Curse of the Aging

My father's best friend died today. In fact, just over an hour ago. His grandson came by to break the news. I hadn't seen that guy in so long that I barely recognized him. His grandfather loved my mom.

Smitty is the third man that Mom has outlived. I don't know how that affects a person. I mean, she was already crazy. It's like looking in a funhouse mirror in the Twilight Zone. I can see how crazy I will be in another forty years. It's not very comforting. I'm hoping the knowledge of its inevitability will somehow help me to avoid or reduce it. Hopefully I will be lucky enough to have good friends until the very end. I damn sure ain't having any crumbsnatchers just for that sole purpose.

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

who needs an evil twin?

I’m gonna be evil for a few minutes. Who am I kidding? I’ve been evil for at least the past few days. I’ve been slinking around doing little underhanded spiteful things to people passive-aggressively because I don’t want to have a confrontation, and I’ve been incredibly moody (so I don’t really know if people are doing stupid things or if I’m just taking it the wrong way). The other day, however, I got a really good snicker. The following morning that little snicker turned into an all-out tickle. I can even laugh now remembering it.

I’ve been a little gun-shy on the social drinking front since the whole NDB asshole incident. Pebbles has moved to Israel to dance with a company there. Killa B and NDB finally got a new roommate. The new roomie is a 20-yr old stoner and has a bestie who is also similarly tempered (the pair will be referred to herein as Bill and Ted – which is probably dating me). When I met them the other day, they’d just returned from a house party in West Oakland. If you have any idea what I’m talking about, you’re already well-prepared for where this story is going. I dropped my bag in KB’s room and heard him in the kitchen saying, “You guys left [NDB] at the party?”

“I’ve always wanted to do that.” I added.

“Leave [NDB]?” asked Ted. I looked at Killa B. He shrugged.

“You may as well go ahead and say it now.” That’s my boo – behind me every step of the way. LOL! So I went on to tell him that either NDB needed more years under his belt to figure out what his limits were so that he could keep up with us, or he just needs to cut it out. Ted looked a little puzzled because he had no clue that KB and I are significantly older than he and Bill are. He went on to laugh to himself about it like a crazy person for another half hour or so (damn stoners). Ted said something about drinking E&J and Carlos Rossi, and I thought back to the old days of Frank, Rome and me going to house parties in East Oakland, each of us carrying a fifth of Smirnoff blue label with no chaser. I also mentioned Thunderbird with Kool-Aid - the hood cocktail. Yeah, those were the days. It’s surprising that we lived through them. It’s even a bigger shock that we are all functioning members of society, well, more or less. So this is the new generation of partiers, huh? They’re silly and make me laugh. I hope they live through it too.

The following morning, KB told me that NDB took a bowl of coleslaw to the BBQ/house party that night and after pissing someone off (big shock there), got cracked in the head with said bowl. It took all my resolve not to laugh loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear me. That is two things crossed off my checklist. NDB got left someplace and then got popped upside the head. I mean, I didn’t get a chance to do it myself, but it was done so I’m counting it. Check and check! He’s fine, but he’s gonna have a knot for a while. I tell you, karma is a bitch sometimes. I’m sure he has earned that knot a hundred times over. I wish I could have gotten it on video so I could watch it over and over again. Frank says he feels sorry for him. I do not and I won’t unless I get a chance to say the things I want to say to him. All this pussy-footing around the MF is not helping him. Don’t be afraid of tough love, people! KB has pretty much kept me from talking to the poor guy. Seriously though, someone really needs to step in and run an intervention so he can have a chance at experiencing what it’s like to be genuinely happy and not just toasted. Where are his friends? Does he not have any? Doesn’t he wonder why?

where have all the homies gone?

Okay so…

After more thought about The Color Purple question, I’ve realized that I don’t have any straight black male friends who grew up in a predominantly black community, except for the “special” ones. When I say special, I mean that they went to private school or immigrated here from other countries. I don’t have any straight American-born black male friends who grew up in predominantly black communities and public schools. Why is that? I used to have a whole bunch when I was younger. In fact, all my friends were guys before I became an angsty teen. I still keep infrequent contact with a few of the ones I grew up around, but mostly they’ve all disappeared. I wonder what has happened to them. Am I in denial? Have they all become what the statistics say?

Now that I'm no longer bitter...

After a fun night of “So You Think You Can Dance” show highlights and Dance Dance Revolution during commercial breaks, Twin Peaks and I were in the car on the way to take her home. I remembered a conversation I had with Killa B. “Do you think all black men watch The Color Purple or is it just gay black men?” During a car conversation I had with Killa B last week, I referred to a scene in The Color purple and discovered that he’d never seen that movie. The only black man I have ever had extensive conversations about movies with is gay, so I wasn’t sure if The Color purple is a black woman and gay man thing or if it’s just a black thing. I mean, every black American has seen Roots, right? I supposed if I had to qualify them, The Color Purple is probably not as historically significant as Roots, but the story is very compelling. I’ve cried watching that move at least half a dozen times. I’ve watched it too many times to count. It’s hard to imagine that someone I know could have possibly lived 36 years without having seen it even once.

I think this is day six of Classical music. I switched back to House for a few hours Tuesday evening, when I went out for Dinner-Breakfast with Frank (the gay black man I referred to earlier) and my niece for her last night in the States before returning to Bordeaux for college. After I dropped Frank off back at his apartment, the Classical returned. I’ve never listened to it for such a long (and practically uninterrupted) stretch before. I’m starting to recognize the work of some more contemporary composers. I’ve also determined that I am not a fan of the Harpsichord. It makes me wince like I do when I hear someone playing an out of tune piano. I may learn to tolerate it, but for now I am thumbing-down all of the harpsichord pieces on Pandora.

I have a serious problem on my hands with the boredom. I am now realizing that I have to find some sort of coping method, besides just giving in to it and finding something exciting to do. The steel-string guitar I bought five years ago is collecting dust, and to have spent almost (or perhaps more than) two thousand dollars on video game equipment that only gets used once or twice a month is ridiculous. If I plan on being responsible homeowner, three things have to happen:
1) I will let people transport themselves
2) I will stock a full bar at my house and use it instead of going out
3) I will focus my nervous energy into a constructive hobby instead of seeking distraction

Okay, so let’s get to it.

know your limits

After all the crunchy meditation and anti-consumerism talk, it comes down to me being a total hypocrite. After Killa B’s gardening gig came to an abrupt end (without payment for the work he’d already done), I took on the responsibility of funding most of our entertainment. It was nothing too fancy: movies, meals out, a dance club here and there and lots of booze and billiards. I let the cost of these excursions get away from me for a bit. I suppose I just got lost in the shuffle and excitement of it all. Now that I have to keep an eye on just about every dollar I spend, my tune has changed from party girl (or rather, half of a party couple) to more of a “where is this going” kind of melody. I’m even considering buying a home before the market starts recovering here in the East Bay. I’ve been sending listings to my favorite realtor (I guess I should give him a plug here: jeffrey_surratt@comcast.net).

There are tons of houses and condos in Richmond and Oakland for under $100K that appear to be move-in ready and will likely be worth three times their current price in just a few years. I’d have to be nuts not to take advantage of the opportunity. My worries about sacrificing travel and partying are really not very logical or practical.

During this whirlwind of new romance, I’ve also let my training slide. The Nike Marathon is only a few weeks away. This is going to be interesting (in that way that anal probes are interesting). I’ve gained five pounds over the past two months, and I seriously doubt that it’s muscle.

The wake-up call came a couple of weeks ago when I was boozing at Killa B’s place with his two roomies and a female friend of mine, who will from now on be referred to as Twin Peaks (since her boobs are huge and that nickname is funny as hell). This was our second consecutive night with a second 1.7 liter bottle of Smirnoff. Everything seemed to be going fine, with most of us cheerfully tipsy and ready to hit the street. Killa B was taking it easy since I’d already determined that he would be the driver.

We headed into downtown Oakland, about a mile away. The clubs were open and appeared to be pretty hopping but the entry fees were outrageous. We decided to go to Berkeley and check out the White Horse, since Killa B’s gay ballet dancer roomie (herein referred to as Pebbles) required a queer-friendly establishment. Once we got moving in the car, the other roomie (a.k.a. NDB) started getting really agitated. I thought maybe he was feeling a little hot in the pants and just needed t be somewhere. I figured he’d be fine once we landed and I was able to buy some smokes to shut up his constant pleading for a cigarette. As soon as the vehicle came to a halt, I practically flew to the liquor store and bought a pack. When I got out of the store, Killa B was there with NDB was stumbling across the parking lot behind him. NDB said he had to take a piss, so he proceeded to try to do it on the FRONT of the store… Killa B snatched him by the collar and relocated him to the side of the store. At this time, I removed myself from the equation and headed across the street to the club, where Pebbles and Twin Peaks had already gone inside.

Pebbles came out of the club door and we stood on the corner watching Killa B and NDB. NDB was being a complete drunken idiot, and Killa B was trying not to kick his ass. He was trying to get NDB back into the car so he could take him home. Pebbles and I looked at each other. “Someone should stay out here with them”, he said.
“I’ll stay. You go inside and dance.”
“No, he’s my roommate; I should stay.” At this time, Twin Peaks emerged from the club door, checking in to see what the delay was.
“Okay.” I said. Then, I grabbed Twin Peaks by the arm and we headed to the dance floor. The music wasn’t great, but it was a damn sight better than dealing with a wasted asshole outside.

A few minutes later, Pebbles joined us. About ten minutes after that, Killa B came in as well. Twin Peaks and I looked at each other when he came in and shared a raucous laugh. Killa B asked me to buy him a drink, which I obliged without hesitation. He drank a few sips and then handed it to me. I shrugged and enjoyed the rest of it while dancing to a few more songs. My knee was killing me, but I wasn’t willing to give up the dance. KB came out on the dance floor and said, “We should go soon.” The four of us passed a glance at each other and quietly exited like we were on our way to a funeral.

NDB made the car ride home a fiasco. He harassed Twin Peaks incessantly. I hate it when I have to treat adults like children, but I turned around and yelled, “Knock it off!” The last thing I said to him before retiring to KB’s room was, “You’re a pain in the ass.” I haven’t spoken to him since. When I do speak to him again, that will likely be the next thing I say to him as well. However, next time he will remember that I said it.

Just when I thought we were past this...

I loaned Secret Squirrel some money a while back, and I finally detached myself from its repayment last week. Considering how he still hasn’t returned my DVDs, which he didn’t seem to have any desire to watch in the first place, I thought I should take that as a sign of where I stand. I sent him a text saying, “If you’re not going to pay me back, I‘d like you to at least tell me.” I didn’t think it was an unreasonable request, considering how we parted on relatively good terms. However, I wasn’t expecting much. You know how people can be unpredictable. If he was harboring some sort of resentment, which I didn’t know for sure since we don’t talk anymore, I figured that the chances were pretty good that I may not get an answer at all. ‘So be it’, I thought. “I said my piece.”

About half an hour later, he called my desk. “No matter what happened between us, the money is completely separate.” Is this a sign? Have I finally turned the corner? I want it to be true. I want to be mature enough to have logical resolutions to life’s challenges. I want to have mutual respect with people no matter what capacity in which we are associated. We spoke for about 10 minutes, and I felt compelled to end the conversation during the second awkward silence. We used to talk on the phone for hours. I could feel him missing that. Is that a weird thing to say? I just knew I had to end it before it evolved into something uncomfortable. I didn’t want him to think I called because I miss him; I just wanted him to know that the loan is not forgiven just because the “relationship” has dissolved. I did ask him how he was doing, but I didn’t feel like it was appropriate to go any further than that. He told me that he wanted to start paying me back ASAP and would be contacting me over the next couple of weeks to make arrangements. I filed the topic away as resolved in my mind, done. Awesome.

A few days later, a few minutes after 10PM, Killa B and I were lying in bed watching TV and my cell phone rang. I sat up quickly, and he asked what was wrong. I told him I heard my phone ringing, and he said, “Booty call!” I laughed it off, but I felt nervous because no one ever calls me after ten on a weeknight unless they’re stranded and need a ride. It was Secret Squirrel. I looked at KB and said, “I think you’re right.” Then I turned off the ringer and got back in bed without answering it. I figure if it’s something important he would have left a message or he would call me back at a more reasonable hour.

Yesterday morning, SS called me at my desk and asked how soon I could meet him down the street at Peet’s. I told him I’d be down there as soon as my conference call ended. Naturally, I was thinking that this would be the first installment of repayment. I had an extremely busy day, so I took a community bike to make the trip brief. I get down to Fourth St and he’s sitting at the bagel shop. I sat down and he started in on the “I need to get something off my chest” conversation. I thought, “Dammit, not this.” Yadda yadda yadda… ‘I think you’re special”… yadda yadda yadda… “If I were the type to have a real relationship with someone”… yadda yadda yadda… “I feel like we didn’t get a chance to have a last hurrah.” He asked if there was some possibility that I may need a lover on the side. It was the typical man conversation. I think he meant it as a compliment, but I was disappointed. I also felt really uncomfortable with the way he was looking at me. I knew how he wanted me to respond, but he had to just be satisfied with the knowledge that I heard his request. Being a cheater doesn’t appeal to me, and I was offended that he would even imply that it might. Men say they respect someone honest, loyal and faithful, but in the same breath they will try to influence you to be the opposite. Furthermore, two months into a new relationship is not the time for the ex to propose closure.