Category Archives: Personal Updates

Acting again, school, and other news

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So very much to write about. I almost don’t know where to start. This one is going to be a completely personal, update sort of entry. So for those of you who are looking for some of my more deep and philosophical stuff, I suggest you try back later or check out some of the links below.

I guess what’s on my mind the most right now is the fact that I’m getting involved in the theater again. That’s right, kids. After a self-imposed hiatus of over five years I’m going to be back on the stage with the Jobsite Theater in Tampa. I’m playing the role of Gerhardt in a new Joe Popp musical called Maxwell. The show will run from January 4th to the 20th in Tampa, and then we will have three performances in New York. Who would have thought that I’d actually make it on the stage in New York? Sure, it’s not Broadway. I’m coming back home to Tampa after wards. But damn it, I’m going to be performing in New York. It’s almost unbelievable, but it’s happening. Rehearsals begin on Monday, and I’m more excited than I’ve been in a long time.

My birthday has come and gone, and while I’m a little older now I can’t say I feel any wiser. I did, however, have one of the best birthdays I’ve had in a long time. I threw myself a big party, and many friends came over to watch me get VERY drunk and make a general ass of myself. That’s what friends are for, man. I got some great presents, too. All in all, it was a smashing success.

The weight loss continues, and I’ve now lost 130 pounds. I’m a little nervous about going into the holidays, but I’m taking some definite steps to prevent major back pedaling during the next two months of continual feasting. I think I’ll do fine. I’m even predicting another 10 pound loss by the end of the year. I’m confident I can do it.

The semester is almost over, and as of this point I’m still carrying A’s in all of my classes. Not a small feat in one of them. Philosophy is a real pain in the ass, let me tell you. I love the class, but it’s very hard and our grades are solely based on test scores. I’ve gotten A’s on all the tests, so it’s all good. I have a paper to write by next Wednesday, but I’ve got a pretty firm grasp on what I’m going to include in that. No worries there. In general, the whole school thing is going along quite swimmingly, I must say.

Still nothing new on the job front, but I’ve got a recruiter that is working very hard for me from Kforce. Hopefully she’ll turn up something soon, because the coffers are getting quite thin.

Well, that’s all the updating I’m going to do at the moment. I could write more but I’m tired and it’s late. I’ll try and update more regularly for those of you who have been pestering me to do so.

Ringing The Bell

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In the movie G.I. Jane there were several scenes in which the drill instructor attempted to convince the hopeful recruits to ring a bell. When the recruit rang the bell, that recruit was indicating that he or she had given up. They were admitting that they wanted to quit, and were ready to go home. It was a humiliating, demoralizing process. The bell was symbolic of failure; of defeat. To hear it ring was to know that one more person had been crushed under the weight of the program.

In my philosophy class this evening, the professor was attempting to convince some of us to ring the bell.

Last week we had our first test. It was, without a doubt, one of the most difficult exams that I have ever been subjected to. The teacher does not believe in multiple choice (“multiple guess”, he calls it), and as a result all of the questions were short answer and essay. He gave out a study guide last week with an example of all the questions that would be on the test and the pages in our texts that the answers could be found on. Even armed with that information, the majority of the class failed.

Miserably.

So abysmal was their failure that he spent almost an hour of the class berating us. He practically begged some of us to ring the bell.

I couldn’t help but feel sorry for those who took him up on his offer. How horrid it must have been to walk to the front of the class, all eyes on you, with everyone knowing that you are a failure. You could tell it was killing them. They had to muster every ounce of inner strength they possessed to walk up there with some sense of dignity.

I was on the other end of the spectrum. I got an A on my test.

I have always found it awkward when I have excelled in the face of failure. When those around me could not rise to achieve, and I was held up as a barometer to compare them by. I started feeling that way tonight, because he pointed us out to the rest of the class, asking what we had done to get such good grades.

I got over it, though.

I worked my ass off for that A. I deserved it. I’m tired of feeling guilt over the fact that others can not (or will not) excel when I do. I refuse to fail. I refuse to accept mediocrity. More than anything, I refuse to feel bad because of it.

I will not ring the bell.

–

Another interesting thing happened today. I am in pursuit of a woman (I know, most of you are probably saying “When aren’t you?” Just bear with me) who I am quite taken with. She, however, is not going gently unto that good night. We’re involved in a dance of sorts, it seems. I tell her how I feel, she accepts it, does not discourage it, and yet she still skitters away. I feel like I’m being tested. Like she is seeing if I have the mettle to go the distance, or if she will crush me first. To be completely fair, though, I don’t know that it is that deliberate with her. If she is doing it on purpose.

As insane as it sounds, I’m starting to enjoy it.

She told me today that she was looking for her Howard. She was referring to the book “The Fountainhead” by Ayn Rand. So I stopped at Barnes and Noble on the way to school to buy a copy. The teller, an attractive middle-aged woman, saw what I was buying and started to gush over it. I wanted to see if my reason for buying it made any sense to her, so I told her that “A woman I am fond of told me she was looking for her Howard, and that I needed to read the book.”

“Oh my,” she said, her face suddenly very serious. “Yes, you do. Right away!”

Fascinating!

As I left, she wished me luck. Earnestly! She seemed to grasp something about the task that I had been set on.

A guy in my philosophy class tonight noticed what I was reading and remarked on it as well. So I, again, shared my reasons for reading the book. He also seemed to grasp something in that, smiled knowingly, then commented on a “disturbingly erotic” scene in which Howard met the main female character in the book.

Again I must say – Fascinating!

I don’t know where my relationship is going to end up with her, but I suddenly feel…no, know…that whatever does happen, it’s going to be interesting. It certainly won’t be easy, and I may not succeed.

But I’m not going to ring the bell.

–

It has been a day of revelations in general.

I was talking to my friend Aimee earlier, and we were discussing being an artist. I was expressing to her how I was envious of ranney, a person who I consider to be a true Bohemian. Devoted to his art, always branching out and trying new things. I was remarking how I wished I had the ability to live that way.

Aimee, the wonderful person that she is, pointed out that I do. I had just gotten finished telling her about some stories that I had written and had published on a web site, and how I needed to find time to work on ranney’s web site. How I had an application that I wanted to build based on his site. How I am studying philosophy and ethics. She pointed these things out to me, and it suddenly became so clear that she was right.

What an amazing gift to give to a person!

Yet again, I find myself inching closer to being the person that I used to be. I am actually starting to feel like an artist again. Like a Bohemian. What a grand feeling it is.

Was there anything else to write about?

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Is there any way at all for me to describe the way I’m feeling about Tuesday’s events that we haven’t seen over and over again in the news? Can I possibly come up with another word to describe the feeling in my gut, the utter fear, the constant replay of those planes smashing into the World Trade Center in my head?

No, I really don’t believe there is.

I hung an American Flag out in front of my house today. When I bought this place, in December of 1999, the previous owner left a flag in the utility room. It has sat there the entire time I’ve been here. I tried to make sure it didn’t hit the ground, sure. I mean, I DID spend years in the Boy Scouts. Some of that shit is ingrained in my head. To this day I can spout the Scout Codes and Laws as if I were 12 again. Other than that, though, I never really paid it much mind. It didn’t seem important to me.

Part of the problem, you see, is that it’s just not hip to love your country anymore. Really, how often do you see members of my generation (the now approaching and in many cases over thirty-something Generation X) being patriotic? Do we stand up for the Pledge of Allegiance? Do we sing the national anthem? Do we get tears in our eyes on Memorial Day? NO! We scoff at it. We think it’s beneath us. We think it’s an archaic throwback to our grandparents time.

So, you see, it was actually with some sense of trepidation that I hung my flag today. I had to stop for a minute and think about why I was doing it. If I really felt patriotic, or if I was doing it just because I was supposed to. If my friends would understand, or if they would think I was being cheesy. It it really MEANT anything to me.

In the end I decided to risk appearing to be Velveeta and hang that blessed flag.

I AM proud to be an American. I always have been, even in the height of my discontent with it. During Operation Desert Storm, I ripped up my draft card in protest. Mind you, I didn’t do this and mail it to the draft board (I was rebellious, not stupid), but I was angry that my country was fighting in a war that I didn’t understand and I didn’t support. I still, however, loved being an American, and would not have dodged the draft had I been called (on a side note, I took steps to try and get registered as a conscientious objector. You can make me go, damnit, but you aren’t getting me to kill anyone). So today I put my flag up, and I was proud to be one of the many in my neighborhood that did. Times like this can bring out the best in us.

It can also bring out the worst.

I’ve talked to several people who have made absolutely moronic statements in the last few days. Things like, “I better not see anyone wearing a turban” or “I just want to go kill me a sand nigger.” What’s worse is that some of these comments have come from my family. I’ve also heard people talking about wanting to be secure so badly that they are willing to “be inconvenienced” a little more. I’ve heard talk about closing borders.

This kind of talk is insanity, and it is our responsibility as sane and logical members of this country to put an end to it NOW. Killing and hatred is evil, period. There are times that it is a necessary evil, but it is NEVER a good thing. We must hunt down those responsible. We MUST ensure that they will never do this again. We must rise above relishing in the task, however. We must not let hatred mire us down, because it reduces us. It makes us less, and that is unacceptable. It is also unacceptable to talk of closing borders, or restricting freedoms. If we change our way of life because of these attacks then the bad guys, even if they end up dying because of it, have won hands down.

That’s it. I’m spent. I want to sleep for 12 hours in a cold room under a thick blanket and try to get these images out of my head, but I can’t. I’ll be up tomorrow morning, watching the news, seeing the crashes all over again. Weather permitting, though, I’ll be hanging that flag again.

Friends, family…even strangers. I love you, and I am glad that you are alive to read this.

On weight loss again

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Last night at Weight Watchers I got on the scale and was told that I lost 3.2 pounds last week. This makes my grand total, since January 12th of this year, 101.4.

One hundred and one point four pounds. I think I like spelling it out better than just typing the numbers. It looks more impressive that way. One hundred and one point four pounds.

I have lost more weight than some people can lift. I have lost the entire body mass of a small child. I have dropped at least 5 sizes in my pants (10 inches in the waist). It’s no small feat, and I feel VERY justified in taking a moment to brag about it.

Every four weeks I take my measurements and go through my closet to see what does and doesn’t fit anymore. Coincidentally last night was also one of those four week marks. So I tried on the XL Jello Biafra shirt that I have hanging up on my wall. I’m not quite there yet. I can wear it. No doubt about it. It’s still a little tight, though. It still hugs the belly a bit much. So it goes back on the hanger for another four weeks. I tried on a jacket that I used to wear in high school. It fit. A little snugly, but it fit. Last night, I finally got rid of all my 4x shirts. I can’t wear them anymore! They have gotten to the point where they look silly on me. My closet is a little more barren now, but that is perfectly ok with me.

I still have a long way to go, but it suddenly seems a lot closer than it did just a week ago. I’m over half way there. In fact, when I tell people how much more I want to lose I keep getting shocked responses. I find it flattering that people can’t believe I still consider myself 92.8 pounds overweight. Who knows? Maybe they are right. Maybe I’ll get down around the 250 mark and decide that’s where I need to be. I’m a big man. That might be an ideal weight for me. For now, though, I’m sticking to the 225 mark. I think it’s a good goal.

In other news…I was glancing over at Web Pages That Suck the other day, and I stumbled across a rather disturbing thing. Apparently, the flaming logo and background that I have on this page is something seen quite frequently across the web, and it is considered a “sucky” web design. So I’m going back to the old drawing board on this page, and I should be rolling something new out soon. I think I’m going to re-engineer my whole site, actually. Keep the home page the same (maybe update the graphics with some mouse overs or something), but make the look and feel of the rest of the site more consistent. So expect some changes in the direction soon.

I noticed something else recently, too. My site is actually getting some consistent traffic. It’s not a lot, but I’m getting about somewhere between 5 and 10 hits per day on average. I’m starting to think about promoting the forums again. We’ll see.

Well kids, that’s about it for now. Thanks for all the continued support on the weight loss battle. I’ll keep you posted!

Remembering Beau

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It’s taken me almost two weeks to digest the news, deal with the grief, and process the situation before being able to write about the most recent upheaval in my life. Those of you who know me and read this page on a regular basis have probably been wondering when, or if, I was going to write about it at all.

On Saturday, June 9th, 2001, my long time friend Beau Blain was shot and killed by the Los Angeles Police Department.

I’m not going to go into the details surrounding his death or the events leading up to it here. It’s a long and sad story, and I really don’t have the energy to hash it out again. Suffice it to say that Beau was sick for a very long time, and he was not thinking clearly. He doesn’t have that problem anymore.

This last weekend we said goodbye to Beau. I have mixed feelings about that. It was a horrible thing to do. I didn’t want him to be dead. I didn’t want to be there talking about him in the past tense. It all seemed like some sort of out-of-body experience that if I tried very hard I could snap out of. I wanted so badly for him to walk into the room and laugh over how he had pulled one over on us yet again.

That didn’t happen, though, and like it or not I had to accept the fact that Beau had shuffled off his mortal coil.

At the same time, however, I had more fun that weekend than I have had in a long time. I saw people I haven’t seen in years. We reconnected. We shared old times. We hung out in my hot tub and drank too much and laughed at how stupid and silly life is. We reaffirmed how much we loved each other, and how wonderful it was to just be ALIVE. It was truly incredible, and something I’ve needed for a long time now.

For those of you who knew Beau, I’m going to reiterate something here that I said at his funeral. If you had told him 10 years ago that at the age of 28 he was going to die in a hail of bullets after leading the LAPD on a 40 mile car chase, he would have thought it was pretty fucking cool. As a matter of fact, when and if you meet him in the afterlife, I’m pretty sure those are going to be the first words out of his mouth.

If I take anything from this, it’s that our friends are more important to us than we can realize on a conscious level. Take a moment to reflect on your friends, and if there is someone who means something to you or has made an impact on your life, take a moment to let them know. They might need to hear it, and you never know if you’ll get another chance to tell them.

It’s called Gratitude, and that’s right.

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I’m going to take some time here to spread around some thanks. This particular little essay is going to be geared for specific people, and may not hold much interest for those of you who are not mentioned. I would also like to say that if I do not mention you here, it does not mean that I love or cherish your friendship any less than those mentioned below. I just need to take a moment and acknowledge a few people in particular.

Eve – The girl I never had a crush on in high school. It’s funny how proudly you wear that title. What is especially odd is that you are the one girl from high school that I am still very close to. I often wonder if the two have anything in common. You inspire me to try new things. To push the envelope of normality and see what lies on the other side of the looking glass. You even help me keep from feeling like an ass when I’m doing so (and comfortable int he knowledge that if I DO look like an ass, at least I’m not alone).

George – We don’t often discuss things like “feelings,” you and I. I mean, we talk about how we feel about other people (particularly how much we loathe them), but when it comes down to us things tend to go unsaid. You’ve been there for me, though. When I was down and things looked really bleak, you came along and made me remember that I had friends who were really looking forward to having me around. That meant so much. Some people might scoff at the fact that we have a fairly regular schedule of hanging out together, but to me it feels like spending time with family. Just something you are supposed to do. You, more than anyone, make me comfortable in my “geekness,” and what’s more you help me reel it in when I start to go over the edge.

Linda – I am mentioning you in your very own paragraph intentionally. I think that far too often you get mentioned only as part of the “George AND Linda” statement. Of course, that IS how I met you. And that IS how our friendship began. You are, however, as equally important to me as George is, and I value your friendship as much as his. I love to make you laugh, because you have such a natural, easy laugh. That’s a gift, and if you never lose it you’ll have an entire life of making those around you happier. Even those who are convinced you are going to Hell.

Brooks – You inspired me to excel in my career, and you gave me the motivation I needed to do so. By telling me that not only could I do what I’m doing, but that I could do it well, you have me the fuel I needed to finally get a career that I could not only be happy with, but that I could live comfortably in. You also inspire me as a Father. Not by any of your actions per se, but by your enthusiasm about my being a good Father to Alex. You’ve been there so many times to tell me how good a job I was doing, and to keep on that path. Your admiration of my parenting skills has often been a rock when I was wondering if I was doing a good job with my kids.

Ranney – You inspire the artist in me. Even if I don’t actually do anything about it, you make me remember that it’s within me, and that it would take very little to tap it and bring it out. You also make me look beyond what I consider to by my normal realm of entertainment. You dare me to look at something new and challenge me to not get into a rut of the same old routine. You also give me someone to be a fanboy to, because one day I know with out a doubt that I’ll get to say “ranney? Hell, child…I knew that man back in the day…”

Susan – What can I say about someone who so frequently does wonders to my self-esteem and does it without ever putting her tongue in her cheek. When you tell me what a sexy man I am, I know you mean it and you aren’t just telling me to make me feel better. It’s so very comforting to see you, because you are always so genuinely happy when you see a friend. It’s nice to know that there is someone out there that can get so much joy from just saying hello.

Well, I could continue down the list, but the individuals above have made some very real and significant impacts on my life recently, and I wanted to take the time to thank them. To paraphrase Jack Nicoholson from “As Good As It Gets,” you all make me want to be a better person. You are my muses, and my life is a little more special because you are in it.

And that’s enough for the love fest…We now return you to your regularly scheduled program.

Some thoughts on depression

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There are times when I look deep within myself and I ask “Why do you even care?” Tonight is one of those times. I’m depressed. This seems to be happening to me often lately. My ex used to accuse me of being bipolar, so while I was sitting here tonight feeling mopey I decided to look the condition up. Here is what WebMD had to say.

Bipolar disorder results in pathological mood swings from mania to depression, with a tendency to recur and remit spontaneously. Either the manic or the depressive episodes can predominate and produce few mood swings, or the patterns of mood swings may be cyclic. In bipolar disorder (manic), the manic phase is the current or most recent phase of the illness. The manic phase is characterized by elation, hyperactivity, over-involvement in activities, inflated self-esteem, a tendency to be easily distracted, and little need for sleep. The manic episodes may last from several days to months. In the depressive phase there is inertia, loss of self-esteem, withdrawal, sadness, and a risk of suicide. In either phase, there is frequently a dependence on alcohol or other substances of abuse. The disorder appears between the ages of 15 and 25 and affects men and women equally. The cause is unknown, but hereditary and psychological factors may play a role. The incidence is higher in relatives of people with bipolar disorders.

Sadly, I am not so sure she is wrong. I seem to have been in a high point for the last few months. Boundless energy. Undying optimism. The knowledge that everything was going well and going to continue to get better. In the last week or so I’ve watched all of that come crashing down around me. Not in any real sense, but mentally. I feel defeated. I feel hopeless. I feel like I’m wasting my time even attempting to better my life.

What’s worse is that this is all making me want to drink. Badly. I haven’t touched alcohol in almost a year, but not because of any sort of drinking problem. Because of a skin condition that I have that is irritated by alcohol. I’ve always avoided serious drinking on a regular basis, though, because my father was an alcoholic. So in times like this when I start really CRAVING a drink I get worried that the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree on that one.

Christ, sometimes I feel like such a fucking mess. What’s worse is that I feel bad telling anyone about it. I feel like I am dumping my problems on them, or that I am going to be perceived as only saying something to get attention or sympathy. I should probably see a psychiatrist, but right now I really can’t afford it. I just had that confirmed today.

Oh, yeah. Another bright note to my day. I got my divorce paperwork in the mail today. There I held in my hands a stack of papers nullifying the last five years of my life. “Sign on the dotted line, son, and I’ll make all your problems go away.” I hate the fact that I’m getting divorced. I FUCKING HATE IT. No matter how many times I tell myself that the marriage was a sham. No matter how much better off I am without her. I still hate it. It wasn’t supposed to end this way.

I was a good husband. I’ll never stop believing that. I did everything I could, and for nothing. In the end, I was replaced by someone who was more exciting than me.

Well kids, I’m off to Never-Never Land to try and find my Happy Thoughts, because right now I can’t fly, and I can’t fight, and I certainly can’t crow.

They say the neon lights are bright…

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R.I.P. Uncle Critus’ Farm.

Yeah, I finally decided to give up on the whole forum thingy. I guess it’s just not as appealing of an idea as I thought it would be. I mean, I hardly ever went in there. I guess I can’t expect any one else to do the same. So I’ve removed the link off the home page. May she die a quiet, peaceful death.

In other news…

Over the weekend I rediscovered a part of myself. It’s so nice when that happens. I’ve lost little bits and pieces of what I loved about me over the years, and it’s such a wonderful feeling to find one of those little lost pieces, tucked away deep inside the recesses of my soul. I dust them off, say hello, and bring them back to light.

So what I found was my love for Broadway.

This is never something that fully went away, mind you. I’ve had several copies of the same shows for years. I’ve mentioned before, though, that when my wife was with me she never wanted to listen to music. If she did, she didn’t want it to be loud. So I got out of the habit of listening to my music. Well, just a few weeks ago I went with Eve to our friend Bretts house. While hanging out with there Brett started playing the piano for us and asking for suggestions. So I started looking through her song books and I found a copy of the music for Aspects Of Love. I expressed my joy at having found it, and Brett said something to the effect of “Oh cool, is he a Broadway Geek?!?!”

Why is it that I’m always a geek no matter what I do??

But anyway, we got to talking a bit about shows, and it got me wanting to start listening to them again. Not only that, but it made me want to get back some of the music I had (Aspects, for one…that went the other way in the divorce. As did Les Miserables). So I went on a quest this weekend for some show tunes. I got a copy of Cats and Aspects of Love. I even bought the soundtrack for the new musical version of The Producers. I spent the rest of Saturday and most of Sunday with the stereo on and singing show tunes at the top of my lungs.

It was really cool.

I think the coolest part, though, was that my son Alex was really into it too. He was singing along with me, when he could figure out the words. He REALLY seemed to like The Phantom Of The Opera (I wonder why that is? My nephew Fred loved it when he was Alex’s age, too!). So now I get to share my love for Broadway with my Son. I’m seeing a New York show trip sometime within the next few years.

No neat conclusion to this. Yet another “snapshot” of my daily existence.

A moment of weakness

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I just realized that the first anniversary of my little Web Site here just came and went and I didn’t even notice. I wrote the first Soapbox on May 31st of 2000, and here it is just over a year later and I’m still plugging away at it. It’s still for about 5 people (and I’m probably being generous to myself), but hey it’s still here. I’ve moved from a free service to a bona fide domain in that time frame, and as a general rule I’m pretty happy with the way the site has evolved. So I’d like to take a moment to thank those of you who stop by on a regular basis to see what I’ve been up to. It’s kind of nice to know that my little life is something that people find amusing, even if it is only every once in a while.

So with that, I will now go off on yet another pointless rant about the futility that is being me.

You see, yesterday my old pal Eve updated her rant page, and it got me to thinking about the same kind of things she was wondering.

Essentially, what the hell is wrong with me?

Other than the obvious, that is.

I seem, for some reason, to be absolutely incapable of attracting a woman with whom I would be compatible for a long-term relationship.

Now, this is generally something that I blame on my weight, which I realize is a big problem. Hell, I’ve lost 50 pounds since the middle of January, and I think you could say it’s honestly hard to tell (unless you see me every day). That’s a LOT of weight to lose, and yet it’s only about 1/4 of the total amount that I’m going for. That little fact can be daunting at times, but I’m still plugging away at it.

Other than that, though, I figure I’m a hell of a catch. I am not an ugly man by any stretch of the imagination. I am funny. I am smart. I am always willing to try new things and meet new people. I can be totally insane at the drop of a hat. I sing out loud in public. I sing even louder in private. I make good money. I have a house (with a hot tub, no less). I am one hell of a father. I give backrubs and footrubs. I do dishes, laundry and can even do my share of the cooking. I love people and being social, and I give great dinner parties.

Jesus, I just realized I would make a great homosexual. Guess it’s too bad my tastes don’t wander in that direction.

So my drawbacks are that I’m fat and I’m a geek. One of those things I can do something about, and I AM doing something about. I’ve been thinner before, though, and the relationship that came from that state of physical health did not last when the weight came back on. I cannot guarantee anyone that once I lose this weight it won’t come back. I’ll probably be struggling with my weight for the rest of my life. So if I meet someone when I’m thin, what’s to say she won’t bail on me if I balloon out again??

Then there is the geek thing. I’m really not that much of a geek. I’m not so bad that I think Star Trek Conventions are the height of culture. I shower on a regular basis. I can have a conversation that doesn’t involve the intricate subplots and scheming of the fifth season of Babylon 5. I cannot, however, deny that I am firmly rooted in that which many people consider to be of a geekish nature. If I deny that, I deny who I am, and I’ve done that before with horrible results.

I don’t know what the point to all of this is. I’m lonely, and I’m sick of it.

Blah. I can’t even think of a clever way to end this.

The loss of a friend and the self doubt it caused.

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In High School I had this friend. I’ll call her Jen, because that was her name. Jen was one of my better friends back then. We spent hours on the phone, sometimes every day. We shared secrets, dreams, fears. Everything that good friends do.

So it only goes without saying that I did with Jen what I did with every female friend I had in High School. I fell madly in love with her.

For those of you who don’t know me, this was a pretty common thread of mine. I’d meet a female, she would look at me, and I’d fall in love with her. Sometimes she didn’t even have to look at me.

I made a lot of good friends really uncomfortable with this trend of mine. Girls who really wanted to be my friend couldn’t because the smallest amount of attention that they would pay to me instantly became them “sending me signals” that they liked me. It’s something I’m horribly embarrassed about, and whenever I think on it I shake my head in shame at the pathetic person that I was back then.

But I digress…

I wanted to write about Jen because she is one of the few people who I knew in high school that doesn’t like me anymore. In fact, for a while there I think it was fairly safe to say that she hated me.

This bothers me. Profoundly.

I strive to be a good person. I try and make a positive impact on the people around me. Generally, I think I’m successful in this endeavor, but Jen is one of the few people that seem to genuinely dislike me.

What’s worse is that she has valid reasons.

The first was from high school. When I was pulling my “oh I love you” routine on her, I went through my standard pattern of utter depression when she rejected my clumsy and awkward advances. Apparently, during one of our conversations about this, I mentioned wanting to die. I may even have gone so far as to say I was going to kill myself. Jen stayed up all night worrying about me. She kept trying to call me to see if I was ok, and I didn’t answer the phone. She was convinced I had done something to myself. So the next day at school, she asks my friend Beau if I was ok. His response? “Yeah, he’s fine. We were playing Dungeons and Dragons all night. Why?”

So Jen spent all night worrying about me, and I was off pretending to be Thockwoddle the Archer and fighting the forces of evil.

You know what’s worse about this? I don’t remember it happening. At all. I remember being “in love” with her, and I remember being distraught over her not feeling the same way. But suicide threats? I don’t remember doing it. So not only did I put her through a night of hell, I don’t even have the common courtesy to remember it.

So you can imagine her displeasure with me.

Cut to several years later. I hadn’t seen Jen since I graduated from high school, but we ran into each other at a Halloween party for a mutual friend. A friend who had recently broken up with a close friend of mine who I was in regular contact with (he had recently moved to New York). Jen was, apparently, willing to let bygones be bygones and start fresh with me. We greeted each other, traded small talk and “how are you’s.” Everything seemed fine. Then the hostess asked me a question about her ex boyfriend.

For the record (and this probably makes me seem really stupid again), I don’t remember what the question and answer exchange was. I think it was as simple as “Does he ask about me?” Now, how do I answer a question like that? If I say yes, she gets her hopes up that he still likes her. If I tell her the truth and say no, she thinks that she didn’t mean anything to him.

I took the ethical high road and lied. I told her no. You see, if I had told her the truth, I would have told her that he called her an insane bitch. I would have told her that he said I should try and get her to give me head because she was really good at it. I would have told her that he had wanted to break up with her a long time before he had, but didn’t because he really didn’t have anything better to go with and she was nice to fuck every once in a while. I didn’t think she needed to hear that, nor did I want to make up a whole pack of lies about how he had asked about her. So I said no.

There was no way I could get out of the question without hurting her somehow, and sure enough she spent the next hour or so holed up in her room crying. Jen saw this, saw that I hurt her friend, and decided that I was still a shithead and not worth her time.

I really can’t say I blame her, considering our track record. I just wish it wasn’t the case. Jen meant a lot to me in high school, and whenever I hear about what she is up to I get a pang or regret knowing what I lost.

And it makes me wonder…

Like most people, I wonder about myself. I try to be a good person, but I wonder if I’m doing it because I AM a good person or because I am serving my own need by being so. I guess my question is, do all of my friends know the real me?

Or does Jen?