The Pay-offs lament

As I stepped from the plane and took toward the city I had always dreamed of seeing, I laughed to myself when I noticed the skyline wasn’t all that different than L.A. or even San Francisco. Continuing to giggle I made my way out of the runway and into the wide open range of the terminal, where I was greeted by a small gathering of people standing around waiting for other passengers. A few stepped aside as I made my way through them. Even with the wall of voices that surrounded and struck my ears, although I didn’t understand a word being spoken, it didn’t feel different than any airport in California. When I stepped up to security and they waved me over with a black fat wand, I nodded when they were through and stepped over toward the luggage carousel. Taking note how many people were around it, real relief filled me knowing that my belongings had been sent to my new apartment still more than 3 hours away from where I stood. In some unknown new hometown out there in an unfamiliar country I worked so hard to get to. Different people, a new place, not one sign I could read, but still my mind fought that it didn’t feel like home.

Once outside and the night greeted me, I checked a little map that was mailed to me by my new boss of the area so I could find my hotel for the night so he could pick me up in the morning. Stapled to the map was a note written in very careful but still barely legible letters read, “If you show this to taxi man, he drop you at hotel”. Stepping to the sidewalk I realized I never once ever had to flag down a taxi. “Do I put my thumb out?” I thought. “Just do what you see those people do in all those movies that are based in New York.”
“Yo, taxi!” I shouted causing several people to turn and stare at me. “Sorry.” I smiled. None of them smiled back and hurried away. So I stood away from the sidewalk a little and waved at every taxi that went by. “Damn it,” I said under my breath.

“When they have a yellow light in the window like that it means they are unavailable,” a gruff male voice said from my left shoulder. A middle aged man with a gentle expression underneath his bald head that held a gleam on it, smiled up at me; his accent was nearly none existent. “Wave at the ones that have red lights, it means they are in service. But even if they have red lights doesn’t mean they will pick you up. But don’t feel too bad. Most of them don’t speak English and that’s why they won’t take you. You’ll get one that’s willing. But I wouldn’t shout it tends to make them nervous. Just put your hand out.”

“I see. Thank you so much,” I said.

“You are welcome. Take care now,” he said and went on his way.

“You too,” I said and followed his instructions. After the fifth taxi had past me with red lights, one finally rolled over and stopped. As I reached for the handle the door swung open and smashed into my knuckles, I grimaced and did my best not to shout. Sitting down with a thud cradling my hand to my chest I heard the driver apologize in the native tongue. With my hand still stinging all I could muster was a nod and a smile to let him know I was okay. He spoke again, but not having no idea what he said I guessed he was asking, “Where to?” Fishing out the map with the directions to the hotel I gave it to him. He nodded and drove away from the airport. With no music playing I settled back into the seat, my hand had stopped hurting and as I held it up to the light coming in from outside to see if it would bruise I noticed just how clean everything in the car was. The seats looked newly vacuumed; the window that separated me from the driver was completely free of finger prints. If this was anywhere else the window would be scratched with gang signs and filth. A picture of the driver was in front of me on the back side of the window; even in the low light it was easy to see he was young and pleasant looking. As I looked over I saw he was wearing white gloves and a sharp hat with a dark tie around his neck. I smiled and went back to the world outside.

The plane ride left a long, empty thirst in my throat, and a heavy craving for water flashed in my stomach. Pulling out my flash cards with sentences and tips on how to speak, I combed through looking for the one that could help. But none, really said anything like, “Pull over I’m thirsty.” However one said, “How much longer?” In smaller lettering and written in red next to the main sentence said, “Try to elongate the second vowel sound in the last word, it’ll make it sound more polite.” I spoke the sentence and did my best to do as instructed.

The driver spoke, but the only thing I understood was the number two.

Saying the sentence out loud to myself I combed the other flash cards, having heard me, the driver said the sentence again. I pulled a cluster of cards that said two minutes, twenty minutes and two hours. I repeated it again this time in my head and found what I was looking for: 20 minutes. At the sight of the time frame, I became even thirstier. With nothing to do but wait, I looked outside and watched the world go by. This place was lovely if not packed with people, even for the middle of the night. With little provocation a though sprang: “Even with all these people, will I manage to make friends at my new job?” I giggled, feeling like a childish at the thought.

As we closed in on the twenty minute mark, I noticed that the sidewalks were thinning with people. Now it seemed only couples were out and about. But my thirst was near ravenous; happiness filled my chest when I saw the sign of my hotel down the street a little more than a hundred yards away. I asked the driver to pull over with the help of the cards. I spotted the meter and the amount and gave him some money, he thanked me. When I reached for the door it opened again by itself. I thanked him again and stepped outside; when I tried to close the door it swung close hitting my hand again. Ignoring my pain and stupidity, I looked around and even with the signs being a jumbled mess of letters that I didn’t understand, it didn’t matter, in any civilized country anyone can spot a convenient store from the outside a mile away. Once I spotted a familiar bright sign and looked in through the window and noted a wall of drinks and foods you know that aren’t good for you, I headed for the clean and overly lighted entrance. When the automatic doors opened and a whoosh of cool air blasted me in the face I smiled that I was glad that no matter where you are places like this all smell the same; plastic, disinfectant and overly sugared candy. The clerk at the register gave me an absentminded greeting; I nodded back and made my way toward the drinks in the back. Another clerk was sweeping under some fully stocked shelves with some vigor, as soon as he noticed me walking toward him he greeted me with a nervous smile and I nodded and walked past him.

Once at the clear doors that held the rows after rows of drinks, my lack of being able to read was not helping with finding water. My eyes fell upon the unmistakable American drink trademark of a circle with red, white and blue stripes, I considered it, but my body wanted water. A little lost I turned toward the sweeping clerk who now was no longer doing any resemblance of work and all his attention was on me.
A memory came to mind, once I had graduated with my degree and I had gotten the job I applied for through an agency, which handled exchange workers, they said it would be best to talk to someone that had already been through the program to give helpful tips and the best way to communicate. The only person I knew was a girl in my English class in college. After calling her letting her know my situation she said she’d be more than happy to talk to me. She told me to drive to a town whose name I wanted to forget, and I met her at a barely lit bar. By the time I got there she was drunk and mad with her life. “One thing you’re going to remember,” She said throwing a small but heavy arm around my neck, “if you want to be reminded or not is this: you are white, tall, and blue-eyed.” She smoothly took a shot of a mysterious brown liquid and without so much of a grimace sipped her beer right after and stared me in the face close enough to kiss, “Well in your case they’re more light green than blue. But yeah, you’ll be reminded of those facts. It’s not so bad for girls, but for guys it’s different. Where’s your drink?” Not really following I shook my head, but held up my warm beer, and before I could speak, “Meaning, you’re different, so you’ll be treated different.” I shook my head again. With a scoff and a sigh, she gulped her beer, “When you walk into places you might be followed and looked after. To make sure you ain’t stealing nuthin’.” All I could do was stare in my white ignorance. “No joke,” she said and raised her bottle of beer to have me click the necks together.

“Anything else?” I said wiggling her hot arm off of me.

She pushed her sunshine colored hair away from her face and looked to the ceiling as if searching for an answer there. “Have fun, and don’t let what little negativity you experience get you down, you’re not the first it happened to and you won’t be the last. Water off of a duck’s butt and all that,” she said and waved the bartender down and yelled, “One more, please!”

As the memory sat there big and annoying in the middle of my head, I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, so I smiled and said the word water in his language; comically an expression of surprise rushed to his face. I said the word and picked up a random bottle from the shelf and then said water again but with an upward inflection trying to turn it into a question. He stared and then pointed at the bottle and said water. I nodded and said, “Yes, water,” in his language. He shook his head. So I grabbed another bottle and started the processes again. He shook his head. The Register clerk shouted something and we both looked, he spoke some more and pointed toward the doors I was standing near. It was clear to see that he was gesturing to Sweeper that he should just grab a bottle for me. I thanked Register and waved, he returned a wave just as empty as his greeting when I walked in. With the broom still in his hand Sweeper came over and opened a door next to me and handed me an aluminum can, with a nod he said, “Water.”
In a can? I thought. But I nodded and thanked him and smiled, he did the same.

Can o’ water in hand I thought I might as well try a snack, it might be awhile before I get to my new hometown and I didn’t know when the next time I was going to eat, and randomly picked a bag of chips I didn’t recognize. Stepping toward Register I saw that he looked tired and ready to get off work, if this were my home I probably would’ve said something along the lines that he needed to leave and get some sleep as a joke. Clicking on the computer in front of him he said the numbers of the cost to my purchase; not having any idea what he said I looked to the electronic readout that always faces the customer, and pulled out the rest of the money which was a gift from my drunken guide from my shirt pocket. After Register bagged my items we locked eyes for a moment and I felt a ridiculous notion that he was going to say something like “Go back where you came from” and even in my head, I still heard that moronic southern drawl on those words. But if he did say that it wasn’t like I was going to understand him. Instead, he said in English in a sheepish voice, “Sank yu for your perchess.”

I smiled, a little too broadly, maybe; nodded, and then thanked him in his language.

Leaving with my swag I heard Sweeper shout to me also in English, “Hava goo din night.” I waved as I exited, once again the doors pulled open the AC blasted cold air on my back. But it faded as soon as the door closed and the heat of this place sank in deep. It was a humid heat, which I was not accustomed too, it was then I realized I wasn’t home. Finally it had hit me, and for a small moment there was panic. Snapping back the tab on the can and inhaling half of the liquid inside, which was water, I calmed a bit. Walking across the street I sat on a bench that faced the store, but I thought hanging around outside at nearly the middle of the night was a bad idea, I moved down the street where I knew my hotel room was waiting for me.

I wasn’t home anymore. And even though it took me two years of work to get here and I thought I would never be standing where I was, I truly was here. I had put my life on hold so I could save money in order to be here. In those two years I lost a few friends, and I ruined chances to date some good women, but I was here.

And now the hard part begins.

there isnt a lot i want. but retribution would be nice.

just for a change of pace, that would serve me well.

To have such a thing...

i could live and die happy with that.

my words with my spit taste like a darkened metal. I can't wait for the next part of this to start. if it leads me to a sea scented air path, i think i'll be happier still.

I feel that the time for emotions are over for me. I no longer wish to express myself.

if i had a drink i would toast it to being lost. I really do wish i could write. And i dont mean getting words on the  page but something i thought was fun to write.

I really do miss the days in 2003 when all i did was write. I worked, i read, i watched movies, i felt lonely after she left, i pissed off all my friends at the time, and i wrote.

God damn, i could write in those days. I really fuckin' could.

The rhyme doesn't match.

So i'm off of work again, and i've been drinking ever since; give or take some minutes it's been about an hour and 45 minutes i've been off work and took my first sip, i know what takes me to get shitfaced and holy damn have i impressed myself with how quickly i got myself drunk.

The words: "some people like to make life a little tougher than it is" keeps ringing in my head, as i once again skated through another week just working and doing my lame little projects. But my one saving grace has been my conversations with a women that i'm sure i've met before but i can not for the life of me place when and where. Every time i try to think if i have met her, it all feels like a haze dream that could be fake or real.

But I have to say G has been in excellent spirits this week, he's been talking a lot more and only a little worries about the future, i've noticed when we talk he's been smiling a lot more and it seems genuine these days; every time i see it i want to cry a little at the progress that he's made in just the last two months. In someways i can't but help that he's a much stronger man than me at heart. He crawled his way out of his bottomless pit of self doubt, pity, and real mental anguish. It makes me wonder if i could do the same. I know plenty of people have said that i could, but it feels like i only managed to pull myself out because i didn't care in the first place. Most, if not all, my relationships i expect to end at sometime or another. So when they do end, my second thought after "oh man, this hurts like hell" is: "it was inevitable anyway." It takes some time and i let it go. Part of me questions if i even loved those girls that i shrugged off after they broke up with me. i think i did, that i really did love them, even in my own little naive sort of way.

But the conversations i've been having this week, with a particular lovely women, have opened my mind to the possibly that i can once again understand the real fun me that i use to love. i look forward to every time we get to have a conversation (even though it's mostly through text messaging) but i dont care, i feel like the fun version of me i thought was dead a long time ago is making his way back. Plus, her quick wit and intelligence makes me smile and giggle; she has a real "no nonsense" feel about her that i just love. I feel comfortable speaking my mind, even though for now, i'm easing into introducing myself; meaning i'm still kinda not swearing as much as i usually do when talk to someone like either Irene or Sarah. But i feel it wont be too much time before i can skip on some of my politeness and just let my voice come through, but i want her to hear my real voice to before i really just let it go. i dont hold back because of some fear or that i dont think she could take it, it's just my small hatred for text message. Conversations are 70% tone and if the other person doesn't really know how you sound for even half of the percent, most get the feeling you're being sarcastic these days, and i dont want my words to be misconstrued.

But for the most part i really enjoy this woman's company and i enjoy the person i feel around those conversations, which is a pretty rare gem indeed.

it's that time

So after once again drinking and having talked to G about games and the de-evolution of creativity i can't help but feel him and i are the only ones that wish to save video games with our own sense of creativity and that we could save an industry that is slowly dying. I love video games, but even i feel American gaming companies are killing the very industry by caring less about creativity and more concerned about where their next dollar is coming from.

But games are a side project to my life. So after a month's worth of steering my life away from Sarah, i have finally come to a conclusion that i don't miss her. Which in some ways is sad, but there are only so much anyone can have conversations about how much anyone can dislike their mother. I mean, hell, even "Everyone Loves Raymond" only lasted for so many seasons. Don't get me wrong i still love the woman, but it has become that pity sorta of love one has for a battered puppy than a love formed by a man and a women; even if they are only friends. At this point, i'm getting ready to call it quits; i had dinner with her and that was fine, but i'm not a fan of people who capitalize on conversations on how bad their date was over the weekend. Our dinner only lasted for a little less than a hour and 45 minutes was spent of her telling me the faults of the man she volunteered to go on a date with. Half way through her horror stories, i raised my hand, in the national sign of "stop" and said, "Okay, girly, that date is over. You no longer have to relive it. Just be here with me." To which the people sitting behind us heard everything that was going on, because she doesn't seem to have any sense of volume, both giggled and praised me for being the type of man that's not going to be on a "date" to hear the horror story of another date. Of course they didn't say this to me directly and softly tried to speak to each other.

I never thought that such a thing needed praising, but as i get older, the more i see halfway decent men acting like beating puppies just to get some (even though i dislike using this word) pussy; the more i'm less inclined to try for the honey-pots of women and people seem to like this about me. I mean, yes, i'm not the best looking guy on the block, hell on a scale from 1 to 10 i rank a 3, and even though the old saying is "beggars shouldn't be choosers", but i can tell you, i choose not to beg for it. I don't care how gorgeous a women is, if she's a straight up bitch i seriously can't talk to her and i can't make myself believe she's hot.

A co-worker of Mike's, i'll leave her name out because i don't wish to shame her in anyway; was easily the most gorgeous Spanish women i have ever seen and on top of that she was always super sweet and nice to me. But part of me always believed she was nice to me because she understood that i thought she was good looking. One day during a conversation i was having with one of her co-workers she walked in between me and the person i was talking to and said "hi" as if we were he greatest of friend, and i looked at her and said, "Too much makeup." And then continued my conversation with the other person as if she wasn't there. She was apparently upset by my attitude and brought it up to me one day much later. She was polite about the whole thing and said, "So why were you so rude to me (about the day in question)?" And i answered her honestly; "i think you felt it was okay to interrupt a conversation i was having because you think i believe you are hot. And don't get me wrong you are gorgeous, but that gives you no right to be rudely interrupt me when i'm fuckin' talking. If you want to talk to me and i'm currently in the middle of a conversation, wait your frickin' turn."

I found later when Mike was hitting on her and said that she would date him in a second, she answered (i believe she answered ironically and was only trying to piss off Mike) "Sorry, Mike, but i'd date a real man, like William." I doubt she meant a word of this and was only trying to get under Mike's skin, but i have to say this made me feel a small bit of pride. Like there are still people out there that can still deal with plain and brutal honesty.

It's one of my greatest faults and many have spoken down to my honesty when it comes to women, but the more girls i meet the more that say, i wish a men were more honest and the more i'm honest the more they say they could meet a nice guy. And the more i hear girls say that the more i laugh in their face.

My old roommate Stephanie once said, "I wish i could just once date a man that's a nice guy."

To which i answered: "There are plenty of nice guys out there. But most nice guys are not good looking and let's face it you don't date ugly." And i'm a double whammy, not only am i not that good looking, but i don't bother to be a nice guy. I've played the nice guy role for years and years, the only thing it ever got me was single and many people asking me if i was gay. As soon as i stopping being nice no one asked if i was gay.

So be an asshole and have people think you're straight and be hated by most girls for being mean, or be nice and be mistaken for being a homosexual. Jesus Christ, do i dislike relationships. But i think my dad said it best once he learned i was doing P90-X; "Don't worry, Bill, once all the weight is off it doesn't matter how you act, when you're good looking by the majorities standards everything you do will be endearing. But do yourself a favor, don't you change one fuckin' bit. Be the muscular guy that still reads and plays video games, if you stay on that path, you'll find a girl worthwhile."

And i'm inclined to believe him, he used to be on the swim team, i've seen pics of him when he was my age he was a very fit man, i mean muscles for days and he has always been a nerd at heart and his (second) marriage has lasted him a goodly amount of time. Which in someways is reassuring, but i still can't help but feel that i'm just not meant to be in a relationship. Even more so now, that i feel that i'll be moving in like 2 to 3 years to a totally different country.

So once again, i'll be putting my life on hold before anything of any sort of relationship nature happens. No one right now wants to date my ass, but in the future when i'm getting ready to be ready to move i'll have to say, "Sorry, but i'll be leaving in a little while. I can't shackle myself down before i'm going." Which i think is just a sad excuse for me to make to myself to feel better about being single. I mean, even as drunk and shit faced as i am at this moment, if any women i saw as halfway decent (meaning she's awesome, and intelligent, who gives a shit what she looks like) said she'd like to date me, there's no way i'd say "No." Unless i was a total moron, in which case i probably would.

Sometimes, i believe being a moron will one day save my life as i'm doing something stupid.

And cue the clapperboard.

I have to say getting friendzoned by a girl....... one would figure by now i'd just get use to that fuckin' play.

It's screenwriting 101, it's as predictable as a movie with a dog in it. By the end it's going to die.

It's the same setting, same main character, different female lead, all the set pieces are in place, the actors are on time and sober, the lighting is working, up goes the curtain, the music flows into the auditorium and it's the same play you saw last year, and the year before that, and before that, and before. So why keep going and wasting your time and money?

It's a question i keep asking myself. I'm not lonely, nor do i feel alone, and i don't hate the girls that have friendzoned me, hell a few (if not all) i'm still on friendly terms with and in some cases we still hang out. I'm an adult i don't hate the women themselves; hell i know sometimes people can't help who they don't like no matter how nice the other person is. It's just human.

But now after close to 7 years, i'm really starting to take inventory and am seriously wondering what it is i'm doing wrong. I'm not an asshole (some people say that is part of my problem), well not to the girls i like, but then again i have moments of sheer asshole-ness.

You know, what? Fuck this. Writing this shit out...sober, it's just a whinny waste of my time. Sure, i get a little upset from being friendzoned, but it's not the first time and i'm sure it won't be the last. I'll just keep going, no one ever won anything quitting halfway through.

The heart's fury.

2012, easily the best beginning i've had to a year in a long, long time. Got laid for the first time in a well let's just say for a long while. I finally have a clear view of what i wish to do; in the career market that is, and i've started P90-X.

But with all this self improvement bullshit going on, other area's have taken a huge hit. Call it collateral damage to the soon to be re-formed making of a new (but i wouldn't say "improved") Me. Area's that have taken a major hit are: money, my writing, video games and my reading. Luckily, my enjoyment hasn't truly wavered. I won't say that i'm happy, but there is a sense of gladness. Even if it's constantly being beaten down not only at my own apprehension of having a natural smile, but the worry for a friend who nearly decided to take his own life. I've been scared, and i've been worried, but never has it been intense.

After getting insanely drunk and playing some music that i thought would help my deeply hidden articulate being finally reveal itself, i wrote this letter to my friend:



"Even with the delicate mixture of brotherly love, father like protection and the over all warm stillness of a heart flooding with admiration, i truly can't find the right words to say in regards of the courage, testicular fortitude and determined recovery that i've seen in you these past few years. The character you've displayed pains me with knowing how cowardly i've been and how selfish i am.

 I will confess that i've written off most of what i've heard from you and seen on your facebook (before your hospitalization) as longingly over the top Emo bullcrap. But the 360 my mind took when you came down that day is one i wont be forgetting for a long time. Nothing in my life so far has made me reel back so mentally that i actually lost what to think, say, or even find a spark of humor in the situation. The real William, sat there those five minutes; as raw, as forthcoming, as quiet and fearful as he could be, wondering what was going to happen to his life and by extension of his friend. With the devastating wake up call that exploded in the place behind my eyes, all i could manage was a vague and nearly meaningless nod of my head, to represent that i was there and listening. But that was all i could manage.

 There is a pride that i have, a small piece; if it were to manifest itself into an object most would see a small shard of broken glass, but to me it's a reflection of the mirror that was once my youth and if tilted in the correct light would reveal my one special piece of pride: having the right mindset to befriend someone who treated me so badly that first day, of not giving up and making myself known to someone who clearly wanted nothing to do with me. It's pride the first and nearly that last time i can recall that my character as a selfish, loud mouth, S.O.B managed to pay out of once. And that decision to make you be my friend has payed back ten fold over the years. It's a decision i have yet to regret. If things continue to progress as they have over the last ten years, then i don't see my decision that day as a bad one.

There isn't much i can say that life will get better; that at the end is all the wealth and well deserved things good people get to collect at the hard, jagged path of living, but i can say i've seen the uselessness of what most call life. And if everything i've witness through my years has taught me is: there is no grand prize at the end, you don't pass go, you don't collect $200. You sleep and the universe continues....the end.

 Life, love, loathing, playing, reading, tv, and all that we let ourselves believe to be living is a joke. Worst yet is it's a joke with no punchline. But i'll be damned if i'm going to let the joke run it's course on me. I plan to see it through and hope upon hope that death takes me long after i've wished for it. I plan to fight till the very damned end of the little flame that is my life whispers out. I don't know your plans of the next few years, fuck, i don't even know my own, but i do know that i don't want two things: 1) i don't want to toss you platitudes believing you'll just be/feel/know you're better than the person you think you are. 2) that my life could have been more fulfilling and richer IF you were there.

I fucking hate platitudes they are the dismal hand finisher of a fantastic blowjob. Unlike most of the people you know i can hold a fuckin' conversation with out lazy, catchy words and be as real as i feel is needed during any conversation. You are better than you believe and i know that my life has been richer from you living and it has continued to prove that over and over when you start another year of life. I have thought many times of the big bow out. To collect the last of the applause, smile, wave goodbye, walk off the stage and disappear into obscurity. Few things have kept this bag of bile and bones moving along, and if i were to itemize the list of things that tie me to this earth your name would be there, right between "have sex one more time" and "see how far video games will advance".

 We have much more wine to drink my friend, there are conversation to be had and plenty more meals to be consumed together as friends, as family, as brothers. It's going to get harder here on out, but i will swear to any deity you love that i will do my damnest to prove to you that life is to be admired for it's obscurity as much as it's uselessness. Each day you live, is proof of growth, proof that you are mightier than you believe you are. That you fight which is truly meaningless, to prove that nothing in the long run can fault you. As a brother i will stand to see it through.

 You are loved. It may not be the kind you wish, but it's there."


After i sobered up, i found that on my computer with a little box indicating that the person had received it. My words in that letter might not seem like anything to you, but to me, those words are ME. I have never spoken that plainly before. Not to a friend, or my parents or even in my own writing. Those paragraphs above are the fear-filled me, there is no hubris in my words, just the plain and very real fear of losing. The loss of the person i think is myself, my friend, my beliefs on what is and is not. I'm scared. All in all, when it comes down to it, i'm scared. But my fear doesn't have a name or at least i don't know what to call it.


i wish to make 2012 the year i no longer exist. To take the William i know, the one i both hate and love and see if i can't make him into something.....else. I don't know what, but i just want to be me but something, else. Something, just more. No more wishing, no more pretending. It's time to do. And i started it by: when people ask me to go somewhere, i no longer say "no". i groan and then follow along. So far i've gotten drunk for free and had a blast, met a few nice people, and rediscovered my love for specialty grocery stores and have been working out. My fear grows because i don't know what kind of person i'll be at the end of this. I just hope he doesn't regret the me that exists now.

I think i'm done drinking. So no more writing for now.

Later than i thought.

A month. Over a month, since i last came here and wrote something, anything worth saying. A month full of the same thing, a month full of running round going only there and back. Except for one i left the trail and ended up outside of my usual grind:

A friend of mine had some leave from the Navy and came all the way from Virginia and decided to crash at my place for awhile, it was pretty nice to see him. We went to San Francisco to eat at our favorite sushi place, but just like the last two times we went they were closed once again for the holidays, so we went to our new stand by sushi place and ordered some udon. Stopped by the Fireside bar down the street from there and i got pretty tipsy. The bartender made me a screwdriver that was 2/3 vodka and then a splash of orange juice then only charged me half-price, gave me a free shot of my choice. By the time we were on Bart heading home, my tipsy nature turned toward tired and i fell asleep.

On the way home he warned me we had to head to Stockton and sign a few papers for his lawyer. To finalize the beginning stages of his divorce from my best-friend/ex-girl friend. He said he was sorry, but i shrugged and shook my head, "Don't worry about it."

"I just feel bad that it came to this, you know?" He said when the lawyer stepped away to get something from a file in the next room.

"At least it's a movement forward," i said and continued to stand over by the window. I thought about their (i can't really call it a relationship, it was more like they were just existing with each other) for the last two months and i thought about how this was long over due. I love them both, but i disliked his hesitation to call off the marriage because of the lingering feels he had, when it was obvious it wasn't mutual and i really hated her indecisiveness to get a divorce because of her religious obligations. But how are you going to be married but emotionally separated and have a boyfriend? In our last phone conversation i mentioned "having her cake and eating it too", which she wasn't totally happy about. But i let her anger slid past because she only calls me by that nickname of hers' when she's mad at me but knows i'm right.

From the lawyers back home, he asked of my own relationship status which i only shrugged. I thought about telling him of my dealings with Sarah, but even in my head the situation there read like a high school drama play, acted by people taking themselves far too seriously. Plus, even if the man is my friend he's not one i enjoy speaking to about my problems; all his answers come out from a region i'm not familiar with. We are talking about a semi-womanizing, self-important, nice guy opposing as an asshole and vice versa, soon to be divorcee, giving advice to a directionless, unsympathetic, humanitarian misanthrope, idiot, who's only real redeeming quality is he can only speak the truth, no matter how harsh, even more so when it's about himself. It's just not a mixture for good planning. So i decided to keep it to myself and said, "Nothing, on the horizon. And probably won't be for a long time."

"Why not?" he said switching the radio station again.

I thought about switching the subject, but in my personalized sorta of way, where i'm making it perfectly clear that i'm not trying to sneakingly pass this conversation, but blatantly refusing to talk about it, in a polite manner. I thought about giving the "jar a few pennies", a saying i once heard from someone far older and wiser, meaning: giving a little but not all. I also thought about saying what i always think when i hear people break up; this was the choice i went with, "Because i don't see the point. I'm only sorta happy with my life, things could be better, but they could be a whole fuck-ton worse. I have clothes on my back, a roof over my head, food in my stomach and i live with some of the greatest people i know. And yet somehow, somehow, i'm still slightly unhappy. My unhappiness is selfish and moronic, and it pisses me off that even though i know all that, i still can't help but feel that way. And i want to drag someone else into this miserable bullshit that is, not just my life, but at it's very core: me. Yeah, no thanks. Putting another person in the position of lead designer of my happiness is not fair and pretty damn stupid if you ask me. Making one person the sole source of ones happiness, that's just pathetic and not to mention a huge burden for that person."

I took a deep breath and stared forward having realized that much of what i said probably struck home for him. We both knew i just criticized several things he had done. But i wasn't afraid that he'd yell at me, i've heard him yell before and he had nothing on my father, or my grandfather for that matter. But instead he nodded and said, "Yeah, that's true."

Later that week, i got drunk with my roommates and stole a street sign like we were teenagers. I played wingman for one of my roommates as best i could and dismissed Sarah's when she got mad at me for not answering when she said she missed me. "He snores so loud. He wasn't going anything wrong. Just felt like i was gonna scream so i left and went home. And i miss you."

"Yeah, hearing someone snore for a long time is pretty annoying. Miss me, why? It's not like i'm that interesting. I work and then play video games, what's there to miss?" i said with a little laugh.

"Damn it. For ONCE could you just say you miss miss me back? I haven't seen you in a long time," she said folding her arms, playing the part of a disapproving mother.

It's been a week, i thought about saying. What came out of my mouth was: "But saying it after being told to say it kinda cheapens the sentiment behind it."

She nodded, "Yeah, it kinda does."

2012 is going to be a long year.