Martes, Hunyo 21, 2011

Old People

I fucking love eggs. Seriously. when I was young, I used to eat eggs every single day along with almost every other meal. I couldn't help it. Even at a young age I was fascinated with its fragile nature. How, if not properly cared for, a single mistake would turn your eggs into something that's less than ideal. I'm actually cooking/eating a couple of sunny side ups in between paragraphs here, and I honestly spent more than the appropriate number of minutes just admiring the yolks.

I don't know, man. I haven't been to work for a couple of weeks now, and I'm far more than demotivated. I'm far more concerned with my place in the world these days. I feel far more disconnected with everything, and so far, my only consolation is my ability to make perfect fried eggs.

Body pains and heart aches with a little rum. MInutes after I had finished uploading my last post, I went over to The BIg Man's house for, it seemed to me at that night, an ordinary drinking session. The Critic was there, and so was the Make Up Artist, and so I figured it would not be as bad, since those are two people that I don't interact with normally.

I really should stop underestimating my weekends.

We started off without he usual shit, having beats about things that are important and amusing only to us, (Like what would the best course of action be if it suddenly rained boobs.) and then it escalated to a very intense session of poor man's parker, where the Critic, the Big Man, and I took turns trying to swing from the top of the gate in the most, shall we say, graceful manner. Let's just say we were feeling the effects of repeated slamming our bodies on a solid tele for the next few days. But of course, the laughter would last for far, far longer.

All that in itself would have been a sufficient Sunday reminiscent of the old HIdalgo street days, but of course, more shit had to go on. The Make Up Artist was having man trouble. Her supposed man was at the bar with some other girl. She had the ingenious plan of going there with one of us pretending to be her new boyfriend. With the BIg Man married as he is, and the Critic with his seemingly fucked up reasoning that I never bothered to listen to, so I went to the bar with her to play the part. So I did. With all those drinks in me, how could I not? It was because of those drinks, that I kept playing the role even after we've done what we needed to do.

Yeah, two accidental "girlfriends" in the pen of two weeks. I must be doing something terribly, terribly wrong.

TV Tribulations. Battered, bruised, and completely sleepless, I continued working with The Salesman on this TV project of his. So far, working for someone as driven as he is is something that is relatively new to me. Most of the worked with either just constantly cruised or were complete buffoons. This is an interesting professional relationship. I hope it works.

Of old men and even older times. In the middle of the week, I was disturbed from my usual depressed stupor with a phone from someone I did not expect. It was the younger sister of an ex of mine, who happened to be one of the BIg Man's classmates from college (the ex, not the sister). So, after a brief meeting with the Salesman, it was off to Manila to yet another night of drinking. I was actually expecting an important gathering based on the serious tone of the phone call the sisters gave, but it was a just another house party. I met new people, had a few laughs, and everything was going well until the old guy started with this old man routine that I'm sure everyone who's been around a person of a matured state is familiar with.

Now, in my life, I've been around people of varying ages and mental conditions, from emotionally disturbed teens to bat shit insane geriatrics, but nothing quite affects me than an old person who has made some seriously bad decisions in his life that have knocked him off his imagined perch and is desperately trying to reclaim it by convincing everyone who bothers to listen that he was, at some point, important.

The glory days are over, dude. So instead of looking back on it and ruining other people's good time doing so, just try to do more great things. Looking back wont bring any of that shit back. Write a book or something.

Ironically, it wasn't going to be the only night this week wherein my good night gets ruined by other people's less than ideal qualities.

Parental Guidance. The night after that, the BIg Man and I drank once more, but this time it wasn't our idea. His mother wanted to get her drink on, and it unintentionally became my week's "retracing my steps" night, as we talked about how her son and I were in high school, and how they were as kids. Even the Big Man's wife was up and we talked about the old Manila adventures when I was far less troubled, the Big Man was far less monied, and his wife was far less… umm… wifey.

We even took a special trip down memory lane at another part of life when the mother then flat out declared that she'd be happier if her daughter, the BIg Man's sister, another one of of my exes, ended up with me instead of the Quiet Man. And that, my friends, was like 32 flavors of awkward.

Still, it was very enlightening. Long nights like these keep me from having my attacks, but at some point i am going to have to find some other way to avoid the discomfort of my little brain issues. Probably something that doesn't involve those kinds of conversations.

Blind dates and revelations. I had a relatively quiet Saturday when I went on my very first (sorta) blind date courtesy of the Friendly Almost Neighbor. I've taken a bunch of huge steps lately, and this is one of the bigger ones. Considering my utter dislike of people, spending an afternoon with a stranger isn't something I would normally participate in, but come on, lunch with a chemical engineer was something I could not pass up.

I was nice. I had a bucket of beer and had my first decent night's sleep in god knows how long, and even learned a thing or two.

The BIg 3 and Oh. Monday night, and straight on to Tuesday morning, The Big Man, The Tapa King, and Mr. Guerrero and I had ourselves a supposedly enjoyable night to celebrate the Big Man's 30th. Now, usually, I have a personal holiday every June 21st, but since this is someone's 30th, a pivotal moment for everyone who actually values life and not just lives like a lump of coal, I decided to just do a double celebration of Broken Promises Day next year.

We started out at Marbles, and we were doing well. But Mr. Guerrero was kinda douchey about the whole thing, so we went to a different bar. Once midnight hit, and the Big Man officially turned 30, the cigars were lit and the music was loud and we were all having an awesome time. That was all until shit hit the fan. The Make Up Artist was there and introduced me to the guy she was trying to make jealous. The BIg Man, due to several reasons, freaked out a little.Then, the girl who seems to think she was my girlfriend was also there and bugging me the fuck out by texting me nonstop. Apparently, everyone seems to have forgotten that we were supposed to be having a good time.

So, I left. It was the only way to keep the party going. This may sound pretentious and even a little over the top, but it is my firm belief that in every social circle, everyone plays at least one specific role. While these days, I mostly act as the voice of reason among my friends from Hidalgo street, particularly after Ol' Football Head and the Godfather of Porn left, but my original role has and probably will always be the guy who keeps the good times rolling. If I was having a party and the presence of one person is ruining it, whether or not it is that person's fault per se, then that person should leave. Hell, if I had that type of person around on my 30th, and the dude doesn't leave, I'm going to throw the fucker out. A good night, in my opinion, trumps everything. So, I left. Was I happy about it? No. But it was what was necessary.

At least it was memorable.

Perfect Eggs No More. I imagine life is far more complicated than eggs.After everything that's happened this week, I don't even know what path I could possibly take. All these nights have reminded me how important my upcoming 30th is, and how little time left I have. So, let's start this one more time. The comedy, the romance, the birthday and all the small details.

"There's a hole in your logic,

You who know all the answers, (Oh-oh-oh-oh)
You can sigh and say magic, (Oo-oo-oo-oo)
And expect me to buy it

Goodbye Mr. A,
You promised you would love us, but you knew too much,
Goodbye Mr. A,
You had all the answers but no human touch,
Your life is subtraction,
Your number is up,
Your love is a fraction,
It's not adding up" - The Hoosiers, "Goodbye, Mr. A"

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