Monday, May 3, 2010

Conditional Friends and Indigestion.

To give Karen some space that I felt she needed for a work conference earlier tonight, I decided to lift stakes and do something novel that I hadn't done in a while.  Something like going to a bar, have a few brews, and watch the Mets get drubbed.  So I went to Rathbone's on 1st, where Crystal was kind enough to comp me all but 1 beer (hmmm...that was nice), and watch my Mets whom, however hot they may have been recently, get pummeled by the Phillies.

5 hours later, of which featured 3 hours of sleep, I am here and awake again.  This time at the keyboard, wondering why I ate and drank so much.  No hangover (yet), thanks to a precautionary dosage of ibuprofen, but instead a swarming dose of indigestion for which, considering the intake, was inevitable.  An oversized cheese burger deluxe, a large basket of fries, and bucket of hot wings, all doused by over a half-gallon of beer, will do that to a human being.  I think you get the picture now.

And yet, despite my stomach's valiant effort at handling the stupidity for which my brain allowed earlier, it's  funny how the mind wanders when caught off guard and/or when dealing with my culinary shortcomings.

As I laid awake in my bed just moments ago, my mind drifted to a time not too long ago.  It was about a week ago to be exact, I believe.  In that moment, I remember Karen expressing her disappointment at how few of her friends have RSVP'd for the wedding that's happening in a few weeks' time.  She realized that by having the wedding in Florida, that this was going to happen.  After all, it is hard for friends, even REAL friends, to attend a wedding 1300 miles away.  And since we have more relatives in Florida than we do friends in NY, it only made sense, actually, to plan our nuptials it in the sunshine state.

But, what of my friends?  What of the friends I knew even prior to knowing Karen?  Though she realized the answer to her own disappointing realization last week, I quickly dispensed to her the fact that outside of her, that I had ZERO friends coming to my wedding.  ZERO, for those of you mathematically challenged, is the number that falls just below ONE.

Alas tonight, and as I continued to lay in my nice Bob-O-Pedic bed, I grasped with reality and indigestion.  And all at once, I'm proud to admit.  However, the indigestion I have was not of the stomach this time, but of the mind.   The antidote for this?  I don't know. 

Does anyone have a pill to cure 'Conditional Friend Syndrome' (CFS)?

One of the biggest revelations to me, and perhaps the single-most maturing event during my second divorce, was realizing who my friends truly were.  Like a sinking ship, my then "so-called" friends deserted me like rats.  To this date, it wasn't my divorce that was half as painful as was my dissolutionment over people that suddenly vanished from my radar without a trace.  While I may have expected the state of New York to vanquish and financially debilatate me during the proceeding, what happened with my support (outside of my father and then-girlfriend) came out of nowhere.

In the 2004 not-made-for-TV episode entitled "Gerry & Treacy Kicks Alex to the Street", we see Alex cast out by his supposed friends.  Though they never gave this to Alex as the reason for his explulsion, an outsider watching this TV episode could conclude, that this was done to help him mature.  Really? Well, I would think that reason was a bit naive and assumptive.  Naive, for thinking that all people mean well and assumptive for thinking that these so-called people were really friends to begin with.  For, if kicking Alex out of their wretched orange-haired mother's basement was, in a way, to force him to "suck it up" and deal with his sudden poverty (as all men do when they get divorced)?  Then, where was the support from them and the rest of his so-called friends afterwards?

Since 2004, the gaggle of friends that Alex (ME) had amassed through his core friends of Gerry & Treacy included, Joel and Marcelle, Keith and Lisa, Donna and Lou, and that's just to name who comes to mind at nearly 3am.

And yet, after I was summarily kicked out of that dungeon ( into nowhere, I might add ), I was not only given the silent treatment by the thieves that did this to me, but by all of those people who I just named above, as well.  Seems to me, that I was their friend but for only as long as Gerry & Treacy decided to keep this "spic" around.

Let me say this again but in another way.... If the motive for kicking me out of their mother's basement in Rego Park, was for me to learn how to cope on my own without depending on anybody else, then where was their support when the decision was made to kick me out, thereafter? 

In the end, none of them were friends at all.  After all of what?  16, 17 years of knowing them?  Initially, and in a world where I have been dissolutioned before, it was definitely a high watermark of disappointment for me.  And if that's not a seven-layer cake of reason to be disappointed, then losing the rest of the friends (as mentioned by name above), to the fucking silent treatment afterwards as well, is just the icing to that much maligned dessert analogy.  Speaking of which.....Why the hell am I talking about food, when my stomach feels like it's been beat up by Floyd Mayweather Jr???

I write this, because Karen was surprised and disappointed by some of her friends' and family lack of turnout for this event.  So, for Karen, and for anyone accidentally tripping cyberfully into my little blog world here, take heart.  Don't depend on others for kindness.  This world is full of wannabes.  And when you do receive kindness, appreciate it and reciprocate it, but realize that it's NOT to be confused with friendship.  And lastly, be happy with who you are and the person that loves you (if you are so lucky to have someone else to love you besides yourself)

For those who don't know me, and were wondering how it all turned out for me after I got kicked out onto street, some 6 years ago, well let me tell you;

Interestingly, the date was September 11th, 2004 when I finally moved into my own residence.  Post-Devastation Alex, you could say.  It was a month & date not only to be remembered as infamous in American history, but also as a major milestone in my life too.  A milestone which cemented the fact that in life we truly have very few friends (if any).  And, if we are to lead a happy life, we should all start by learning how to be our own friend.....AND FUCK EVERYBODY ELSE.

Oh and yes, what would this blog be if I don't mention running, right?  Well, I not only ran another 10.6 miles in this sweltering heat today, but did the last few holding my daughters bike as she learns to ride a two-wheeler.  I love being a Dad, and will give my life for my kids long, long, long before I take stock in what "so-called" friends do and say.  Actions speak louder than words.

There. Now my "random" thought which came to me as I laid awake wondering if "Alien" was going to bust through my digestive tract (and swallow me whole), is finally beaten to a bloody pulp.