine actually called me twice today, having not received the decency of a single call from me in several days, just to make sure that I hadn’t thrown myself in the Hillsborough River. Which, I think is like the Charles River of the South. I’m talking Pre Cleaning-Up-The-Charles-River-Days in the Boston of the Nineties. Plus, alligators up the wazoo.

And when I finally picked up the phone this evening, to reassure him lamely that I was okay, did he berate me most deservedly for being an asshat of the highest magnitude? Nay. Did he tell me that I’m the biggest drama queen and/or pussy he has ever known, when I made some excuse about having my head firmly ensconced in my own ass, in an ad hoc, self-defensive, naval gazing (or in this case, anal-gazing) behavior, thereby intimating dramatically that I’ve been [dramatic pause] preoccupied? Again, no. Did he demand explanation as to why I chose the absence of all human contact over Super Bowl weekend, rather than enjoying the superb company of both he and his amazing wife, in the deluxe accommodations of their gracious and trendy riverside residence, which, as it happens, was nearly positioned on top of the Super Bowl itself?! Amazingly, no! He instead had the grace to sound relieved and even let me promise to call him tomorrow.

That spells some serious love AND trust, Roberto. Thanks for that.

And there’s my friend Jenner, back in CA, who, after being essentially ignored for weeks on end by either my steady non-return of phone calls, or my ominous 30 second calls whereby I tell her I’ll call her back in just a little bit, yet fail to do so--Jenner calls me anyway, leaves me the greatest messages; always funny, always edgy, but just enough to let me know that I should call her, dammit, and quit this BS and open up.

And then, there’s my best friend Eric, my childhood friend since I’m 2 years old. Calling to ask me when I’m moving to San Luis Obispo to help build his house, because he needs my help desperately, and offers to pay for my room and board during the whole process, and, promises not to have wild sex on the couch or the kitchen or anywhere else excepting their own bedroom with his lovely new wife while I am under their roof.

Nearly-pointless Side note: I have several favorite memories of Eric, but one in particular I have always liked was summer during our junior year. We had stopped at the drive-through at In-And-Out burger in Newport Beach; I was feeling ueber-cool in his Ford Probe. He, being at the drive through, passed along my order to the disaffected employee inside:

E: …And one cheeseburger with everything on it except onions.

D.E of InandOut: Okay, that will be (rattles off entire list)…and one cheeseburger with everything on it, and onion. (In a Spanish accent (you know, just to strive for the kind of excess of detail common to Russian novelists.))

E: No, one cheeseburger with everything except onions.

D.E: Okay, and two cheeseburgers with extra onions.

E: No (resolutely), one cheeseburger. Everything on it, but no onions.

D.E. Okay, one cheeseburger, onions only?

E: NO FUCKING ONIONS!

D.E: Okay, okay man! No onions! Ai, Holly Sheet!


Any friend who voraciously defends your right to have a hamburger Your Way, Right Away is a friend for life, no? Of course, that was back when I still ate fast food, and didn’t worry about my fat intake constantly. Like right now.

And then. And then there's Ben and Brooke. My old roommates. *Sigh*. I would need to write a post about how I feel about these too. I love youse guys.


You know what I feel like right now? I feel like Stewart Smalley, after screaming at his boss that she’s a duplicitous Vagina, and then goes home to mow through a whole package of Oreos. And then, the line of his dedicated friends begins to form outside the door—his A.A. sponsor, his Gambler’s Anonymous sponsor, his Overeater Anonymous sponsor, etc., etc. ”Stewart, you’re in a shame spiral, buddy! You gotta trace it, face it, and erase it!”

Sweet Italian Jesus. I’m Stewart Freakin’ Smalley. Goddammit, bring me the Eggo waffles. I don’t care anymore.

The Story of What I’ve Been Doing:

Okay: So, I had a meltdown of amazing, nuclear proportions. It was public; meaning the vast majority of my family witnessed it. I didn’t put any holes in the wall, maim, or kill anyone or anything. I’m still feeling a bit fragile, a bit washed over with the various neurotransmitters chucking themselves out of their receptor sites willy-nilly. I’m still, and always will be, probably a bit self-obsessed and withdrawn whenever this kind of shit goes down. But I’m here, I’m in it for the haul, this FL experiment (at least a little longer), and I am climbing out of this sinkhole that has formed under me over night, one step at a time, so help me Hannah. Momentary setback. More on this later.

Also: I’m not alone, it would seem. Oh, no. There are others in my position. Maybe not working with their respective Dads, but back at their respective Family Compounds with their parents, nonetheless. And their dogs have fleas too. (I am a worthy pet owner!) And yes, they will remember you from high school. And miraculously, they will know exactly how to get rid of your dog’s fleas. And it will work, amazingly, amazingly well. And you are therefore destined to fall in love and get married. (Wait, maybe not that one. That’s a bit over the top). But: I. Am. Not. Alone.

More on all that later.

Also, I think I’m going to be writing in this blog more often. I am going to regale you with the most boring minutiae of my life, which for me, ends up being the most fun anyway. You will either like it or hate it. I’m trying not to care.This was a choice, this outlet of self-expression. I’m going to use it for me. FOR ME!

But more on that later.