Bent Words

Bent Words

June 08, 2010

(I tried to avoid writing about it because I knew it would just hurl me into a deeper state of annoyance but I must tell of my trouble lest it should redouble. And so what follows is a major vent-a-roo.)

No RA for the LEJ.

I tried to justify it a million ways:

1. It looked like there was going to be too much rain. 2. Somehow the medical staff neglected to turn in their lists and so The Boy wasn't on it (yet). 3. We didn't have the luxury of two pit bikes. 4. Dude had to work Friday night so we couldn't go up till the next day anyway. 5. Money was tight and I forgot to pay last month's cell/internet/phone bill so my amount due doubled. Blah, blah, blah.

Really it just came down to the fact that The Boy bailed on me. Last minute like.

And, number one, I didn't care about the rain. Two, screw the list, I could have easily got him in whether through talk or through my wallet. Three, I've gotten by with two people, one Spree before -- no worries. Four, so we go a day late -- better than not going at all. Five, money schmoney -- memories are made of moments, not dollar bills (I'll leave that one alone...). That's why God invented credit cards. But The Boy waited until Saturday afternoon before making up his mind. And by then it was too late.

Despite the fact that we had discussed this over a month ago ("I don't care if you want to go or not -- I just need to know for sure now so I know who to ask to bring up my scoot. And, since you have my scooter in your possession, I'll need to plan accordingly.") and he was raring to go. We had plans with about six other people to share a site. We were slated to share a trailer so that we could accommodate four of those six people. And, he even called me up Thursday night to make sure I would be ready to go right away after work on Friday. "Don't worry about the food and the booze," he said. "I'll get that since I owe you like $400 anyway."

So, by Friday morning, my bags were quite packed.

For nothing.

By the time he got done hemming and hawing like a little girl, it was simply too late. There was no one available to bring up my scoot. I never bothered to secure a tent because the plan was to use the air mattress in The Boy's van. I didn't have any money because he tapped me out with a loan which he was supposed to pay back but neglected to do so when a snare drum (or some such nonsense) became available for sale the day before.

(Snare drum?! Dude. Grow up. You're not in a band. You're not even that good. When you make twice the amount of money I do per hour, don't use my loan for noise making nonsense. Especially when you said it was going toward a trailer. Which I condone because it's bike-related.)

Whatever. I let it go. It's my own damned fault anyway. I lent him the money and, foolishly, I relied on him. I should have known better that when relying on him, disappointment is sure to be in the morrow's forecast. He does what he wants, when he wants, without any thought of anyone else. I said it before -- he's the master of the last minute mojo.

The same sort of thing happened at my cousin's wedding years ago. I asked him if he wanted to go but I told him quite simply that he certainly didn't have to go since I knew weddings weren't his thing. I just needed to know so I could book a room (which my 'rents paid for). He was fine with it. He told me, anyway, that he was perfectly fine with it. In the middle of the reception, he freaks out. I mean, audibly.

"I can't handle it. I can't fucking handle it. I just need to get out of here. I need to get out of here now."

He was referring to the frequency in which the guests were clinking their glasses with forks and knives in order to make the newly wedded couple kiss.

Rather than get upset, I just told him it was fine for us to leave. We walked back to the hotel. I tried to talk to him about it, I tried to make light of the situation, and, rather than apologize for pulling me out of my favorite cousin's Big Day, he just got pissed off and ranted about how pathetic the whole shindig was.

"It's so fucking stupid. Why would you do that? It's the most annoying fucking thing. I couldn't take another fucking second of that bullshit."

I didn't say it. But I wanted to...

Seriously? SERIOUSLY? Get over it, ya little pussy. It's not your day. One day, out of 365, doesn't belong to you. I'm sorry to be the one to inform you that not all things do or will rotate on your axis of desire but, alas, it's true. It's clinking. For one hour. Not Chinese throwing stars being flung at your chest for an entire day causing lethal damage. Suck it up! Woe is you for having to put up with such "annoying bullshit" on my behalf for three hours of your day when you're the one who signed up for it. God knows how you made it through your brother's wedding without throwing a toddler's fit but somehow you managed it then (barely), when it was your family. Grow a pair and be a man -- stop insisting on having things your way when that's just not at all how the world works.

Whatever. I just should have known better. He is incapable of make lemonade out of lemons. When the forecast for the Superbike races was all about sun, he ranted and raved because he has "to work in the hot sun all day." So bring the EZ-UP, a hat and some screen, bitch. When the forecast turned to rain, he complained that he has "to work in the rain all day." !!! Umbrella, rain suit and a more beer (duh). What do you want, buddy? Snow in June? What would make you happy, honey, and I'll order some from the Preferable Climate Gods.

But that's just how he is. If he's bored or pissed off or tweaked in any small way, he cannot choke it down. He will sink and he will take you with him. All the way down. And he always thinks there's an ulterior motive when things go wrong -- as if the world found it amusing to trip him (just him) up on a particular occasion. As though there was a crowd of strangers ever present to his left just rubbing their hands together and waiting for the next maniacal move to make on his behalf. Get over it buddy. Or don't. And good luck living like that.

I love the guy for who I knew him to be. For what he was. Truly. But I have to keep reminding myself that he no longer is that good guy, if ever he truly was. He's not longer the guy who gives a shit. He doesn't give second chances or understanding. He doesn't do kindness. He hasn't asked me "How are you?" for years. And he doesn't care if I'm good or bad or mediocre unless it directly plays into his ideal. If I'm sick and he wants to hang out, he doesn't sympathize. He just gets pissed that he has to find something else to do and, boy, if he doesn't let me know it! I'm sorry for whatever it was that made him this way and I do refuse to drop to his level and make him feel less worthy by calling him out but I have to realize that my life is just so much better when he's in the distant back ground. When he's an arriere-pensee (afterthought).

It sounds so harsh but, seriously, I wouldn't allow my friends to treat me as cheaply as he does, so why do I bother keeping him around?

I don't know if there's a good answer but I suppose it's just because I know him. I know his story. And, despite his unwillingness to play well with others, he's not altogether horrible. He's good for a movie (on his time). He's good for a laugh (if he feels like laughing). He's good for dinner (always because he loves to eat) and he's SOMETIMES good for a bit of two-wheeled racing when I need a fix. And although I'd never treat the people who respect me with an ounce of disdain, I suppose will just have to learn that not all friends are created equal.

So, really, I should just take a hint. I felt so good about myself when I wasn't worried about his involvement in my life. When I wasn't always so worried about hurting his delicate feelings or rubbing him the wrong way. When I wasn't so faithful to a person who has no faith directed toward me. He gave up with a mere snap of the fingers so why should I spend all my time trying to prove myself to him? I continually look past ALL his bullshit; if he cannot forward me the same courtesy, even just once in awhile, fuck it.

If it's big, and he needs me, I'll make time. If it's not big, we'll see.

You get what you give.

Written at 4:12 p.m.