Title-less

            Henry’s is my favorite bar, because it’s a complete dive and nobody comes here unless they’re a regular.  Nobody thinks to themselves: “y’know where I haven’t been in awhile?  Henry’s!  Let’s go there for a change of pace.”

            Why doesn’t anybody say this?  Because Henry is my cousin and he doesn’t seem to give a shit about people he doesn’t like.  If he doesn’t know you your beer is served last.  It’s a terrible way to run a business.  I love this place.

            Wednesday is my normal Henry’s night; I always meet Rick and Marty here.  We have an agreement, Wednesdays are sacred drinking days.  Doesn’t matter what’s going on in your life, unless something is physically wrong you show up, play at least one game of pool and buy one pitcher.  Those are the rules, and girlfriends or wives need to be aware of this rule before they get any ideas.

            The problem is, that girlfriends and wives are also welcome to come.  We had to implement this compromise when Marty got married.  Turns out that if you make a personal rule and explain it to a girlfriend they’re willing to give in just a little bit.  But wives don’t play that game.  Rules don’t work well with wives, especially Marty’s wife.  Hell, and I like Helen.  But I sure ain’t crossing the broad.  I’d like to keep my balls and she gets a special kind of angry.  I’m afraid of two things, rental RV’s and women with scissors.  That’s it.

            Renee isn’t coming, and it’s the first Wednesday that she’s missed since we’ve been together.  After six months I’m pretty used to her coming.  It’s an average of what, four weeks per month.  So after six months of Wednesdays it’s 24 Henry’s nights?  That actually doesn’t seem like all that many.  Why does six months feel like a long time?  Based on my drinking schedule it’s actually not that long at all. 

            Given that my best relationship happened when I was four, I think that six months with Renee is a pretty good accomplishment.  Maybe I have better luck with women whose names start with an “R.”  Rachel, Renee… I also dated a Rosalyn once.  But we didn’t really end all that well, so maybe it’s not an “R” thing.

            Rachel and Renee are both two syllables, it could by a syllabic thing…

 

Jesus, and I just started drinking.  Somebody else better show up soon, because I ain’t making no sense.

 

            Thank God, Rick’s here.  He’ll notice that Renee isn’t here, but he won’t care.  Rick is probably the least likely person to ever get married; he loves his life too much.  Tonight is going to be a good night to talk to a perpetual bachelor.  They always have the best perspective.

            “Yo, Rick, what is the happening?”

            “Same old story, you flying solo tonight?”

            “Yep.”  Short and to the point.

            “Cool.”

            And that’s it, this is why Rick and I are friends.  Because while we both know there is probably more that should be said, we aren’t going to say it.

            “We’re on the waiting list for the table.  First pitcher’s on me” I say.

            “That’s my boy, Ryan.  Where’s Marty and the chain?”

            “Hell if I know, when’s the last time they were on time?”

            “Good point.  How’s things?”

            “Eh.  You?”

            “Yep.”

            “Good times.”

            “It will be after a few rounds.  Hey Henry!”

            Henry wanders over, or waddles over.  It depends on how you look at it really.  Is he lazy because he’s just a lazy person, or is he actually really on the ball but too fat to move any faster?  These are the things I think about my cousin.  Needless to say, we aren’t particularly close.

            “Rye, Rick.  What can I get for you?”

            “You have to ask?”

            “No, but I’m still hoping you someday order a pitcher of real beer and give up on this cheap shit.”

            “C’mon Henry,” Rick says.  “I have my miserly alcoholic reputation to uphold.  If I change now what will people think of me?”

            Henry shakes his head half in agreement.  Way to go cuz.

            “Alright Ryan, we do need to talk about something real quick.”

            Shit.

            He continues, “I know that you and Renee are having some sort of beef, and you know that I’m not going to get in the middle of your shit.  Unless somebody needs to get their ass kicked or something.”

            “Granted.”

            “But Marty called to tell me not to talk about Renee, because something’s going on. “

            “Ah, Renee and Helen touched base, and Helen made Marty call you.”

            “Exactly, which means that Helen is going to set you up into one of her, “we need to talk about life” episodes.  I thought you’d want fair warning.”

            “Goddammit Marty,” I say to nobody in particular.

            “Balls in a vice bro.”

            “But seriously, Helen?  I introduced the two of them, you’d think I’d get some leeway on this.”

            “Bitches is crazy.”

            “They are today.  How do you think I should play it?” I ask.

            “Tough to say…”

            “You thinking evade and distract?”

            “I think I’d try to avoid all types of conflict.”

            “She’s going to be pretty committed, I may need some backup.”

            “What are you thinking?"

            “Well,” I say “I figure the best thing to do is keep changing the subject whenever she starts talking, so that she can’t turn the topic onto me or Renee.  So I’ll need you to help me keep the ball rolling.”

            “Sports.”

            “Come again?”

            “If we focus on sports, she won’t be able to break into the discussion.  Helen hates football, so if we talk about it she’ll never get a word in.”

            “That’s brilliant.”

            “It’s what I do.”

 

            Henry came over to let us know our table was open.  Tonight is going to be interesting.

 

 

 

I love sports.

If you don't watch, that's fine.  If you haven't been watching the last few weeks, you're certainly missing out.

But if you hate sports you are missing the point.  Sports are real life true drama, with implications that influence a specific group of people.  It's something you can enjoy and talk about with friends.  It's a good time to bond.  It's an excuse to be social.

And when push comes to shove?  None of it really matters.  So if some of the real life drama in your own life interrupts you can just walk away.  Sports are real and they can be dramatic.  But they are much easier to deal with than the actual crap we deal with everyday.   They call it escapism (see: movies.)

The worst thing that can happen is your team loses.  Then you can just say hey, there's always next year.  You have to love that.

Too much talking...

Ever notice how many people (particularly younger) feel like they have lots of important things to say but nobody is ever willing to listen?  They get very militant about the idea of having things to say, things that will change the world.  It's a very cute idea, though naive.  Idealistic people generally are.

The problem is that nobody is willing to listen, and it isn't fair.  Just tell them to go ahead and talk and see what they have to say.  Generally, it's not a whole heck of alot.

Still lacking a title

 

            I don’t know why these kinds of random thoughts always hit me when I’m walking to work.  All I really want to do is clear my head with ten minutes of nothing.  If I can clear my head in the morning it’s much easier to work through the day.  Now I’m going to think about Rachel and wonder where she is every other minute.  Goddamn.

            I work for the local newspaper, which isn’t exactly big time.  My job is in the advertisement department.  I started in the classified section, spending most of my day figuring out how cheap people are.  I realize that when you pay by the word you try to be brief.  I get that.  But if you are so cheap that your ad makes absolutely no sense, you aren’t going to get a good response.

            I remember talking to an elderly woman who wanted to sell her car.  She told me that she wanted an ad that said “Nice Car Sale,” and didn’t want to leave her number.  She decided that the paper, (me in particular) should screen the calls for her and only forward serious inquiries.  I don’t think she ever did believe me when I said it wasn’t part of the service.  I told her that I really just didn’t think she’d get much of a response without giving more information and perhaps she should rethink giving her phone number.

            Old women don’t listen to anybody; I learned that the hard way.  So I ran her ad and she got no response.  Then she called to yell at me and report me to my supervisor.  I got written up for being, what was it?  Oh yeah, “rude, disruptive, and just generally unhelpful.”  I remember something about being a lying twit too, but the exact words escape me.  I really don’t know why I still work there.

            At least I don’t do that kind of stuff anymore, as I moved to the corporate ad section.  I’ve been doing this for thirteen years, so now I’m the asshole supervisor who rights up younger employees who do nothing wrong just for the hell of it.  I don’t hate my job, but that’s as far as I go.  The hell am I thinking about this crap for anyway?

 

            “Morning Ryan.”

            “Jill.”

            “Ryan.”

            “Bob.”

            “Hey boss, nice and cold out there.” Cindy said.  Cindy is a big fan of stating the obvious and unnecessary.  I think she’s scared of awkward silence, so she goes the other way and makes awkward conversation.

            “Yeah Cindy, it’s a bit wet out.”  I’m the boss so I have to play the employees’ games.

            “Yeah, and you with your walking.  Just crazy.”

            “Just saving some money.  It’s only ten minutes.”  This is true and untrue.  Yes I’m saving money, but my car also breaks down all the time.  I could get a new one, but the car has sentimental value.  It doesn’t make any sense, but I’d rather stick with my current unreliable car, which I try to find ways out of having to use.  Rather than buy a newer reliable car that I’d be more apt to actually drive.  Other people don’t mind me asking for rides all the time.  At least not enough to say no.

            “Okay boss, whatever you say.”

            Yeah Cindy, that’s right.  Whatever I say.  This is why I keep my office door closed all day, because Cindy would add all sorts of idiocy to my day.  I really wish she'd be either more or less productive.  If she were any better at her job I could promote her somewhere else, away from me.  If she were any worse I could fire her, and again, she’d be away from me.  As is she’s a solid if not spectacular person working the phones.

           

            That’s not completely true, as I actually really like Cindy.  If only she’d shut up every once in awhile, I’m pretty sure we’d have a great working relationship.  I’m just upset about Renee.  Which is the only reason I’m thinking about Rachel.  No, I suppose that doesn’t make any sense.

            Renee is my current girlfriend, or semi-current, or something.  I actually don’t know what we are at this point, although I had a pretty good idea yesterday.  Women are confusing.

           

            Bob knocks on my door; I can see him through the glass.  That’s the big disadvantage to office doors; I can’t pretend that I’m not here.  And it’s not like anybody knocks and waits anymore; they just knock and come in.

            “Hey Bob, what’s up?”

            “I got the sales numbers for last quarter, we should probably go over them.”

            Yeah Bob, can’t you see I’m in some special kind of emotional quandary here?  Last thing I want to look at is goddamn sales numbers.

            “Alright, you got a minute?”

            Bob sits down and hands me ten pages of information I don’t need.  I look at the last page and see that we didn’t reach our goals, again. 

            “Just what I need, more bad news.”

            “Is there other bad news?” Bob asks while fidgeting in his chair.  He’s always worried about losing his job for some reason.   You’d think after twenty years of this shit he’d be comfortable by now.

            “You’re fine Bob, not work related.”

            “I see… you want to talk about it?”

            Wow Bob, that almost makes me feel like you care.

            “We’re not drinking, I think I’ll handle my personal stuff personally.”

            “Okay, but if you need to talk, y’know, you can talk to me.”  Bob squirmed in his chair waiting for me to confirm that I wouldn’t take him up on his offer.  I’m not, but it’s fun to watch how nervous he can get.  It’s a self-inflicted anxiety; the guy is a walking heart attack.  I give him six months to live, though I said that six months ago.

            “Tell you what Bob, if I need to talk I’ll call Jill.”

            That seems to settle him down a bit.  No more squirming, too bad for me.

            “So what do you want me to do about these numbers?  It ain’t good news, that’s three quarters in a row.  We do this next quarter and we’ll all get the axe.”

            “Yeah, a full year of shitty numbers is not a good thing.  Why don’t you actually put all of this stuff into a format I can use.  We’ll talk about it in Friday’s meeting, and document how we’re going to fix it.  Then I’ll take that to Cynthia so she knows we’re doing something.”

            Bob smiles knowing he has a task.  I swear to God he’s like a dog chasing sticks in the park, as long as he has something to do he’ll wag his tail.

            “Okay Ryan, what kind of format do you want it in?”

            Fuck do I care.  “You’re good at this stuff, do whatever you want.  Have it for me by Friday morning, and we’ll go over it before the staff meeting.  Sound good?”

            “I’ll have it by Thursday.”

            “Great,” and as he gets up to leave, “And Bob?” he turns to me expectantly.  “Make sure it’s good, this one is going to the top.”

            I think his mouth dropped straight to the floor.  I love messing with Bob.

 

            The problem is none of this matters to me.  All I’m thinking about is Rachel and wondering what the hell happened to her.  Did she move to Texas?  And the only reason I’m thinking about Rachel is because I don’t want to think about Renee, because once again the world has shown me how little sense life makes.

Aww... Babies are cute!

         Let’s premise all of my self-centered viewpoints at the beginning, so you can stop reading if you refuse to accept them.  I do not have children.  Not one at home with me, not one with a baby momma downtown, and not one whose getting 15 cents a day from me for food in Somalia.  No kids.

           

            But I was a kid.  Not only was I a kid, but I’ve also seen children.  I saw one just the other day, and I’ll probably see one at some time tomorrow.  And as such, I’d say that I do have a perspective on children.  As a non-parent who has taken public transportation, or had a nice dinner at a restaurant, or even as someone trying to watch a firkin movie in a theater.

 

            If you have a kid, or multiple kids, or you even just like babysitting you have a responsibility to the rest of us.  Let’s get a couple of things clear.  Children are not all lovey-dovey oh so cute and precious.  Your kid is.  To you.  I’m all for procreation, some parts enthusiastically even.  And I’m sure parenting is fulfilling if you can afford it.  By all means, knock yourself out.  Please.

 

            But for the sake of the rest of us you need to paint that kid’s ass red.  Because if you don’t do it early on, people like me are going to have to deal with your spoiled little brat for the rest of our lives. 

 

            Your children should be scared of you.  I don’t mean in the vicious child abusing sadistic kind of way.  Though I’ve met kids that may need that.  But you should have wrath, and your kids should be afraid of said wrath.

 

            Because some day they may work for me, and then I’ll have to deal with what you’ve left me.   Do your job and mine will be a lot easier.   Or get sterilized.  I’m flexible about these things.

Mental Notes

·      Is it just me or does the SMART car seem like a stupid idea?

·      Given a decade, even a good boob job looks fake

·      Ellipsis:

Because instead of finishing a thought I like to let it linger…

·      If I tattooed the word “intemperate” across my shoulder blades, would anyone disagree?

·      I had a couple of teeth pulled, and on the post op directions it told me not to sneeze.  Riiight… I’ll do my best.

·      I think I regret the mistakes I didn’t make more than the ones I did

·      To all the women who tell men that all they want is truth and honesty:  No, you don’t.  Really, what you think you want you don’t actually want.  Trust me.  I’m being honest.

Title?

The best relationship I’ve ever had with the opposite sex happened when I was four years old.

Her name was Rachel, she was also four. Her family moved in next to my parents’ house when we were both babies. As soon as we were old enough to play with other kids we played with each other. Rachel was my neighbor, and we were best friends.

We grew up together, as they weren’t all that many kids in our neighborhood; at least not our age. We both had siblings, but my brother was five years older than me. She ended up having a younger sister when she was eight or so. We didn’t really have anybody else to spend time with after school and such, so we spent time together.

Rachel was a bit of a tomboy I guess, though it’s hard to say what that means to a little kid. We both liked running around and climbing trees, playing with bugs and pretending to play house and other random crap. As we got older our games grew slightly more sophisticated. She played softball and I was in little league, so we’d play catch and practice hitting into a net my dad built in the backyard.

I suppose we loved each other, for whatever that was worth at the time. When she went on vacation I missed her; I missed my friend. When I got pneumonia and was in bed for three weeks she came over everyday with soup that her mom helped her make. We cared about each other for no other reason than because we cared. I never remember thinking it was odd or amazing or special. I don’t remember thinking much of it at all.

Things eventually changed for us, or maybe mostly to us. Through elementary school everything stayed relatively the same. We got older and did older kid stuff. It became really important to be older when her sister was born. We were big kids, so we had to do big kid stuff. Apparently big kids do chores. I still think the whole “big kid” thing was an elaborate trick.

Then things started to change. Rachel got more girly and spent time with her girl friends. She stopped being just my friend, and started being a girl who was my friend. I remember Henry Mitchell told a bunch of the guys at school about cooties, and how girls were supposed to be gross. I didn’t really get it, since my best friend had always been a girl. We both liked gross things at the time. But I couldn’t act that way, so we went through the whole cootie phase.

I don’t know if it was me or her, or maybe it was both of us at once. Eventually we just stopped seeing each other everyday after school. We’d still hang out on weekends every once in awhile. I don’t remember anything bad happening, or ever being mad at her. I don’t think she was ever mad at me either, but I’ve never been very good at knowing when women are mad at me. We just stopped being inseparable.

Rachel developed some breasts, and I eventually figured out that breasts are a big deal. The whole idea of cooties became childish and sex crept its way into our lives. Junior High will do that to you. Suddenly the fact that Rachel was a girl was a much bigger deal. The fact that she was becoming one of the prettier girls in our class became an even bigger deal.

By the time Rachel became an object of my classmate’s affection we didn’t spend any time together anymore. When I’d see her in passing in the hallway at school we’d say hello. Every once in awhile when I saw her get the mail I’d go outside to catch up for a minute or two. I think she did the same from time to time, but that may just be wishful thinking.

We always stayed friendly; we just weren’t friends anymore. I hope that I missed her sometimes, but I don’t remember if I ever did. She was always across the driveway, so I suppose it never felt like she was far away. I don’t know why we never became close again; I guess it just didn’t work out that way.

What the hell, I haven’t thought about Rachel in years.

Ashy

By now, I'm pretty used to wildfires. I'm the guy that finds out I'm in an evacuation warning area, so I go to bed early because the power's out. *that's true, by the way* So I don't exactly overreact to these things.

But seriously people, why are you wearing dime store dust masks? We're going to be breathing in ash for the next month, just like the six months of last year we breathed it in. It's unavoidable. And no, it's not going to kill you. It sure as shit ain't going to make you live longer either, but most things don't.

Besides, I don't live my life well enough to be overly concerned about gaining extra minutes looking like an idiot.

I hope the extra minute and a half of your life that I'm going to miss out on is worth it.


By the way, you need an actual particulate mask if you actually want to help yourself. The freebie crap ones they pass out should be called placebo masks.

Commitment

Martin Cole: And that’s the thing, I just don’t think you understand what’s going on here.

Dennis Marley: Okay, just try to explain it to me. Take your time, from the beginning.

Martin: Well, what I think you don’t understand is that I really love her, and people just don’t understand what that means. I mean, she has something special, y’know? And it’s not a normal kind of special. I know that she was pretty to you, but she was beautiful to me. Do you understand how beautiful she’s always been to me?

Dennis: Very beautiful.

Martin: Not just beautiful, she’s transcends beauty. She’s like a perfect angel, like nobody else I’ve ever known. Perfect, just perfect…

Dennis: How did you first meet?

Martin: That’s the thing, I feel like I’ve always known her. Like from the day I was born. I know that I know her. But something went wrong. And I, like, I just don’t know what it could possibly be. I mean, I tried everything to fix it. I mean everything. I called her over and over again, but she just wouldn’t talk to me. I deserved to be listened to, she owed me that. You know how many times I tried to call her.

Dennis: You did call her a lot, I know.

Martin: That’s right, but she just wouldn’t talk to me. That’s just wrong, and it’s so unnecessary. I wrote her letters telling her how much I loved her and how sorry I was about everything. I just wanted a chance, just one chance to tell her how I felt. Because if I could just talk to her she’d understand that it’s all a misunderstanding. I mean I called, I wrote. I even waited outside her house. I didn’t bang on her door or anything, I just sat and waited. I knew that she wasn’t sure she wanted to talk to me. I mean, I understand that. But I just wanted to be there, but still, like, give her her space. So I just waited.

Dennis: When did you wait outside her house?

Martin: Oh, I don’t know. I did it a couple times. Not too much, not like a creepy amount of times or anything. Just a couple.

Dennis: And did she ever come out?

Martin: That’s the thing, she wouldn’t give in. You understand? I just wanted five minutes. Two minutes! Just to explain to her and fix everything. That’s all I needed, two minutes. It just wasn’t fair!

Dennis: But you had to get the impression that she didn’t want to talk to you.

Martin: I know, but she needed to talk to me. It just wasn’t right. You need to know that I totally love her. I love everything about her. It’s all because I love her so much that I don’t know what to do with myself. Have you ever loved anything like that?

Officer Marley: But Mr. Cole, that doesn’t explain why you killed her.