Seriously guys, I'm not really sure how picking up thirdhand information off of friendster became my only way of knowing what's going on in Kristin's life, but it did, and now I have to decide why I'm even keeping up with it. Morbid curiosity? Well, I am curious, but not morbidly so. Not even overly so. Gluttony for punishment? Anyone who knows me knows that that is not even close to the case. Pathetic attachment issues? Those were all settled a long time ago.
No, I just wanted to keep in touch, stay on the radar, so to speak. Although she seems determined to erase me from her life and I can't even comprehend why. I mean, when we were dating, she would talk to her xbf once a month, maybe a couple times. I'm not even close to that. Trouble is, no kind of satisfactory resolution can come from someone who won't even acknowledge what is or was really going on. All it can be is just telling the sky, or the rain, and accept that there is no response, no answer for the questions I've got. Not now.
Just taking my testimonial off of her profile just absolutely stunned me. It was worse than seeing that she's in a relationship. I mean, I expected that on some level, it was inevitable. But to just delete the most sincere and heartfelt expression of how I feel about her as a person, and a friend... it's kind of the breaking point. I don't know how to not take it so personally. I don't know how else to take it except as a simple message that I'm not a part of her life anymore, and shouldn't try to be.
It hurts beneath my left collarbone, and along my rib cage. There's something up in there that really doesn't like this at all.
So, there's really only one phone call left to make. A quick one. It shouldn't take long for me to say what I have to say. And if what friendster is telling me is correct, then there won't be anything much from her to hear. You don't talk to ghosts.
7.20.2005
7.12.2005
What the Bobby Abreu?
It's been too long, I know. I was never good at keeping a diary as a kid, or a journal as a somewhat older kid. I don't know why I thought I could keep this blog in any kind of resemblance of a current state of affairs. Hence the timely title, because Holy Shit, if you did not see Abreu in the home run derby last night, then you missed something historic and spectacular.
Not to knock on you if you were watching the Lifetime Original Movie, or if you were reading the fifth Harry Potter book in preparation for the sixth to come out on Friday night at Midnight. Or if you were doing anything productive, like paying bills or apologizing to all your friends for the jackassery of last weekend. I just feel bad for you that you missed it. Absolutely crushing the ball.
The last couple weeks have been half past rowdy. Fourth of July weekend was great, as usual. We burned a couple of holes through the dock up at Diamond with some serious mortar shells. I slept not at all. Hit a grand slam in Wiffle Ball at the annual Inwood Wiffle World Series, while getting sunburned and drinking orange hurricane Boone's farm straight from the bottle. Wore clothes.
Faith and I hooked up again. A couple of times. We slept over at her parents' house in the guest room, in a bed with no sheets, only a mattress pad and a dust cover. Not very comfortable, but that didn't matter in the least. Waking up next to her and making the bed together... priceless. Faith is... well, she's one of my oldest friends, and there's always been something there. We were, and continue to be, really bad at timing. It only makes sense that, now, I'm moving to Nashville in four weeks, and things are really good. whatever. If I've picked up anything over the past few hellish months, it's patience. Time will go on, even if you don't want to.
I drove up to Chicago last weekend to see Keith and also Faith. Keith made probably the best salmon I've ever had, and then we went to the bar he works at, which I used to work at, although they've hired dozens of new people and it's kind of surreal to hang out there. Lots of drinks. Faith was having a crisis and called me to talk it over. It's...she's... worried, I guess, we all should be, but the lifestyle which we live is heavily predicated on drinking and dancing and laughing and trying to have as much fun as possible. Which can be a problem. But I mean seriously, when else are we going to be able to enjoy this amount of freedom and irresposibility? Irresponsibility being one of those things that I enjoy immensely.
Not to knock on you if you were watching the Lifetime Original Movie, or if you were reading the fifth Harry Potter book in preparation for the sixth to come out on Friday night at Midnight. Or if you were doing anything productive, like paying bills or apologizing to all your friends for the jackassery of last weekend. I just feel bad for you that you missed it. Absolutely crushing the ball.
The last couple weeks have been half past rowdy. Fourth of July weekend was great, as usual. We burned a couple of holes through the dock up at Diamond with some serious mortar shells. I slept not at all. Hit a grand slam in Wiffle Ball at the annual Inwood Wiffle World Series, while getting sunburned and drinking orange hurricane Boone's farm straight from the bottle. Wore clothes.
Faith and I hooked up again. A couple of times. We slept over at her parents' house in the guest room, in a bed with no sheets, only a mattress pad and a dust cover. Not very comfortable, but that didn't matter in the least. Waking up next to her and making the bed together... priceless. Faith is... well, she's one of my oldest friends, and there's always been something there. We were, and continue to be, really bad at timing. It only makes sense that, now, I'm moving to Nashville in four weeks, and things are really good. whatever. If I've picked up anything over the past few hellish months, it's patience. Time will go on, even if you don't want to.
I drove up to Chicago last weekend to see Keith and also Faith. Keith made probably the best salmon I've ever had, and then we went to the bar he works at, which I used to work at, although they've hired dozens of new people and it's kind of surreal to hang out there. Lots of drinks. Faith was having a crisis and called me to talk it over. It's...she's... worried, I guess, we all should be, but the lifestyle which we live is heavily predicated on drinking and dancing and laughing and trying to have as much fun as possible. Which can be a problem. But I mean seriously, when else are we going to be able to enjoy this amount of freedom and irresposibility? Irresponsibility being one of those things that I enjoy immensely.
6.22.2005
Left
So exhausted today... mentally and emotionally. I expect the clamor to die down soon, as the days pass and the nights get shorter. Rough couple of days though, besides the torpor of the office casting a hazy glare over everything else. Hard to think clearly, write clearly. And then there's pen pal.
Pen pal has a real name: Nicole Wojkiewicz. She and I met randomly one night at Corby's about a month and a half ago. Coley told me to go to where these two girls were standing at the jukebox and figure out if we needed to hijack their song selections with a boatload of play-nows. I went over and stood behind them for a second, feeling... well, a little buzzed to be sure, but confident besides. And then I saw that they were playing Bob Seger. Or trying to.
Jukeboxes are officially the easiest places to talk to a member of the fairer sex without seeming creepy. I mean, if you're creepy, you're just going to come across as creepy, but if you're not, then the jukebox's presence has a calming, decreeping effect on everyone. The interactiveness of it all, the choosing, the being forced to listen to what everyone else picks... it's a community event. Either way, I started talking to them, focusing on the one with her hand at the screen. Kind of cute...y'know, whatever. I told them Bob Seger sucked. Which he does. Night Moves? Against the Wind? Who pays a dollar to listen to that crap?
When the other girl said something about how the music we were listening to at the moment was suicidal and depressing (all songs that we had chosen as a group, and not depressing at all (unless you count flaming lips and basement jaxx as depressing)) and they wanted to put on some happy music, I turned to her to laugh. And she was beautiful, in a casual,offhand kind of way. Glasses, ponytail. I laughed anyway, and so did she, and I went to tell the boys about how our music was depressing, and maybe it might have been. Who knows? I get depressed by really happy stuff sometimes. Kittens. Love.
So anyway, I noticed that they didn't choose "play now" with the Seger track, and I felt kind of bad for interrupting and ruining their whole deal. I mean, you just do not hear your track if you put it on after eleven o'clock and don't press "play now." So, I put it on for them. The Seger song.
I know, I know. Sell out. But shit, the girl was cute. Later on, I made my way over to where she sat and somehow managed a conversation. It got better. She seemed interested, and gave me the strangest personality quiz ever. Favorite color, disney movie, do I eat jello with a fork or a spoon? All important, sure, but what? So, needless to elaborate on, I was intrigued. Even more so when I went to ask Nicole for her number at the end of the night, and before I could get the words out of my mouth, she said to me, "I'd give you my number, but I think it'd be more fun if you have to figure it out for yourself."
Riiight...
Pen pal has a real name: Nicole Wojkiewicz. She and I met randomly one night at Corby's about a month and a half ago. Coley told me to go to where these two girls were standing at the jukebox and figure out if we needed to hijack their song selections with a boatload of play-nows. I went over and stood behind them for a second, feeling... well, a little buzzed to be sure, but confident besides. And then I saw that they were playing Bob Seger. Or trying to.
Jukeboxes are officially the easiest places to talk to a member of the fairer sex without seeming creepy. I mean, if you're creepy, you're just going to come across as creepy, but if you're not, then the jukebox's presence has a calming, decreeping effect on everyone. The interactiveness of it all, the choosing, the being forced to listen to what everyone else picks... it's a community event. Either way, I started talking to them, focusing on the one with her hand at the screen. Kind of cute...y'know, whatever. I told them Bob Seger sucked. Which he does. Night Moves? Against the Wind? Who pays a dollar to listen to that crap?
When the other girl said something about how the music we were listening to at the moment was suicidal and depressing (all songs that we had chosen as a group, and not depressing at all (unless you count flaming lips and basement jaxx as depressing)) and they wanted to put on some happy music, I turned to her to laugh. And she was beautiful, in a casual,offhand kind of way. Glasses, ponytail. I laughed anyway, and so did she, and I went to tell the boys about how our music was depressing, and maybe it might have been. Who knows? I get depressed by really happy stuff sometimes. Kittens. Love.
So anyway, I noticed that they didn't choose "play now" with the Seger track, and I felt kind of bad for interrupting and ruining their whole deal. I mean, you just do not hear your track if you put it on after eleven o'clock and don't press "play now." So, I put it on for them. The Seger song.
I know, I know. Sell out. But shit, the girl was cute. Later on, I made my way over to where she sat and somehow managed a conversation. It got better. She seemed interested, and gave me the strangest personality quiz ever. Favorite color, disney movie, do I eat jello with a fork or a spoon? All important, sure, but what? So, needless to elaborate on, I was intrigued. Even more so when I went to ask Nicole for her number at the end of the night, and before I could get the words out of my mouth, she said to me, "I'd give you my number, but I think it'd be more fun if you have to figure it out for yourself."
Riiight...
6.21.2005
Speaking ill of the dead
Long hiatus notwithstanding... a lot has been going on. Some good, some heart-achingly bad. If that's even a word.
First of all, the family trip to montana was all types of fun. The fishing wasn't so great, but the weather (aside from a freak hail storm) was spectacular. If you ever get the chance to float down the smith river... take it. With us were a couple New Yorkers, Bill and Billy. Father and son. 70 and 50, respectively. Billy ripped rigs like a champ the whole time, and not those loser-town light cigarettes either. Reds.
I was able to really clear my head out there, get some things set, y'know? And then, when I got back yesterday, I thought I'd check out my friendster page and see if anyone updated their profiles or anything. It's not like anyone ever does, but it's the OCD that counts. Except for, this time, someone had changed their profile. Kristin, my ex-girlfriend of three months... the LOML. All that shit. She had recently changed her profile to state that she was now "in a relationship."
My heart stopped. Literally. It felt rather odd. When my father came in the room, holding a letter from the IRS, and handed it to me, I realized how badly my hands were shaking. He told me not to worry, lots of people get letters from the IRS. I just kind of smiled weakly at him and said, "oh....yeah. sure."
Finding out that K was seeing someone in the most impersonal way possible... not so great. Realizing that there was actually somebody else, and that I wasn't just being paranoid... priceless. I realize that this holds no context for you, so I'll get into the backstory at some point. It's a good one. Either way, the weight of the past three months, the careening emotional boxcar ride, the worst parts are over. She said she still wants to be great friends, and I told her that we're gonna have to be friends first. How, I'm not sure.
First of all, the family trip to montana was all types of fun. The fishing wasn't so great, but the weather (aside from a freak hail storm) was spectacular. If you ever get the chance to float down the smith river... take it. With us were a couple New Yorkers, Bill and Billy. Father and son. 70 and 50, respectively. Billy ripped rigs like a champ the whole time, and not those loser-town light cigarettes either. Reds.
I was able to really clear my head out there, get some things set, y'know? And then, when I got back yesterday, I thought I'd check out my friendster page and see if anyone updated their profiles or anything. It's not like anyone ever does, but it's the OCD that counts. Except for, this time, someone had changed their profile. Kristin, my ex-girlfriend of three months... the LOML. All that shit. She had recently changed her profile to state that she was now "in a relationship."
My heart stopped. Literally. It felt rather odd. When my father came in the room, holding a letter from the IRS, and handed it to me, I realized how badly my hands were shaking. He told me not to worry, lots of people get letters from the IRS. I just kind of smiled weakly at him and said, "oh....yeah. sure."
Finding out that K was seeing someone in the most impersonal way possible... not so great. Realizing that there was actually somebody else, and that I wasn't just being paranoid... priceless. I realize that this holds no context for you, so I'll get into the backstory at some point. It's a good one. Either way, the weight of the past three months, the careening emotional boxcar ride, the worst parts are over. She said she still wants to be great friends, and I told her that we're gonna have to be friends first. How, I'm not sure.
6.10.2005
e-mail of the day...
This will more than likely be a regular section... So many e-mails and so little time to do any actual work. The first one is from Chris Brickley:
First of all, my fancy ride has 131,000 miles on it and is dirty and dented, inside and out. And the paint job is trashed from a run-in I had a few years back with a young Rave. Rave and a character who will remain nameless got me blazed and tried to drink me to death. I puked out the window for the whole ride home and also let loose on my basement couch and took half of a piss on the tv in my room. The next morning I had to power spray the vomit off my car on the way to work and took a good deal of paint off in the process. I also threw up at work and lied to everyone at Meridian, and left early.
We'll see what happens tonight - sometimes the unchecked collar-popping that goes on in your circle is a little intimidating.
First of all, my fancy ride has 131,000 miles on it and is dirty and dented, inside and out. And the paint job is trashed from a run-in I had a few years back with a young Rave. Rave and a character who will remain nameless got me blazed and tried to drink me to death. I puked out the window for the whole ride home and also let loose on my basement couch and took half of a piss on the tv in my room. The next morning I had to power spray the vomit off my car on the way to work and took a good deal of paint off in the process. I also threw up at work and lied to everyone at Meridian, and left early.
We'll see what happens tonight - sometimes the unchecked collar-popping that goes on in your circle is a little intimidating.
Don't say shit
Allllllllllllright...
If there's anything that I learned tonight... well, I learned two things. First. When someone tells you (and it helps if this someone is a super hot chick who may or may not dance professionally (not like that) for a living) that her friend who is coming out to the bar to meet up is the black you...? Well then. Take some serious notes. Because, for some reason, if the black you (and this could be anyone who is not black, especially if you have a pretty severe alcohol problem, as I do) actually shows up at the bar, you could learn a few things. Such as:
1. How to wear a hat (like the hat could be smokin' cigarettes and why the fuck would it matter?)
2. How not to speak coherent english
okay, two. Two is a number.
The other thing I learned: Don't spread gossip. Amongst even your closest friends. They are out to get you.
If there's anything that I learned tonight... well, I learned two things. First. When someone tells you (and it helps if this someone is a super hot chick who may or may not dance professionally (not like that) for a living) that her friend who is coming out to the bar to meet up is the black you...? Well then. Take some serious notes. Because, for some reason, if the black you (and this could be anyone who is not black, especially if you have a pretty severe alcohol problem, as I do) actually shows up at the bar, you could learn a few things. Such as:
1. How to wear a hat (like the hat could be smokin' cigarettes and why the fuck would it matter?)
2. How not to speak coherent english
okay, two. Two is a number.
The other thing I learned: Don't spread gossip. Amongst even your closest friends. They are out to get you.
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