Chapter Seventeen

- Hopeless -

The thought crossed my mind that the event of turning thirty starts roughly on your twenty-ninth birthday and ends somewhere around six months after your thirtieth. Great. Now I could count on a year and a half of stupid behavior.

No one wants to be stupid, but I just couldn’t stop myself. Take, for instance, the time shortly after 3b admitted her adultery. Before she moved out, I found myself alone in the apartment. No one home except me and her diary. Yes, I did.

The bruises came not from any bad thing she wrote about me. There wasn’t that much about me in there. Be they tender or violent, loving or angry, it was the passages about him and all he meant to her that pierced my heart. Succumbing to temptation and opening that book was one of the most stupid choices I ever made.

I was annoyed that I was still doing things like that, but I had no idea what drew me to such self-destructive behavior. A smart person might try to figure it out. Really, how hard could it be? Running through life blindly hadn’t served me very well to that point and I had nothing to lose by trying. I needed to know what was going on inside my fucked up head. Perhaps documenting my actions would provide some insight to why I did what I did and maybe even pinpoint where it all began to spiral out of control.

My shrink suggested I start my own diary. I had no idea what to write, so I began by jotting down mundane information like what I ate every day. A little more interesting was the daily log of alcoholic beverages I consumed. The weekly subtotals were horrifying. I never considered myself to have an addictive personality, but the sheer numbers gave me pause to think. I wasn’t quite ready to give it up, but Booze and I needed to talk.

“I need to know what we’re doing here,” I told Booze. Booze looked like I just hit him in the face with a baseball bat.

“What do you mean?” Booze asked. I could sense tension in his voice.

“Well,” I started meekly, “where do you see this going?”

Booze heaved a sigh.

“Here we go again,” he said. This time there was definitely attitude in his voice.

“What do you mean, ‘Here we go again?’”

“All you ever want to do is talk, talk, talk,” Booze hissed. “’Where is this going? What do you mean to me? What do I want out of our relationship?’ You don’t want to have a relationship, you just want to talk about having a relationship.”

This wasn’t going well at all. My eyes got a little watery.

“Oh, great! Here comes the waterworks, right on cue!” Booze shouted.

“Don’t scream at me,” I pleaded. He raised his voice ever louder.

“I’m not fucking screaming! You want screaming? I can scream! I can fucking scream all night long!”

“Stop!” I shouted, “Just stop. Forget I said anything.”

“Fine!” Booze said and left in a huff.

I felt sick to my stomach. I put on some comforting music and paced my apartment the rest of the night, unable to sleep. I cleaned the bathroom and the kitchen. I even checked in on Wiener, still frozen solid in the fridge. Sleep came for a short visit around five.

I didn’t hear from Booze all the next day, but when I got home from work, he was waiting for me. Neither one of us said anything. We just picked up where we left off as if nothing happened.

As my entries evolved and details began to fill in, the picture the journal painted of me started taking shape. For instance - when viewed chronologically, my little issue with staying home alone might be described in some circles as, oh I don’t know -- obsessive? There wasn’t actually a single night I did stay home alone. I found my own company loathsome. That wouldn’t generally be considered a good foundation for socializing, but that wasn’t the point of going out. Just like moving to California in the first place, I wasn’t going anywhere except away -- away from decisions, away from problems, away from me.

Many nights were spent simply walking the streets. Window-shopping in Beverly Hills was a favorite time killer. Grabbing a breath of fresh air in Westwood could eat up a night quite nicely. Getting from the end of one workday to the beginning of the next was the mission. My legs got stronger as my spirit weakened.

References to health dotted the pages of my memoir. Hours of sleep were logged with a simple single digit, a number generally lower than the one representing the number of cocktails for the day. Notes were made on how my skin raged out of control. The itching from the eczema became unbearable. My scalp came off in such large chunks, I dare not wear black. I bled constantly. Western medicine prescribed steroids and closed the book on the subject. Luckily, my doctor also studied eastern medicine and was willing to try some alternatives. I went on a strict diet of foods that cooled my blood. Cucumbers were in and tomatoes were out. Chicken was allowed, steak stayed at the butcher. It was all primary colors. Green good, red bad, yellow somewhere in between. I would have eaten grubs if it would stop the goddamn itching.

•••

3b and I hung out sporadically, testing the reconciliation waters. I was terribly gun-shy about the whole business but went to the lunches and dinners and even a movie here and there just to see.

My Asian Fuck Buddy introduced me to her friend, yet another Asian girl. Actually, she was Asian mixed with European blood. Asian Mix and I hit it off right away. She was sexy and witty and could charm the pants off you. My pants resisted. Had Wiener not been on ice, history might be written differently. All these Asian girls in my life started to look like a mild case of yellow fever, but it was purely coincidence, contrary to popular opinion.

Asian Mix had a strong mothering streak and administered her considerable soothing talents on me often. I’d walk the several miles to the yogurt shop where she held her second job, just to hang out with her after closing. We’d grab a cup of coffee or some French fries, and chat the night away. (Did you spot the stupid choice there? Nothing like a little caffeine to help you get to sleep.) Among her nurturing tools was a generous ear, which I talked off at every chance. Having someone to bounce things off other than my belly was welcome therapy. I had spent so much of my adult life trying to be a Mr. Fix-It that I had forgotten what it felt like to have someone take care of me. It had been so long since anyone comforted me, I clung to Asian Mix like a lost puppy. Her boyfriend had a few words to say about her spending late nights with me, but I couldn’t have cared less what he thought.

Sometimes, if Asian Mix wasn’t available, I’d be able to spend quality time with another Very Dear Friend, if she wasn’t in the middle of a boyfriend episode. Very Dear Friend and I met through work. Though she had moved on professionally, we remained tight. Never dated, though we tiptoed around the issue once or twice (timing, always timing). Frankly, not hooking up with her was one of the few right choices I made. She’s a fiery thing with a hot Latin temper that thankfully I was never on the wrong side of. If not as nurturing as Asian Mix, she is quite good with advice. Oh, how easy it is to find the right vantage point when you’re not in the middle of the mess. I readily doled out the boyfriend/girlfriend tips when she needed it. Did it ever occur to either of us that we were both taking pointers from someone who’d only been in failed relationships? Nah. We just passed advice back and forth along with the condiment trays at the Thai restaurants we frequented.

3b was fine with Very Dear Friend, but certain I was sleeping with Asian Mix, which led to a nasty fight. That didn’t make a whole lot of sense, because as far as I knew, 3b was still with her boyfriend, which nullified her rights in the matter. Fighting comes fast and easy when you have a history. Press a button or two and before you know it someone is storming out the door. Having separate corners to go to made the recovery time shorter than when we lived together. A few nights of breathing room and we could speak again. Neither of us knew where it was all going. Both of us still wore our wedding rings. Letting go wasn’t as easy as either of us thought.

A psycho began stalking 3b on the bus (she also had no car). She rode the same Number 4 that I did in the opposite direction. Several mornings, she jumped off the bus early and bolted for my door because the psycho was following her. For once timing was my friend. With Wiener locked safely away in the freezer, there was no chance 3b would show up at an inopportune moment.

The police became as involved as they could without the psycho actually killing her. Their advice was to have her move. That was the smart suggestion. The stupid suggestion came from me, natch.

“You could stay here till you find a new place,” I said, desperately trying to suck the words back as they left my tongue like so many F-16s taking off from the flight deck of an aircraft carrier in the Persian Gulf. Why didn’t I let her fucking boyfriend take care of this? Further more, why didn’t SHE let her fucking boyfriend take care of this? I could have been smart and said that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea after all. I didn’t. That would have required cajones.

I snuck a peak into the freezer to see if the Balls had joined my Wiener on visiting day. Much to my horror, Wiener had escaped! I searched the freezer frantically, shoving the vodka and Popsicles aside, but it was gone. I looked in the forgotten vegetable drawer to see if Wiener simply migrated to a warmer climate for the winter. No dice. This was bad. No good could come of Wiener being out on the loose.

3b spent the weekend. We rented a car and scoured neighborhoods that would put her near work and keep her off the bus. She filled out a couple applications. That took care of the first day. It was plenty awkward when bedtime came around. For cryin’ out loud, we’d spent seven years together -- how stupid would it be to have one of us sleep on the couch? Not as stupid as sharing a bed again, one might think if one was a thinking person. I turned off the lights and settled in next to her. Everything was cool -- nothing to be freaked out about here.

In the middle of the night the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I got the distinct sensation that there was someone else in the room with us -- an intruder. She felt it too. I could barely make out her face in the dark, but I could see the fear and anticipation in her eyes that mirrored mine. There was definitely someone in the room with us. My heart pounded and a million thoughts raced through my brain at once. Is this a break-in? Didn’t I lock the door? Were we about to die here? There was so much I still had left to do.

I had to think fast. How was I going to handle this? I didn’t know shit about self-defense. I was so out of my league. Whoever it was, they were getting closer to the bed and we both could feel their presence, if we couldn’t see them. I was shaking. I reached for her and she was shaking too. The stranger crept even closer. The very moment I reached for her and she reached for me, the stranger was on us -- Wiener had returned to exact his revenge on me.

The next morning we could barely speak and just went about the business of finding her an apartment. As luck would have it, 3b’s Emancipated Minor friend with really big tits called with an offer to share a Santa Monica apartment that became available that day.

Seren-fucking-dipity! All the things I didn’t want to say could go unsaid. All the icky choices I faced went away -- poof!

We rented a truck and moved 3b into the new apartment pronto. EM didn’t know what to make of me. She was sixteen and thought because she had a shitty childhood, she was wise beyond her years. More than once she made passes at me while 3b was in the next room. Not that she wanted to fuck me. She was just throwing a weather balloon my way to check my loyalty to 3b and assert her own naive sex appeal. It was all for naught. Even in the midst of my stupidity, I knew that pissing in that direction would only leave me wet and cold. Subsequent conversations with 3b confirmed my suspicions about EM without alerting 3b to her roommate’s antics. Score one for me.

I spent a lot of time with 3b and EM at their new pad to help them get settled. No mention was ever made of THAT night. THAT night had awoken Stupidity’s thirst for blood, and now it wanted more. Who better than I to give it up? Lifting a box of paperwork, I caught a glimpse of her phone bill. Couldn’t stop myself from reading it in depth, of course. There was a recurring number to the Valley I recognized. It was his. Seeing that really made me feel great, oh yeah. I had poured a considerable amount of sweat into getting her to a safe place, packing and lifting and unpacking her shit. I ran numerous errands, got them food, put up shelves and took care of a lot of the crap involved in moving for them. And there was her phone bill with hours of call time logged to her boyfriend who I knew couldn’t have lifted a finger with the move, because I did all of it.

“Should have fucked EM when you had the chance,” Wiener said, “At least you wouldn’t feel like such a chump.”

“Shut up.” I snapped back.

That’s where the fight with 3b started. It turned ugly fast. In no time at all we were back to why we split up in the first place.

“You’re so negative about everything,” she informed me.

“Really?” I said incredulously.

“Really,” she said. “You don’t have a nice thing to say about anything. It’s all sarcasm and cynicism.”

“I thought that’s what attracted you -- me being ‘negative’ about everything, like doing all your shit for you while your ‘boyfriend’ sits on his ass waiting for your next lovey-dovey phone call!”

“Fuck you!”

“Been there, done that!”

So on and so forth it went. At the end of that fight, 3b and I decided it would be best not to see each other for a while, however long that might be.

•••

Wiener and I walked home. We sat down with Booze and had a long heart to heart. I apologized for sticking Wiener in the freezer and he apologized for that night with 3b. All was forgiven, but having him back complicated things. I thought that part of my life was over and had accepted that I would never feel that kind of passion and heat with a woman again.

Not that I wanted to be alone. Wiener reminded me how much I love being in love. I missed all the sensations and goofy behavior that come in the love package, like the best Crackerjack prize ever. While Wiener did his stint in the freezer, I figured maybe it was time to get a couple cats and settle into middle age gracefully. Now I didn’t know what to think. It didn’t feel like it was time to start dating yet. Maybe it was just time to carve up my arm.

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