Monday, April 24, 2006


I returned from the sunshine of San Francisco (at least it was sunny when I was there) to sit outside in the London downpour and watch my friend Edwin run the London Marathon in a three-piece suit and bowler's hat. It was actually quite fun sitting out near Embankment getting soaked with a bunch of friends, each taking turns to go buy the next six-pack. Watching the costumed London Marathoners was more like watching a parade, which means that it was much more exciting than I had originally thought. After hours of watching thousands of runners stream by me, I entered a trance-like state where it looked as though the concrete was moving like the belt of a treadmill. Maybe I was just buzzed? It was also great fun being there for a purpose, this being to cheer on a friend, along with whomever else we our group fancied screaming for. Oh, I know what you're thinking - since when am I nice and encouraging?

Not that it's anyone's business, but everything with Awesome and me is delicious. This is hypothetically the last stretch of time before we will live in the same city, be it London, New York or San Francisco. Or, Limon, Kiev, or Toledo, wherever our random personalities float us next, should we relocate elsewhere. When two such strong-personalitied people like Awesome and me, two people of such stubborn caliber, innate competitiveness, and paranoid psyches, go through a three-week long period of testing each other to guarantee that we're worth each other's future, it's fucking HELL. No reality television show is this difficult. None of those fuckers on Surviver, Big Brother, or The Apprentice could possibly endure what the two of us just went through in California. And that's all I'm gonna say about that. Love is so fucking ridiculous.

So back to me suddenly being nice. I love taking care of Awesome. Just like I love taking care of my mother, siblings, and closest friends. With Sistaman and Heather in Dallas, Colleen in New York, Julia in San Francisco, Faith in Berlin, Jen in Milwaukee, and Clare in London (along with my other ladies scattered throughout the globe), I have a gang of Charlies Angels-esque ladies who support and love and watch over me nearly as much as Awesome does. And that man boy man will do anything for me. Anything. As will I for him. This was reconfirmed for me during the emotionally and psychologically HORRIFIC time we just spent together, and even more so now that we're abruptly apart again. But my ladies are different. Under any circumstance, when they're involved, you do not fuck with me or them. Because if you do, they will fuck with you back, with so much spooky estrogen and overly-protective maternal instincts, so much that you won't know what hit you. Listen, muthafucka: My Girl Gang will cut you.

Oh yes. Me and the niceness. See, when my father was alive, I was quite a spoilt brat. Sometimes I still am. But on a deeper level, whenever I had a panic attack (as I am prone to do, although I am typically the cool, collected one who calms down and psychotherapizes everyone else), Dad was the only person who could calm me down. He'd tell me to stop worrying, stop freaking-out, to collect myself, and that, really, everything would indeed be just fine.

I don't have that anymore. When the caretaker 'Daddy' role is a prime aspect of a father-son relationship, when said father dies, complete fucking shellshock occurs. And for some reason, a year-and-a-half later, it's hitting me now more than ever. This is probably because I am undergoing massive future changes in my life, so my psyche is spinning out of control.

It took me this past year-and-a-half to fully realize that absolutely no one is there to take care of me anymore. Never again. No calling for help, no leaning on, no comfort, nothing. Termination. Zilch. Well, death, really. I am all on my own. This is not meant to sound depressing, just as plain-and-simple fact.

So, you see, ever since my dad died, my priorities have started to switch from wanting to be taken care of to wanting to take care of everyone I love. Instead of sucking everyone dry of everything they're capable of giving me, my primary goal in relationships is to give give give, much more than taking. I'm 27 - of course I want to keep taking everything and anything from everyone. That's what I'm supposed to be doing at this age. But instead, I want to be like my dad. And until my friends and lover are in the same lonely, stranded state of unfortunate independence due to the early death of their father, I want to show them how fucking amazing it feels to be treated like my father treated me.

This said, though, yesterday evening when I had a wee panic attack, so much that it made me physically ill and vomitous, I took a chance and called Awesome since my father was obviously unavailable. He managed to calm me down but I waited to cry until after I had hung up the phone. Now if only I could sleep more than one (1) hour per night...and stop having such awful dreams...

If you ever catch on fire, try to avoid seeing yourself in the mirror, because I bet that's what really throws you into a panic. - Jack Handy