I'm feeling a little weird right now, simply because whatever funk I'm used to having has somehow subsided for the time being. While it would be a hell of a stretch to assume that I have undergone some form of recovery, I'm not rejecting the idea that I may well be on my way. Everything, of course, is up to what happens soon. I mean, I had myself a great weekend to cap off a relatively pleasant week, despite the shitty possibilities that loom.
I guess these days I'm making do with the fact that life isn't boring. It may not be good, it may not necessarily be bad, but it is definitely not boring.
The Quiet Start of the Week. After the whole fiasco without he Big Man's 30th birthday I decided to spend a couple of days low key. It was a good couple of days of decompression, and with that lovely weather, I honestly could not ask for more. (No sarcasm there, I love storms. It's too bad for the people in areas who get their shit fucked up because of it, but I can't help it.) I spent those days indoors, hovering around the usual social networking sites rolling my eyes at the usual narcissistic tweets and status updates of everyone who, thanks to the dawning of the Internet age, are under the impression that people actually gave a fuck whether or not they liked a particular movie or what they had for breakfast. (Green Lantern sucked.)
Seriously, check out your wall or what have you sometimes with complete disregard for whoever it is that post their… umm… posts. Look at all the updates objectively and as they are. It's like listening to traffic. It's nice.
I think I got sidetracked here. Yeah… started the week by hanging out at home.
The Return to the Think Tank. Due to the frequency of my sucky attacks, I was not able to come to work for like two weeks. Well, last week I finally did it. I went back to the Think Tank and it was actually pleasant. I loved the vibe the stormy weather brought forth. It was so nice that I even stayed to work overnight.That, and the weather made going home an even bigger hassle.
The following day, I had lunch with a fellow employee and discussed things some outside of work business, and I believe I've actually made a friend. Also, there was an audition I was supposed to go to, but the weather also prevented that, so I spent the rest of my Friday night just dicking around at home. It was nice to just listen to the raindrops fall as I began to float away towards slumber. I guess a peaceful night's sleep is only a weekly thing now.
The Root of the Problem. The following day, Saturday, I was well rested and ready to go to work with a huge ass smile on my face. But before I hit the office, I volunteered to help out another officemate and decided to donate blood. My reasons were twofold. One, I wanted to help out someone who was nice to me from the moment I started working at the Tank, and two, what better way to retrace my steps than to walk around the halls of the hospital that I was confined in for two weeks back during my first heart attack? Sadly, I wasn't able to donate blood since all the exposure to the rain made me sick. After a few moments of solemn contemplation, off to work I went.
I got there, smiled and waved at the few employees who, like me, had nothing better to do on a Saturday than just toil. I sat down in front of my office computer, checked my email, and boom… the other shoe drops like a motherfucker.
It's my fault, really. i've been half-assing it lately, and it caught up with me. Long story short, I might get fired next week. That, plus the little detail that my rent money got stolen from my pocket just a few days prior poses a rather unpleasant scenario that I'd hate to think could only happen to me in such a manner.
I guess the energy I got from going tot hat hospital put me in another one of those "no day but today" moods, so I headed out to drink with Jeff, not knowing that the videogames and domestic drinking would lead to perhaps the best weekend I've had all year.
The Super Weekend. A little background for those who just got here, Jeff and Lea are friends of mine from college. Well, to be accurate, they became friends of mine right after they graduated. Jeff and I had nothing common, aside from a passion for wrestling, video games, getting drunk, and generally being seen as assholes by the general public. Once they graduated along with the Gadgeteer, Jeff and I sorta gravitated towards each other, since he had very few friends he could drink with, and I, due to a recent break up, was not hanging out in Hidalgo street and a vast majority of people I knew had already moved on to the real world. His then girlfriend and now wife Lea usually joined us, and after a whole slew of adventures, trials and tribulations, we managed to become fixtures in each other's lives. Together, we conquered Marbles, made The Big Grill our own, discovered a special spot in Tagaytay, and made Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights the nights when anything was possible. It was no surprise I was the Bestman at their wedding.
Once they got married, of course, certain things changed. For a few years we still all hung out on a semi-regular basis, but eventually we drifted apart. We lost touch for a couple of years, and just met up January of this year, when we learned that we all basically live in one area again.
The past weekend, Jeff and I were just trying out fatalies for the new Mortal Kombat game until we were a little drunk. We had to go and pick up Lea (all of my great weekends involve at least a minimal amount of DUI.) Once there, I was not going to let the night end with another quiet domestic drinking session where Lea plays housewife and me and jeff act like overgrown kids. It was time to go old school. I summoned Nikki from the Scoobies, and then we drank at some bar from BF (seriously, a lot of the bars there are overrated) and I drank so much my heart did that thing again. I was also overjoyed to see Lea drunk again after two or three years. It was amazing.
We all retreated back to the happy couple's house and I shared a room with Nikki wherein we had a long talk (for my standards) about what happened with my latest romantic pursuit, my plans for the future, generally shooting the shit in amasser that we rarely get to do.
The following day, we decided to have a little more fun, so after breakfast with the couple, Nikki and I went to Shelly's.
The Super Weekend, part 2. We went to Shelly's house and dragged her and her kid along for anise quiet time at the mall. It was in 2005 when the three of us were all single at the same time, and after six or so years, there we were, older, a little wider, and definitely a whole lot wiser. One funny moment I particularly like was when Shelly suddenly came to a realizations to whether or not the problem lay with the three of us, cause we were the common denominators in our collective romantic failings.
Of course we weren't the problem. My friends are perfect.
We ate too much Italian food and periodically chased around Shelly's son (who probably is the only child I know that isn't scared of me) in a nice, quiet Sunday. After Shelly left, Nikki and I had another drink before going home to Cavite, along with another one of those conversations that only people like she and I would be able to truly get.
The Scoobies have been and most likely will always be a big part of my life. After my classmates graduated and I had distances myself from my boys, it was the who accepted my into their ranks unconditionally. Even after I pursued Nikki and got rejected, I was never treated any differently in the aftermath. (Nikki's rejection of me still to his day is my favorite rejection. Hell, I;ve been rejected before, but she had the courtesy to do it in Marbles, in front of a bucket of beer. That, my friends, is how you let a person down gently. Take notes.)
The last time I had a "super weekend" it was when the Big Man and I hit 3 separate drinking sessions in one night without three different groups of people in my life. This weekend meant a lot more to me because of the rarity of these sorts of nights, what with everyone being all "growed up" and shit.
The Denouement. I still haven't hit the stage again, and I may be unemployed the next time I write in this blog, but I'm strangely okay with all of that. I remember being at the hospital, and making a personal vow to retain the people that visited me as I lay there, no matter what happens. I remember all those times with Jeff and Lea and all my days with the Scoobies, and I feel empowered. Cause I've been through far worse crap before, and I've always landed on my feet. the Scoobies, Jeff and Lea, the Big Man, everyone in my life right now, for several years now, have played the role of my audience. They've laughed, and they've sympathized, and most importantly, they're always there. They all make up this grand story.
I'm the guy who'd date your sister, who'd get high and pass out at a Starbucks. I'm the guy who'd miss work so you can bitch about your ex or your wife, or your husband. I'm the guy who'd date the girl that everyone hates. I'm the guy who'd come up with the stupidest but most fun ways to waste an entire weekend. I'm the guy whose house you threw up in. I'm the guy who'd make sure you don't spend too much at a strip club. I'm the guy who'll never get a tattoo just in case someone needs blood. Over the past decade I've been one of those people they make urban legends about, and I'm proud of that. I'm not the ideal guy, nor the ideal friend. I'm just the guy who operates under a different set of rules and principles, and sometimes I'm the kind of guy that certain people need at certain specific times. I remember who I am now, thanks to these people.
Too fucking bad I can't put any of that shit on my resume.