Swan Song

Things aren't the way they were before
You wouldn't even recognize me anymore
Not that you knew me back then
But it all comes back to me in the end

You kept everything inside
And even though I tried, it all fell apart
What it meant to me will eventually be
A memory of a time when...In The End, Linkin Park

Five years ago I started this blog.  I have made a lot of friends because of it.  I have learned to write better because of it.  It doesn't serve my needs any longer.  I am starting over.  A new name, a new place, from scratch, building an audience one new reader at a time-- Anonymously 

Pandora suggested, and I believe she is right, that I can not take any of this blog with me.  So I am leaving it as a completed body of work.  



Those of you who have stumbled onto to my blog for the first time please enjoy my favorites, the best of and the conversations.  I will consider emailed requests for the new blog, no promises.


Croaker
gof_croaker@yahoo.com

Wrecked

#1 borrowed the Charger Saturday night.  She drove it up to Mount Pleasant to visit friends at CMU.  It is no big deal to me.  She has borrowed it before, standard rules apply, don't drive drunk, don't let anyone else drive it.  When she returned on Sunday the car had damage on the right rear quarter from the rear door to the bumper. It was a big ugly deep gauge, down to the paint and some surface scratches.

She told me a long rambling story about her night.  She said the car was in the parking lot and hit by some other girl at the party.  It sucks but she promised to pay for the damage and she already knew a guy to fix it.  I didn't get upset.  Little things usually upset me more then the big ones, I don't know why.

Later that night when I went to take the boys home I noticed the front end was way out of alignment, so far out the electronic traction control light remained on.  When I looked at the front right wheel I saw a three inch dent and fresh scraps.  I felt there was no way someone in a car could do both sets of damage in a parking lot.  The tire showed scuff marks from a curb but when I confronted her she stuck to the same story.  Insisting she was not lying.

I love #1 dearly, she is my best friend but she lies about everything to everyone.  She continued to insist she was not lying but her story had to many holes in it.  My gut says something else happened.  The thing is I don't care about the car or the repairs, but I wanted to know the truth.  She insists I only care about the car.  She has stopped talking to me (except to get the car fixed), found other arrangements to watch her son when she goes to school.

It is all very stupid and all very upsetting.  I don't want to loose my best friend over damage to a car.  I'd give the car away first.  If she is not lying then I am a bit of an ass but if she is then why is she going through so much effort to conceal it.

She asked me, "why would I lie." Truth is I don't know why; maybe she pulled a hit and run, maybe she got a DUI, maybe she left someone else drive the car and they got into the accident.  I don't care.  I care about her and her safety.  I feel cornered and I don't know what to do.

Work

So the new guy in the office is a kiss-ass.  I swear if I have to listen to him, good idea "boss" or nice presentation "boss" one more time I am going to puke. I walked in on the two of them the other day.  The two of the were as thick as thieves looking over a drawing trying to figure out what dimensions were missing.

I stuck my nose in,  "You are missing the overall length," I said.

My boss waves me off, grumbles something about not needing it. Five minutes later,  the new guy is on the phone with the customer discussing the drawing.  "Tell him we need the overall length," my boss says.

You asshole,  I'm thinking.

Friday my boss told me I would have to take over most of the automotive side of the business.  I told him that was fine with me.  It gives me more to do and a better chance at staying employed.  His reasoning concerned me though.  "Because I don't really care about it, " he added.

The War of Words

People walk a tight rope on a razor's edge
Carrying their hurt and hatred and weapons
It could be a bomb, or a bullet or a pen
Or a thought, or a word, or a sentence

There ain't no reason things are this way
It's how they've always been and they intend to stay
I don't know why I say the things I say
But I say them anyway...Ain't No Reason, Brett Dennen


The war of words continues because obviously it is easier to communicate indirectly.  Instead I'll justify my actions here--for if I get support from the outside world therefore I am right.


#1:  "Boy she thinks you're some kind of stud; she doesn't know you at all does she." 

*    *    *

 Sam and I are at Applebees-- again.  My post divorce life is a litany of restaurants. Sam met up with the ex-husband of Alexis last night.  It seems he has found it in his heart to make friends with everyone from his past; everyone but me and Alexis I mean.  I seem to be second on his people to hate list. He hardly knows. If he did he'd realize I've never really said or done anything against him.  I actually can relate to his situation.  I am also a victim of divorce.  In fact,  I do not always condon Alexis' action and often tell her so.  Despite that, he's sure I've had sex with Alexis and Sam, or at least tried (for the record I haven't).  Sam came to my defense though, telling him she didn't want to hear it, that I am the most harmless person she knows.  I think that a complement-- I suppose.  I am not heartbroken by his animosity.  I do think it is sad to see how much divorce can consume someone.

Our conversation wandered, the way it often does.  We talked about her condo, mutual friends, our jobs.  She asked if I was still going to California over Thanksgiving.  "No, that isn't working out,"  I said.

We talked about #1 and how well she is doing in college.  Sam is proud of her too.  Our conversation brought back to mind the issues Pandora had with the relationship between #1 and I.  She never understood it.  I guess I can't say I blame Pandora.  I don't think #1 or I can explain it either.

At one point I tell Sam,  "I'd do anything for #1 if it helps her get through college.  I don't know how she'd feel if I just suddenly broke off contact with her."

"And you shouldn't, " she replies.  "Like you said, she is one of your closest friends.  I think she'd be crushed."

I smile self consciously, a bit in disbelief but Sam knows us both.  Half the time #1 has known me she tried keeping a distance between me and the rest of her life, somehow I found my way in.  She trusts me with her secrets. I am one of the people she counts on.  When I look at her life, that does not include very many people.  That makes me special, too some.  That is something I don't take lightly.

When it comes to others I have learned to ask myself, what void would my absence create in that other person's life.  The answer points my way.

I told Pandora that I think she would not get along with my female friends.  A statement that I still stand by.  A perfect example is when Wendy said I attract crazy girls and Pandora took specific offense to it.  I wonder how well those two would get along in the same room.

Truth is, we are all a bit crazy, some of us more then others.  The closer we get to each other, the more we see it.  Some people can look past the craziness and see the value underneath, sometimes the craziness blends. Sometimes, I laugh so hard I surprise myself, I have to treasure what sparks it. 

Another Tattoo

Lance Kellar Studios, it is the same place where we got our Celtic Knots.  There are always several artists and hang arounds about.  Everyone is friendly.  It is the kind of place I would want to work at if I was a tattoo artist.  They have a big slanted light board for working.  There seems to be a lot of collaboration of ideas between the arts and a lot of the pieces seem to be original.

I came in with my artwork and said I wanted someone that was good with letters.  They all suggested John.  He kept my original concept and added his own style to it.  I am really happy with the results.  Ever since Vegas I've wanted something more visible and with #1 constantly talking and adding to her own tattoos it was hard for me to resist the urge. 

I can understand her excitement.  The night before I got the tattoo I had not added the cherub yet. I felt like there was something missing but wasn't sure which way to take it.  The idea of adding a cherub came to me.  Cherubs and Latin scrolls seemed to go well.  I found the perfect cherub on an Affliction tee-shirt I owned.  When I put it all together I couldn't wait to get it.

John suggested the proportions of the cherub to the writing.  The piece took a little over two hours to complete.  Here is the result.

Question not the justice of the moment.

The Ritual

It was a long night. It is almost always a long night.  Her feet ache.  Once outside, she shivers in the cold.  She tips the valet and slips into her car, turns the heat on high.  The streets are mostly deserted. She watches out for cops and drunk.  As soon as she is on her way, she makes a call.  A groggy voice answers.

He is usually in bed long before her shift ends.  Sometimes he'll be reading or watching TV but usually he is sleeping.  He is not a sound sleeper.  The familiar ring tone shocks him back to life.  "What's up hon?"

She starts rambling as soon as he answers.  She's had to bite back her tongue and keep her real thoughts to herself most of the night.  Sometimes she had a bit much to drink.  Other times she is sober.  She pulls into a late night drive through line and places her order.  "Hold on,"  she says.  "I've got to talk off my jacket and get my ear piece." She places the phone in her lap and wiggles out of her coat. 

He laughs to himself as she places her order.  It always ends with, "and a water cup".  He rolls over and gets comfortable.  Blue glow from the cell phone is the only light in the room.  The voice is distant on the other side of the line, but continues talking.  "Hold on, hold on."  The shuffle of change can be heard, the ghetto voice of a drive-thru attendant handing over the bag and her own voice purring, "thank you."

Her headset on, food in hand, she continues her stories without missing a beat.  She'll mention her customers, the other girls and how she did.  Occasionally, she'll break from the story with a comment concerning the other drives around her.  Her voice gets softer when she spots a cop, as if he won't notice her if she speaks more softly.  "Your turn, " she'll says when she begins to eat.

He tells her about his day.  His stories are not usually as exciting but she listens and makes comments.  There is always something to talk about, his friends, the kids, the ex or work.  He pictures her driving home in her little green car.  He knows the route well, having traveled it both to visit her and to get to his own customers many times.

Her drive is 45 minutes long if you include stopping for food, often the conversation ends with,  "I'm home now;  I'll talk to you tomorrow."  It's their ritual and happens about three times a week.  It makes the night complete.  Like a cup of coffee first thing in the morning.

The Punisher Rules

After a few minutes of coaxing I get her to roll out of bed.  She starts looking through her shirts.

"Don't clash with me,"  I joke.  "Don't wear DC to my Marvel".  I indicated the gray on gray design of The Punisher on my tee-shirt.

"I can do better than that."  She pulls on a grey tee-shirt of her own.  In the center is a red oval with a cougars head.

"Who's symbol is that?"

"You don't remember the Thundercats?"  She asks, with feigned astonishment on her face.  "More people will recognizes them than The Punisher."

"I seriously doubt that."

And that start our little game of 'one up' for the evening.  "You can ask anyone which symbol they recognize, I bet you I get more votes."  We pull into Chilis for dinner.  "Hey did you see my belt buckle?"  I left up my shirt in the parking lot to reveal a white three inch round head of Jack Skellington.

"Oh yeah", she says and lifts up her own shirt to reveal the triangular Superman buckle on her own belt.
I laugh.  "We are two of a kind aren't we."  We high five each other and start to debate who's buckle would be more recognizable.

We end up sitting ate the bar and order appetizers for dinner.  I concede her buckle might be more well known if we include the overseas market.  I don't mention Superman is DC and she wasn't supposed to clash.
When the bartender has a moment, I point to Wendy's shirt and ask him if he knows the symbol.  He racks his brain for a minute.  I start to think I am going to get my first point when he blurts out the right answer.  When I show him my shirt, he easily guesses correct.

Tied at one to one we ask another bartender.  This guy doesn't remember the Thundercats, claiming he is to old (27), the same age as Wendy.  He does remember The Punisher.  I soften the blow to her ego.  "What do you expect from a man with a giant red chili pepper on his shirt."

The girl who brings out our food doesn't remember either.  She guesses a cougar and a skull and we both brush her off as being lame.

"See I'm a pretty cool chick,"  she states proud of her Attack of the Show style knowledge.

"Yeh,  I usually manage to surround myself with pretty cool girls."

"No you don't," she insists. "You attract crazy girls."  I state that I think all women are crazy, present company included.  With my two to one victory we rush off to see The Fourth Kind.  A classic example of another crazy girl--freaky good though.