I've been extremely pre-occupied for the past couple of weeks, what with work, other business, and of course, my much documented heart problems. Which blows, yes, but I'm still kicking. The past two weeks have been somehow packed with events, but only some of those events may actually lead into other things in my future.
It has been a weird set of circumstances that kinda sets me a little more adrift than I was from a few weeks ago. I'm a lot more detached, I think, and the way things are going, detached is perhaps the best way to go.
Generations of Mischief. On a rainy Thursday night, I went drinking one on one with a fellow Think Tank-er. I never thought I'd be going one on one with a 21 year old that's fresh off of college, especially one who initially scoffed at my abilities of imbibing alcohol. But, once the night was done, the young man was hobbling on home drunk as one could be, while I still had the constitution to see SosoJeff (he insisted on bringing the nickname back) for a favor.
I felt a shallow sense of pride that night, going the distance in my advanced age with someone who's supposedly in his prime (alcohol-wise). Apparently, went it came to drinking, I'm still the Nature Boy. (Only wrestling geeks would get that reference.) Also, it was nice to go out socially with someone from work. It makes one more motivated to show up to the office, despite the ever escalating blood pressure.
Ill-Repute. One Friday night, after a day of talking about stalkers and stupid-ass reasons why couples fight and whatnot with the rest of the denizens of the Think Tank, I was more than content with ending the work week watching the breathtaking Ellie Kemper on the big screen in Bridesmaids. The Big Man, unexpectedly, invited me to go out. I thought it was with the Human Torch, but other things got in the way, so it was me and the Big Man once again (it's going to be me and the BIg Man for most of the rest of this post as well as posts from the foreseeable future). After some expected indecision, we ended up in Paranaque, going to another one of those places where people my age seem to flock to these days. (Most people I hang out with these days seem to have a huge problem going to regular bars and getting a massive drink on, it seems.)
It was pleasant, and if all things follow the pattern I'm noticing, it's going to be indicative of the central theme the rest of the year will be having.
The Two Towers (Of Beer). As Sunday arrived, after a relatively long day at the Think Tank, the Big Man and I hung out once again for drinks, and this time it was in Cavite at this new bar that boasted beer towers. It was the eve of the launch of the Big Man's new project, one that I agreed to be a part of for various reasons, and it was the bulk of the conversation. I offered my own personal two cents, particularly with his inclusion of the Makeup Artist as part of the roster. We even talked about our childhood adventures with our respective cliques. (I found out that the Godfather of Porn was such a drama queen.) After downing a tower each, he was insanely drunk. (At some point in the night I got drunk as well, but what I noticed is that these days, I sober up rather quickly.)
He drove me home, and we had a discussion about my current love life. Apparently there are more people reading my blog than I expected, so my admissions of being in love and having a new muse did not go unnoticed. (SosoJeff actually brought it up in the brief meeting we had.)
So it was almost sunrise, and I just got taken home by a guy who should not be behind the wheel, and there I was, listening to this old friend of mine telling me why should go for this latest girl. I haven't discussed that in detail here in my blog, but there are going to be severe consequences if I should pursue this person, so I made the decision not to do so. I rarely seek advice, and people who know me know me well enough to not give it unsolicitedly. But in the BIg Man's drunken state, I don't think he could've stopped himself from speaking if he tried. Surprisingly enough, what he said actually helped.
He reminded me of how I'm the guy that doesn't really think about the odds, and whether intentional or not, argued that my reservations about the pursuit was a little illogical and presented a logical alternative. He also appealed to me emotionally, that after all the shit I've been through, it was time I actually went out and stopped thinking about other people and focus on something that would be good for me. Not very may people can make me see those things, sober or not, and fuck knows a lot of people have tried.
The way it went, drinking all the contents of an entire beer tower actually was the most productive and enriching thing I've done all week. I will tell her. Soon. And you will be reading about it, and hopefully preparing loads of alcohol to cheer me upon the inevitable outcome.
Avenger-iffic. Once the Big Man's little project got underway, I went into work mode, mostly cause I really can't help it. He joked about calling our workplace the Avengers HQ or some shit like that, and as I was observing the roster and the proceedings through analytical yet geeky eyes, I couldn't help but notice that analogy was quite accurate once you get past the initial "delusions of grandeur" perspective.
In this scenario, the Big Man plays Tony Stark, wherein he funds and manages the entire operation. In this sense, he also possesses the same intrinsic character flaws, like an inability to handle people properly, his vulnerability to the wiles of the opposite sex and his tendency to, despite being more than able intellectually, find himself in situations that can be a little over his head due to lack of impulse control. In contrast, I play the role of Steve Rogers, without the physical fitness, of course. I've often viewed myself as a person who's misplaced out of his time, with outmoded ideals and values. Aside from being the least "powerful" member of the group, I also suffer from a level of stubbornness that can only be born of an inability to compromise when it comes to my own personal measure of right and wrong. Another longtime friend of the Big Man plays the role of the God of Thunder. She's the heavy hitter of the group, while still maintaining a level of lightheartedness and fearlessness even in the face of epic odds. Then there's a couple who I can't help but compare to Henry Pym and Janet Van Dyne, two obviously gifted individuals who together make a formidable pair, but are somehow stuck in their own little world and history. (For now at least.) And of course, there's the Makeup Artist, who definitely is the Incredible Hulk in terms of being an emotionally crippled creature that carries some potential for good and on the other hand, the sheer possibility of catastrophe.
Man, I read too much comics.
Who's Playing Who? Friday night, despite my frazzled nerves, I needed a drink. The Big Man obliged, and we ended up in that same bar where we had beer towers just days prior . The Big Man was unusually emotional that night, thanking me for my contributions to his little project, addressing his fears of failure and others. To be completely honest, at first I thought I was being "handled", but I decided to place my faith on the sincerity of our talk and accepted his words at face value. It was a nice night of quiet drinks, which, of course got shot into hell.
For some reason, we had to go to this bar where the Makeup artist works. He said he was trying to "protect his people" though I doubt if he'd have done the same of it was me or anyone else on the team was in that situation (a situation which I admit I didn't fully grasp). But it was alright, I tried to make the best of it by enjoying what was there to enjoy. As we were about to leave, the Makeup Artist and this girl who thought she was my girlfriend just cause we apparently fooled around a weeks back suddenly rode the car and I was subjected to inappropriate questions about my personal life by someone whose company I'd rather not have. Seriously, do people not give a fuck if I have a good time or not? Nevermind.
Selfish ramblings aside, I couldn't help but notice for the past few weeks how she's got the Big Man wrapped around her finger. Like I told him, I find it kinda odd that someone who's so adamant on retaining control allow for this kind of manipulation. It's like she can snap her fingers and the guy jumps at attention, all the while trying to maintain the appearance of having autonomy. I'm pretty sure all sides think of this situation as mutualism, but for someone who's, to borrow one of the Critic's favorite cliches, on the outside looking in, there's way too many games that are being played here and I think not everyone is quite sure that they are participating. All personal shit aside, I know that at some point all of this becomes clear to everyone, and all I want at this point is transparency. I don't think I'm going to get it, but what the hell, I signed up because I'm fulfilling what's expected of me as a friend, and bitching about this is part of my job as a friend.
I seriously hope I'm wrong.
Funerals and Shit. Taking a break form all kinds of work due to my blood pressure, I went off to attend the funeral of some high school classmate's dad. I don't mean to sound cold, I'm sure it was a terrible loss for him,but he and I were never friends, and he always sorta came off a little on the douchey side at times. Not douchey in a sense that you want to punch him, but douchey enough to try and avoid having unnecessary conversations with him as much as possible.
Anyway, the reason I went was that I have, as mentioned, resolved to revisit some aspect of my past at least once a week, and this was the only avenue open to me on a Saturday night. I bugged anyone who would listen to get together for drinks afterwards, despite my condition. So the guys and I ended up in another dude's house, and I have to admit, it was brilliant. See, there were five of us, each one representing a different kind of person. Five people who normally would not hang out on a daily basis got together for the simple reason of familiarity. One was the guy that manages the restaurant I visited a few weeks ago. Another reminds me of The Rock from Walking Tall. Another compared himself to David Duchovny from Californication, which was a really accurate comparison. The other one a career phone monkey who was always on the outskirts of greatness. And then there was I, the artsy fartsy writer/comedian who should be in therapy.
What made the night interesting was that I was the only one of that bunch who was never married and does not have any children, and each of their views on the whole thing was interesting to listen to. The main theme was that there is no ideal marriage. Despite my inexperience with the subject, of course, I beg to differ.
I always remember that sight, BFF and her man in the pool, in each other's loving embrace. Their union was never perfect, but it sure was fucking ideal for both of them.That sight was pretty much my anchor to reality that night in Laguna back in 2009, as I was pretty fucking stoned and had been sitting in one spot of the pool for three hours. Never have I seen a more perfect moment between two people in love. I, myself, will not settle for anything less than that. (Which explains the 13 exes, I think.)
Anyhoo, it was a really pleasant night (drinking with the boys from the old hometown) that, while I'd rather not do it every night, I'd be looking forward to on a semi-regular basis. They're crude, somewhat antiquated and too typical, but fun is fun, and a little reminder of my own roots is usually good.
Lazy (and sick) Sunday. My weekended on a quieter, but equally fulfilling note. Plagued with my chest pains, I visited the Therapist, who herself is dealing with health and financial issues. (Her problems and mine usually are eerily similar.) Jo F'n Regis was there f course, and it was a pleasant night of coffee, french toast and cigarettes. It's weird you know, cause I'm a depressed, depersonalized dude who suffers anxiety attacks on a regular basis, she's got a similar condition, and the other guy seems to suffer from hyper-activity with a dash of detachment from reality, and yet my nights with them are usually the least complicated nights of my week.
Pills, dreams and anxiety, that's us, and we're awesome.
What now? Now, I ride whatever this wave is to wherever it takes me. I wish the "Avengers" well and provide everything I can prove for the success of the project, I plan on hanging out with The Therapist and Jo F'n Regis a lot more regularly, I'll continue enjoying working at the Think Tank until I finally get fired, and I'll wait for the thing with the Makeup Artist to either self-destruct or prove me wrong. Oh, then that thing with the girl.
We'll see what happens.
"Let me tell you about the loose talk, ticking time bombNeeds a reaction to get my opinion
'Bout living in this town with its distractions
Got you spinning around and around and around and around" - The Purrs, "Loose Talk"