Father of Mine

The drive up is therapeutic, despite the cold that I am fighting.  In my head–while listening to various tunes–I replay the conversation I had with my stepmother.  “I think you’re father needs to see you.”  I think back to a conversation that I shared with him a few months back.  He divulged to me issues with his health then avoided any follow-up questions I asked.  That conversation, mixed with my stepmother’s words hold a knot in the pit of my stomach. 

He seems okay, I tell myself.  His tone of voice sounds fine and overall he seems happy.  I decide not to take any chances and hop in my car; destination:  Wilmington, North Carolina.  On the drive, I receive several calls from Bryan, where we cover the same mindless drivel that has become obligatory in our one-on-ones.  I also get a call from Debbie.  I decide to take it.  We talk for an hour.  It’s a decent conversation, and we clear the bad air between us.  No discussion of getting back together, no misconceptions about pursuing a friendship now that the dust has cleared.  Just a conversation that says, “It happened, it sucks, but we’re okay.”  The conversation leaves me feeling good.

After the 9+ hour drive, I arrive at my destination.  My father looks older, moves slower.  My stepmother is the same.  My stepsister is fatter.  This pleases me.

First chance I get, I ask him how he’s been doing, how he’s feeling.  He assures me that everything is fine, and I have nothing to worry about.  Something in his tone leaves me skeptical.  I decide I should talk it over with my stepmother.  That night, before he goes to bed, he downs a dozen different pills.  This secures my need to have the conversation.  It takes another day for the opportunity to present itself. 

At the Melting Pot (thumbs down), my father excuses himself and goes to the bathroom.  I ask my stepmother about how he’s been feeling.  She tells me that in the past few months, he has become slower.  His movements, his actions, his responses, everything is lagging.  His pace is down.  She tells me that his back has been giving him problems, his bladder, his cholesterol, blood pressure, the works.  She adds that he has been showing early signs of dymentia.  It runs in the family on his side.  My grandfather had no idea who anyone was before his passing.  This makes me worry.  She says that it has been slowly but gradually getting worse.  I immediately wish my brothers were with me, and I wish I wasn’t terrified to talk to my father about it.  He returns to the table before we can finish the conversation.

I have yet to be able to pick up where we left off. 

The nights so far have allowed my father and I to bond, to discuss things past, present, and future.  He pressures me to go back to school.  I’m honest with him and tell him that I have no desire to go back, but know deep down that it is seemingly the only viable option at this point.  I want to bring up the dymentia, but I opt against it.  I simply enjoy the conversation with him, happy that at this point in our lives, we seem to be bonding–the men who we truly are–for the first time. 

I don’t want to ruin it. 

I am happy that I have driven up, that I have seen him.  For all of his faults, he is my father, and half of me is him.  I am reminded of how funny he is, and we laugh a lot. 

Through it, I wish that I could step away and call Walt, talk things over with him.  Talk about the dymentia, get his perspective.  Tell him about the bonding and what it means to me.  I sense in the near future, I will be having that conversation, and I look forward to it.

In the meantime, I will enjoy these conversations, knowing that the number of them that are in my future are finite.

Step 1

I have plans this weekend.  I will be going downtown two nights in a row, and I will be doing some drinking on both nights.  Keeping this in mind, I am making the following vow to myself.

At some point this weekend, I am going to talk to a girl.  I don’t know who it is going to be, and I don’t know the circumstances under which I will be conversing with her.  But I am going to do it.

This may not sound like anything big, but for those of you who know me very well, know that this is out of character for me, but I say screw it.  I’m doing it.  What do I really have to lose?

Stay tuned.

GGLI

I do my best–time after time–to understand the thought process of one of my best friends that I have, yet I still cannot put my finger on where he’s coming from.  He and I talk almost on a daily basis, and I vent to him my frustrations with the opposite sex.  Over the years, he has been intimately knowledgable in all my romantic misadventures.  My latest venture, or lack thereof, seems to have inspired him.  He has recently taken to posting ads all over facebook in an attempt to get me laid.  People find it charming and funny for him, but I mostly just find it humiliating for myself.  The kicker of this whole endeavor of his…is that he actually thinks this is going to work. 

It started as a joke that he and I had during one of our daily conversations.  He had jested about the possibility of starting a pool, to have people bet on the next time that I would get action.  We laughed and joked about it, and the conversation shifted on to different things.  A few days later, we were talking again, and this time, he discussed a process of elimination that would involve 16 women who I had a “close call” with in the past…the one that got away…or rather, the 16 that got away.  More jokes followed…and again, that was the end of it. 

Or so I thought.

A few days passed, and I thought that these conversations were behind me.  But I was wrong.  I casually checked my facebook one day only to find a note that my dear friend had posted…one dedicated to getting me sex. 

Hence, the Get Gary Laid Initiative (GGLI) was born.

Since then, he has taken the time to create posters and ads, and incorporate bonus points into his movie trivia game to anyone who will contribute to the GGLI.  It’s funny.  Don’t get me wrong.  I have been laughing through it.  But at the same time, I can’t help but notice that it is also painfully intrusive as well as embarrassing.  So many people–friends and strangers alike–now know what is happening in my personal life.  From being unemployed to not being able to find a lady….and I have to say, I’m a little put-off by it.  Not to mention, in the event that I DO meet somebody worth meeting…what would SHE think of this nonsense?  What would she think of ME as a person?

So why not tell him to stop, is what you’re all thinking.

The answer is as ridiculous as the rest of this information.  While I’m embarrassed and aggravated and genuinely sympathetic toward my friend who clearly has no better way to spend his time…I’m still deeply entertained, and curious what he is going to think of next. 

I’m just waiting for him to bust out the video camera and start his own online reality tv show about it.  That was yesterday’s conversation with him, and we all saw how the previous conversations turned out.

Gonna’ Fly Now

I step outside of my house, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a torn ratty old wife-beater tee, I take my first and last invigorating deep breath that will have to hold me over for the next hour or so.  I drag myself to the driveway, wishing that what was about to happen wasn’t going to happen.  I begin to stretch.  My legs, my arms, my torso, my back.

I already feel pain, carried over from having undergone the same experience yesterday.  The stretching aches, but it’s the good ache.  I know that yesterday was productive.  I can already tell that today will be too.

When I’m done with my stretches, I walk at an accelerated pace to get my heart rate going.  Once it’s up, I begin to jog.  My endurance is laughable.  I’m already huffing and puffing before I take my first corner.  Thanks, cigarettes.

As I run, I listen to my I-Pod.  Normally, I would listen to the Rocky soundtrack to get into the zone of inspiration and unadulterated testosterone.  I take a different approach today.  Today I listen to every song that has reminded me of a girl, a bad break-up, an argument, if a memory is attached to it, I hear it.  A few from the list:

“Palm Reader” by Third Eye Blind; “You and Me” by Vega4; “Crack the Shutters” by Snow Patrol; “Warning Sign” by Coldplay; “Blackened” by Metallica…

Okay, that last one doesn’t remind me of anybody, but it comes on shuffle, and I am feeling it.  So as I run and listen to these songs (among others), a series of memories flashes through my mind.  I work them out in my head; I use them to keep pushing a bit farther.  I ignore the pain I feel in my back, my thighs, my shins.  I decide to torture myself and if I have to stop running, I make me pay for it.  Ten push-ups.  It happens twice.  I do three more sets when I finish up the jog.

My reason for deciding to work out and finally putting some focus on my diet is simple.  It’s not about health.  It’s not about having more energy or endurance.  I will be that guy who has no shame in admitting this.  I do it for the ladies.  Period.

I’m tired of getting the “no.”

A wise man once responded when asked about the ladies, “I’m getting a lot of no.  Could use some yes.  But getting the no.”

I feel you, brother.  And I’m right there with you.  So I’m submitting to my vanity for the time being, and I’m gonna’ keep going until I’m satisfied with the way I look naked.  And that’s all there is to it.

Because I could use some yes.

But tomorrow I go back to the Rocky soundtrack.

Ketchup

I have not left the house in four-and-a-half days.  I get a text message from my friend Alexis, who I have not seen in a year; give or take.  She wants to go out for lunch.  I tell her that I cannot afford lunch, but I would love to see her anyway; I would be glad to simply tag along.

About an hour later, she picks me up.  In the backseat of her car, there are three small children, all belonging to her.  I am going to lunch with Alexis and her three sons.  They are all under the age of 3.  Alexis tells me that she was trying to get in touch with her husband to get permission to go to lunch with me, but she was unsuccessful in doing so.  She then quickly adds that she would have picked me up anyway even without his permission, which is clear because that is what she is doing.  She assures me that this isn’t a personal thing; her husband is simply protective and does not know me.  I assure her that I understand and then I feel guilty that I am going to lunch with the wife of a man who does not know me, regardless of who I am to her.

I tell her this.  She tells me I’m being stupid.

We go to Steak and Shake, and Mikah–the middle child–sits next to me.  I feed him apple sauce, and he says “hello” to me over and over again no matter how many times I greet him back.  After half of the cup of apple sauce is in Mikah’s belly, and the other half is splattered all over the two of us, Alexis and I catch up on what has been happening in our lives.  Her updates are a lot more apparent than mine.

Alexis insists on ordering me food.  I beg her not to, but she does anyway.  I feel embarrassed, but I don’t let that get in the way of chowing down.    Once we are done eating, we leave.  I help her put the kids into the car.  When I pick the oldest up and put him into his car seat, he tells me with sincere enthusiasm, “You’re really strong!”

Both Alexis and I get a kick out of this.

We drive back to my house, and she drops me off.

It was nice to see her.  I enjoy catching up with people I haven’t seen in a long time.

I reconsider attending my upcoming high school reunion and think about the conversations that I might have with the people that I might see.

Yeah, maybe I’ll go.  Maybe.

First Breath After Coma

Like many mornings before, I am awakened by the light rapping at my bedroom door.  My eyes are puffy, and I can barely see.  I have been prematurely woken up from a deep sleep, and I am temporarily confused about my whereabouts and what day it is and so on…

My sister asks me in the sweetest voice she can muster if I can drive her to school, presenting me with a glass of orange juice.  I grumpily snatch the juice from her hand and get my shit together.  We drive in silence, listening to Smashing Pumpkins’ “Stand Inside Your Love.”  I love everything about this song.  Dana seems unimpressed.  I consider putting her in a headlock and allowing the car to swerve off the road.  Instead, I stay the course and get her to school.  I groggily tell her, “Have a good day.”  She replies inaudibly.

I drive off, and Vega4’s “You & Me” comes on my Ipod.  This song used to be Debbie’s ringtone.  I thought about her last night and reflected.  I didn’t miss her, and I wasn’t longing for her.  As I drive in the car and this song plays, I realize that I feel indifferent.  I simply enjoy the song, and I see that I have passed through to the other side.

There has been so much soul-searching lately and so much self-realization, so much dusting myself off and picking myself up.  She seems at some point to have fallen out of my pocket, and during one of those little spells, I decided not to fish her out from between the cracks in the sidewalk.

But what I did retrieve was…

Walter, Third Eye Blind, Dedication, urban exploring, Justin, Chuck, St. Patrick’s Day, back porch conversations, Cassettes Won’t Listen, Carolina, BackBooth, Lymelife, Bryan, Forgetting Sarah Marshall, Status, Megan, Dawn of the Dead, “Right Back Where We Started From,” AIM, The Spill Canvas, Paul Newman tributes, Alecia, Adventureland, Bloc Party, CastaHatch, Blogging, Kitty, “This is My ______!”, a Path, Epcot Center, Melissa and Jeanne, Australia, Tijuana Flats, Carolina Liar, Starbucks, Flicker, Rosemary Balboa, Skype, The Perishers, Facebook status updates, blogging, the Florida Film Festival, Myers-Briggs, more Starbucks, and reluctant abstinence.

…and went about my merry way.  And this curious list has led me to today, where I feel pretty good.

There’s this poster hanging up in the guest bathroom of my father’s house, and it’s of an old show called “The Most Happy Fella’.”  I’ve never seen this show, and I’m pretty sure I never will.  But on this poster, there is the painted image of a middle-aged man strolling through a heavily-wooded area…a park, perhaps.  This poster has always cracked me up, and I’ve shared the knowledge of its existence several times over with Walt and Justin.  Now, I’m not saying that I’m THIS guy or anywhere near him, but I’m no longer ruling it out.

I feel good.  And it’s been a long time since I’ve felt that way.

When I get home, I step out of my car and think to myself that it’s around the time that Walt usually shows his face online.  I take one deep, fulfilling breath and rush inside to check.

The Birthday, The Culkins, The Castahatch

A debate between me and myself has been on-going for the past week or so.  Does one call their ex on their birthday?  Yesterday was the day in question.  I don’t call her.  I send an e-mail.  A heartfelt one.  About a half-hour later, I get a phone call from a mutual friend, calling to “make sure that I’m okay.”  She figures that because it’s Debbie’s birthday, I would be thinking about her, which in turn would make me miss her.  She then proceeds to tell me that Debbie has gotten back together with her ex.  I tell her that I was fine until she told me that, “damn it.”  I get off the phone with moron and find myself to be upset.  Pissed off.  Frustrated.  Invalidated.  Embarrassed as SHIT about that stupid e-mail, that Debbie has now read and responded via text message, saying a hollow “thanks for the birthday wishes.”  She throws in a smiley face to add flavor.

I tell myself that I am not going to let this tidbit of news ruin my day.  I go outside and inhale a cigarette and let the disgusting heat cool me down.

When I go  back inside, I’m still frustrated.  But now I’m also sweaty.  The rest of the day drags on.  I wait impatiently for it to be time for my evening plans to go see a movie at the Florida Film Festival in Winter Park with Carolina and her friend from work, the Hatch, whom I have never met.

The time comes and I dart out of my house.  Of course, I-4 is littered with traffic because of the Magic game, and it takes me forever to arrive.  Once I do, I meet up with Carolina and the Hatch.  Introductions are short and small-talk is made while we wait in line for the movie to start.

The movie is called Lymlife, and it stars Rory and Kieren Culkin, along with Alec Baldwin, Jill Hennessey, and Timothy Hutton.    Five minutes in, I already know I’m going to love this movie.  I am right.  The script is amazing, the performances (especially from the Culkins) are surprisingly solid…Baldwin and Hutton weren’t very surprising.  They’re always awesome.  I recommend it to all.

After the movie, I am temporarily silenced, reflecting on what I’ve just seen.  I overhear Carolina and Hatch discussing how they liked it, and I fully agree with them.

We get outside and I light up a cigarette, which I have been desperately craving because everyone in the movie smokes.  As I smoke, we discuss the movie.  After a while, Castahatch decides that they want ice cream.  We stroll on over and they get some.

What follows is some of the greatest conversations that I’ve had all year.  I am instantly engaged by Hatch.  She is funny and intelligent, and her stories and outlooks are entertaining and interesting.  As always, Carolina is awesome.  We talk about such varying topics that it almost makes my mind spin, but it is great.  I lose myself in the conversation, and I forget that it’s Debbie’s birthday, and that I feel like a fool.  Those thoughts are instead replaced by laughter and insight and bonding, and it’s great.  About 10 cigarettes later (all smoked by me), we decide that it has gotten late and we part for the evening.  I am genuinely disappointed that the night has to end.

On the way home, I think of Justin and how I haven’t spoken to him in a few days.  I call him to catch up.  He doesn’t pick up, and this bums me out.  I blast familiar music on the radio and let the wind rush across my face.

I get home and sit pensively on my bed, trying to decide what movie I should watch.  It’s always hard to bounce back into a follow-up movie after having watched a movie like that for the first time.  Just then, Justin calls me back.

I am able to wrap the day up with a quick conversation with him about all the things in life that make life worth living…well, our lives anyway.

After I have gotten off the phone with Justin, the moment I have been fearing all day arrives.  I turn the lights off and lay in bed, afraid to confront my thoughts.  To my surprise, I have none.  I fall asleep quickly, and I don’t dream.

Another stone has been turned, and I am one step closer.

May I Have This Dance?

After a week of unhealthy thought, I attend the 6:30 church service at Status, and a new series of unclear thoughts enter my mind.  As always however, it puts me in better spirits and I am thankful that I attend.

That being said, I’ll now say this.  I am reeling, and I am confused.  There is a guest speaker who leads the service, and he discusses the fundamentals of the relationship that a devout Christian has with God.  He is engaging and inspiring, and I cling to every word he dishes.

He speaks in a way that a layman such as myself could follow.  I appreciate this.  So often the message of things is lost on me when it is delivered in “church tongues.”  Still, although the information is clear, I find myself confused.  A long while after the service has ended, I continue to ponder over his message.  The words refuse to find a resting place within the four walls of my restless brain.

I want to understand.  I want so desperately to submit and to begin a relationship.  It sounds so simple, so easy.  But it doesn’t feel that way.  I have difficulty letting go of it and “giving it to Jesus,” whatever IT may be on any given day.  I struggle with the idea of prayer, finding it hard to believe that someone is actually listening.  I want to believe.  I want to feel the presence of Christ or God or whatever Higher Power is out there and/or in me…this Being who longs to engage in this “romance” with me.

David was the speaker’s name.  And he compared the relationship with God to any other relationship, using various examples to prove his point…from Romeo & Juliet to the awkward middle school dance.  For those of you who weren’t there, this may not make sense…but I don’t even know the two dance moves that he talked about.  In middle school, yes.  But not with God.  I don’t know how to keep the relationship fresh.  I don’t even know how to BEGIN the relationship.

I go home and turn off my lights early.  But I lay restlessly in bed, staring at my ceiling.  I attempt a prayer.  This is the first time I have audibly done so in several years.  I forget what I say, even as the words leave my mouth.  A part of me feels foolish.  I try to push that part to the side.  I realize that I don’t know how to pray.

Someone might say that the basic fundamentals of one’s relationship with God is the same as any other relationship.  David said it.  But it isn’t.  In any other relationship, you see the other person, you can physically touch them and hear them and see their expressions, how they respond to you.  Without this, I don’t know how to maintain a relationship.  I have enough trouble with relationships where these tools ARE accessible.

Because I do not know God.  If He is talking, I cannot hear Him.  If He is reaching for me, I cannot see Him.  If He is embracing me, I cannot feel Him.

But I want to.  I crave it so much.  But I can’t seem to get out of my own way.  Submitting to anything has never been my strong-suit.  Submitting to something that I cannot see seems virtually impossible.

I need help.  I don’t know how to begin.  No one ever talks about how to begin.  It’s always discussed as if all the answers are right there and so easy to obtain…or you’ve been maintaining this relationship with God your whole life.  And maybe you have.  But pretend that you didn’t know you were doing this until today.  Where do you start?  Everything is based on faith.  But for a faithless person, how do you get from point A to point B?  It cannot be explained to me as though I was always a Christian.  As though it is as natural to me as hanging out with Walt on his back porch.  Because it isn’t.  It’s NOT the same.  I need someone who understands THIS fact to help me understand THAT.

So, God, I guess what I’m saying here is…I’ve been watching you from across the room, and I’m probably going to step on your toes a lot and stumble around.  The other kids are going to laugh at us a lot.  And, if we’re being completely honest, there is the slight possibility that I’m going to attempt to cop a feel…Knowing all that, may I still have this dance?

The Times They Are A-Changin’

I agree to meet my buddy Bryan’s wife Jenny at Chipotle, because she is going to meet an old friend and she has reservations about going alone.  Bryan is at work, so he cannot go.  Cara, the old friend, and I have a fairly interesting history.  It is somewhat jaded.  I did not want a relationship with her.  She swore that she didn’t either.  She had not been fully upfront with me.  Our friendship suffered.  Anyway, Cara has since moved on, and she is now 8 months pregnant with twins.  She has a 15-month old daughter as well.  I’m happy to say that none of these children are mine.  Jenny is 5 months pregnant.

I have agreed to meet 2 pregnant women and a toddler for lunch.

At Chipotle.

Jenny and I arrive at approximately the same time.  Cara is running late.  We engage in small talk while we wait.  Jenny is an extremely pleasant person to be around, and I greatly enjoy her company.  Bryan did well.

Cara eventually arrives with the basketball-swallowed stomach and the toddler in her arms.  She carries the diaper bag over her shoulder; her purse dangles from the other.

This is the first time either one of us are meeting this child.  She is cute, and she offers the same scrunch-faced smile that children her age tend to have.  She is instantly taken with me.  Like mother like daughter.

We go inside and order our food, and we sit in a booth.  Jenny and I sit across from Cara and her daughter, who she calls A.J.  I don’t remember what the initials stand for, and I don’t feel comfortable asking, as she has already reminded me several times over the course of the past 15 months.

We update each other on how things have been, Jenny and Cara talk shop about pregnancy and babies, and I make silly faces at A.J. to keep her entertained.  Jenny leaves to go to the bathroom.  I continue to have my ridiculous exchange with the small person, who is far more engaging than her mother.

Cara then asks me, “Could you imagine that we would be doing this five years ago?”

At this moment, my head fills with a flurry of thoughts, all of them cousins of one another.  The basic gist is, “I’m not too different from how I was five years ago.”  Beat.  “Fatter.”

I think about Bryan.  He has gotten married to a good woman, and they are now expecting their first child.  Bryan has a career and a mortgage, and he is deeply content.

Lenny married his high school sweetheart.  He is pursuing his PhD.  They too are expecting their first child.

A few years ago, I went to a series of weddings.  This year, there are a new series of babies.

A lot around me has changed.  I haven’t.

I look back at Cara, and I respond with, “Yeah.  It’s nuts, right?”

Jenny returns from the bathroom, and we finish our lunch.  All the while, I watch Cara tend to A.J. and I realize that she is actually a decent mother.  I never would have thought it to be totally honest.  She is an attentative disciplinarian, and she pays attention to the little things…things that turn little girls into ladies.  I have a newfound respect for her.

Once we’re done eating, I step outside for a cigarette while they continue their girl talk inside the restaurant.  I get lost in thought as I eavesdrop on the conversations of passersby.

I return to the table, and Cara informs us that she has to go to the bathroom.  She hands A.J. to me, who begins crying hysterically as soon as she disappears.  Whatever bond I think I have with this kid is a sham.  I awkwardly hold this screaming child as everyone in the restaurant watches me.  I look to Jenny for help.  She shrugs, also clueless of what to do. We try to assure A.J. that her mommy will be back soon.  We make funny faces.  We make strange sounds.  Nothing works.  Part of me just wants to cup this kid’s mouth and tell everyone around me to mind their own business.

In what feels like a lifetime, Cara returns and takes A.J. who becomes silent instantly.  I am fascinated by the bond between this mother and her daughter.  I remember Cara being an emotional train wreck who drank way too much.  Everything about her is now different.  In the span of time that I have not been around her, Cara has grown up, and she is able to take care of a child of her own.  When I had heard that she was having twins, I thought she would break.  I see now that I was wrong, and I think she is going to rise to the challenge.

I am proud of her.

I turn back to Jenny, and I see in her eyes that she has noticed this growth as well.  I recognize the growth in Jenny.  And in Bryan and Lenny and Tracy and so many others, and I wonder if–despite everything about me that still feels exactly the same–I have grown too.

He Was Once Innocent…

I have the future ahead of me.  I’m going to be an actor.  I’m going to fall in love, and start a family, and I’m going to do it right.  I’m going to be a father, and show my own how it’s done.  I am 16 years old, and I have no idea what’s in store for me.

I take my first job as an Engineer in a hotel.  A hotel that would swallow my soul later on in life.  I have no experience and no idea what I’m doing, and I get it only because my buddy’s father is the boss, and he feels sorry for me.  It is the first time I electrocute myself.

When I graduate from high school, I go to college to appease my parents, although I have no interest in it.  I have applied to zero schools in high school, so despite my fairly decent SAT scores, I end up at a community college.  My first semester goes by without a hitch, but tragedy strikes.  I experience my first real heartbreak with Tina, and it completely overpowers me.  Rather than show up for class, I spend an hour and a half in the shower, standing still, letting the hot water penetrate the walls that I have built up around me.  It is the only time I feel anything.  I show up to class less and less.

I quit the job at the hotel and start working at Blockbuster Video.  Five free rentals a week, and the only time I’m not feeling sorry for myself is when I’m watching movies.  It makes sense to me.  Rather than coast through the job, I spend each day listening to housewives tell me that I’m an idiot because they have a late fee.

I get back into theater and acting, hoping that performance will take my mind off of things.  The healing process is slow, and by the time I’m back at zero, it is too late.  It is a year and a half later, and I have dropped and failed more classes than I care to remember.  My GPA resembles a mediocre employee’s 90-day raise.  I stay enrolled in classes but decide to just stop going altogether.

By this time, several thousands of dollars of both the government’s and my parents’ money have been wasted.

I take another job in retail.  At Old Navy.  My best friend works there seasonally, but as I get the job, he returns to college in Tallahassee.  I have a natural ability to sell to customers.  I come off well to them, not too pushy, because I know how it feels to be a consumer.  I’m given a promotion without any kind of pay raise.  This job causes me to start smoking.  It is also the place where i receive my first lapdance from an obese woman while I am blindfolded.  Clearly, things need to change.  After being sexually harassed by my MALE boss and just professionally harassed by him after I report it, I get enough juice to throw in the towel and move on.

I work odd jobs…from an illegally-soliciting perfume salesman to a telemarketer for an insurance company.  I have not found my nitch.  In the meantime, I date a series of girls who each makes me feel worse about myself and my commitment issues that seem to be the residual emotional fall-out from my broken heart.

I want a change.  I need one.  It comes in the form of a phone call from Walter, who needs company and emotional support during a hard time in his life.  On a whim, I quit my job, pack the essentials and move to Tallahassee, where he and I will live in the smallest apartment ever constructed.

I have a job working at a movie theater within four days.  I hate it more than the plague; you can decide which.  While living there, I meet Natalie, and we become fast friends.  I don’t know it yet, but she will one day break my heart.  She gets me a job working at Bob Knight Photo, where I make enough to help Walter tremendously with the bills and food…most of it from the legendary Snapy Snacky.  I like Natalie more and more each time I meet up with her.  Soon, we are spending every day together, and I confess my feelings to her.  It doesn’t go well.  The job, which was seasonal, ends.  Things with Natalie continue to not go well, and I find myself spiraling out of control.  I cannot get a handle on what I’m feeling.  I’m sad, and I feel alone, and I realize that this pain has exceeded the pain that I felt when Tina broke up with me.  It is my first encounter with unrequited love, and I hate it.  I selfishly risk my friendship with Walter to get away from Natalie, and I return to Orlando almost overnight.  But not before having one night with Natalie that I will cradle for the following years to come.

Back in Orlando, I take a job in construction.  I spend my days fixing other people’s houses and my nights on the phone with Natalie.  The number of cigarettes I smoke per day doubles.   I feel numb, and I feel destructive.

I go to bed with several women, none for whom I have any real feelings.  I only know that it is a temporary distraction from how much I hate my life.

The construction company goes bankrupt, and I am laid off.  I immediately find a job working as a third shift supervisor of a gas station.  I continue down the path of self-destruction by having a series of sexual misadventures with an employee.  She has feelings for me, and I know this, but I don’t seem to care.  All I care about is myself and my pain, and it’s mine, and you can’t have it…and neither could she.

Working at the gas station, I am exposed to things that I have never seen.  One night during a riot in the parking lot, four rounds from a pistol are fired at me, and I thank God that the guy doing the shooting is the worst shot in history.  The next week, I prevent a robbery with my lightning fast reflexes…and a little help from some of the dumbest criminal minds.  My boss yells at me for intervening in the robbery.  She calls me a “loose cannon” and that I can’t be controlled.  Upon hearing this, I realize I’ve been waiting my whole life for someone to say it to me.  I’m that much closer to becoming Batman.

Knowing that I’m going to be fired for my irresponsibility, I return to the hotel where I first worked…this time as a bellman.  I make good money on tips and thoroughly enjoy what I do.  Until my boss tells me that I have too much potential to be a bellman, and he transfers me to the Front Desk, where I am instantly miserable once again.  A single mother hits on me daily, and I eventually give in and start dating her.  Until she brings me home to meet her kids, and the youngest calls me, “Papi.”

I find the nearest exit and expeditiously pass through it.

People coming in for vacation are at their worst.  Decency is left at the door.  I put my job on the line over and over again by not taking their crap.  My boss, the Director of Security, and I decide that I am much better suited to work in Security.  I transfer to that department.

I meet Andrea.  Everything about me changes.  She is my friend first, and she becomes my girlfriend.  I eventually make the biggest mistake of my life by falling in love with her.  It is clear from almost day one that we are an impossible match, but I ignore the signs and continue on my way.  We argue.  A lot.  What little spirituality I have left in me, she sucks out.  She is a Jehovah’s Witness.  And a hypocrite.  And a liar.  But me?  I am a fool.  A year of verbal and mental abuse passes.  She leaves for Brazil, and she never comes back.

I am free.

I spend the following two years getting to know myself.  It is the first time in my adult life that I feel good about being single.  And I feel good about my job.  I transfer to a nicer property, after being promoted.  Through my roommate at the time–and in between his snorts of cocaine and long hits of marijuana–I am introduced to Debbie.  The meeting is in passing, and I make nothing of it.  I think to myself that I can make a career out of what I am doing when I receive another promotion and an Employee of the Year award.  I am succeeding.  It feels right.

In the meantime, I go on a handful of first dates that lead nowhere.  I am okay with this.  Debbie transfers to my property.  We become quick friends.  She is jealous when I start dating another girl.  That relationship has a quickly-approaching expiration date.  I do what must be done.  Debbie and I start to spend more time together.  I realize that I have feelings for her.  She admits that the feeling is mutual.  She breaks up with her boyfriend.

I should already know how this is going to end, but hope blinds me.

Debbie accompanies me to Walter’s birthday party at BackBooth.  I meet a group of people with whom I will soon be close friends.  At the time, I am smitten by Debbie and we exchange a first kiss during Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing.”  The moment feels like magic.

Many more similar moments follow.

We begin dating, and everything feels right.  I confess to her all the terrible things that I have done.  She does the same.  We accept each other.  As time passes, I recognize my growing feelings.  I try to ignore them.  I tell Walter I’m doing so.  He tells me to take my time, to relax.  I don’t listen to him.  I immediately wish that I had.  More time passes.  Things feel right.  I realize that I love her.  I tell her so.  She says it back.  My heart smiles.  We make love, we spend a lot of time and share a lot of experiences together, and through it all, we laugh a lot.

In the meantime, my new boss takes credit for my accomplishments.  He tells me that I am not a hard worker, that I need to be proactive.  He sexually harasses me and puts me on probation.  I report him.  Human Resources does nothing.  I continue to do the best job that I know how, carrying the department and its responsibilities on my shoulders while he reaps the benefits.  I begin looking for another job.  But I am not discouraged, because I have Debbie.

New Year’s Eve comes and there is a party.  Everything changes.  I no longer recognize Debbie.  I am fired at work for makeshift reasons.  Debbie ends things two days later.  I lose myself all over again.

I try as hard as I can to work things out with her while trying to find a job.  She tells me that she does not love me, and that she went back to her ex, shortly after our break-up.  They slept together.  My heart breaks all over again, and everything that we shared instantly turns to nothing.

I wonder if I deserve this, knowing how long it took me to be ready to commit to someone.  I think back to the things that I have done, and I regret some of the decisions.  A lot of them.  I tell myself that I was always honest, and I always worked hard.

I search for a job endlessly for weeks.  I find nothing.  I occupy my time away from Debbie, and I make progress.  By now, I know how to deal with heartbreak, and I know it’s just a waiting game.  So I wait.  In the meantime, I occupy my time with people who care, people who lift my spirits with their very presence.  I purge myself of my wrong-doings, and of everything else.  I am a clean slate.

I am 27 years old, and I have no idea what’s in store for me.