Hello.
So for those of you who are my friends on Facebook and read my note yesterday, you should have been expecting this blog. If not, get on Facebook. Myspace doesn't get my attention anymore. It's just too boring. I feel like I've betrayed Tom, but… I don't know. Facebook just kind of fosters my need to be have my finger on the pulse of what's going on. No, I'm not saying that I'm nosey or a busy body, but I do like to be in on stuff so, interpret that however you see fit.
So what's up people? Drama's a-brewin' and I KNOW y'all want to hear my take on it. Fret not, young'uns, I'll get to that. There are a couple little transpirings in my life that I want to touch on right now just to catch you guys up on me. I don't really go out anymore and you're about to see why. My life lately just seems to have been much more fulfilled without that shallow and cursory lifestyle. Don't get me wrong, I've not totally abandoned it, but I was on the threshold of swingin' on folks and that couldn't go down. I'm too old for that.
Tuesday was a sad/gratifying sort of day. Spencer, Nicolette and I drove down to Weddington to attend Ward's (Trace's dad) funeral. I knew from jump street that I was going to be sitting up in there crying like a bitch because that's just how I do at funerals sometimes. He was honestly one of the most fun, cool dads that I've ever had the pleasure of meeting and was one of my biggest fans (my being a Rallycat and everything and he being a season ticket holder). Who's gonna scream my name at the games now? I should have thrown him more shirts… my arm sucks though. I'll spare you all the details of the funeral because… well, it was a funeral. Afterward, Spencer, Nicolette and I rode back up to my house to chill a little bit before Ward's Celebration of Life gathering at the restaurant he owned, La Paz. Now, I must admit that I wasn't really in any emotional state to prepare myself for this because I had no idea what to expect. So, to take the edge off of this potentially emotional experience, my friend Spencer and I drove down to the local Shell Station and picked up several 40 oz. bottles of Miller Highlife. Who the hell am I, anyway? We get to chuggin' and as soon as I was good and toasty we figured it was time to head on down to the restaurant.
Ward would have been so proud and happy to see how much fun was being had in his honor. Without divulging too much of my behavior, I'm just gonna say that Spencer and I left considerably more smashed than when we arrived, and I was missing Ward a whole lot more.
Passed out early that night. Like, 11 o'clock. Spencer had Facebook'd me at 4:00am and he was STILL drunk from our "drinking saga" as he so named it. I apparently had slept so long as to sleep off any hangover I would have normally suffered after a night (which was more of an afternoon) of drinking with such reckless abandon. Woke up; birds tweetin' and sun shinin' and shit. I really don't recall much of what happened on Wednesday until about 8:30 when Chris Hayes came over to chill. This is what we do now, people. We get together and drink and talk and hangout and watch TV and BOND. None of this going out listening to the same damn music every night hanging out with shallow, artificial fuckheads. It's an event now, no doubt! Chris and I cracked open some 40s and sat on the porch in definitive chillax mode. That's when my quasi-pseudo-not-quite-but-almost-might-as-well-be-superfluous 4th room mate, Spencer Bensch of Scapegoat came over after his band's practice. We were all set for a night of frivolity and drunkitude, but he was hungry. He barreled through the backdoor, Wendy's bags in tote and proceeded to inhale an insane amount of food. Fatal error before you drink that late at night. He was a gonna before we handed him the first bottle, which he didn't even drink, because a nigga was tired (Yes, I call all my friends nigga; black, white, girl, boy- I even call the dog this. It's an endearment thing. Calling Rev. Sharpton will not be necessary). He stayed the night on the extra bed (which I guess he's gonna start doing now because it just makes sense… we live closer to his band practice and UNCC and where he lives is almost literally on the other side of the damn world) all cuddled up with Crucis. So yeah, I guess he's the new part time room mate. Which is cool.
SO TODAY, John Matthews calls me from Afghanistan. I could tell he was already in "war mode" and wouldn't be too much fun to converse with, but he proved me wrong and the conversation was actually stimulating. I feel like I'm making ground with this whole war phenomenon. This is my fourth year with dealing with it and I'm just now able to half way wrap my brain around it. War is sick, man. It changes people in crazy, uncomfortable ways. Despite my relentless attempts over the years, he is in fact changing. I just hope he doesn't turn out like my OTHER room mate V who's pretty much become a hermit. It's weird. He's like, socially inept now and I can't figure it out. Does war do that to you? His friends that knew him in high school said he wasn't like that. He stays shut up in his room ALL THE TIME. He's in there now. He rarely speaks. What the hell is he doing in there? He randomly disappears too. I don't get it. I don't think he does well with room mates, to tell you the truth. He lives his life with a particularity that just doesn't mesh well in a living situation with others. I hope he eventually finds what he wants/ needs because he is not happy. I've tried to break through that wall, to no avail. Shit fuck it all. I'm not trying anymore. It did no good. I can't be everyone's Dr. Phil (just most people's). I think I'm just frustrated about V because at one time I got a sense that he was resentful of my relationship with Tanner. Tanner and I tell each other everything and are really close. V's like the 850lbs safe in our kitchen that's full of stuff, but rarely opens. I think he has trust issues with people too, but there's not much I can do about that at this point. I officially love the guy to death, but close up on me enough and I'm not even gonna wonder what's inside anymore. Maybe if things don't work out, quasi-pseudo-etc-etc-room mate Spencer will become ACTUAL room mate Spencer. I wish I knew how his cleaning habits were though…
WHICH BRINGS US TO THAT SHIT. That's the one thing about V that I love. He's clean. We share that. Kitchen's gotta be straight, rooms are straight. Tanner, I love you to death but those excuses about why you don't/ can't clean just don't fly. Mainly because you told us you weren't like that and living with your horrid, horrid EX who produced squalid conditions for you both taught you the importance of cleanliness. Do you know I left that chocolate syrup stain on the kitchen table for a WEEK just to see if you would clean it up? And that milk went sour INSIDE THE DAMN SINK. I can't live with two dirty people, I'll lose my mind. So Spencer… if you end up living with us one day… please for the love of all that is righteous and holy be clean. If not, we're just gonna have to work a visit from Merry Maids into our monthly bills. Yeah, I said it.
How off topic did I just get? It doesn't matter, I'm about to go to bed anyway. I started off talking about John Matthews and ended up venting about my room mates. Shit was pent-up, though. Had to release. Spencer's band has a concert at Tremont tomorrow and we're all going. It's pretty raw stuff, though. The last time I went to one, there was a mosh pit and people were slam dancing. My 26 year old African American self was not ready for that shit. And John Matthews, corn fed and right wing as all get out, was just looking for an excuse to hurt people I think. After that, we're gonna head to Cans I'm assuming to finish up the night. Sometime in between, though, I'm sure some 40s will meet their demise.
Hasta pasta.
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