Thou Shalt Not Judge

At exactly 2:04 am, I stopped judging.

I was sitting in my car outside my house with the key in the ignition. In my hand was a cell phone. The cell phone had an open text message from my inbox displayed that read "Come over." It was from someone I should not be associating with at this point in time--or at any point in time.

The funny thing is--and I know it was funny, because I laughed when I thought of it--had any of my friends been in this situation my response would have been--

HYPOTHETICAL ME: Oh my God! Are you crazy? You're not going to do this. Ugh, I can't believe you. What is it going to take to get you to act like an adult?

And on, and on, and on...

So in that moment, I realized two--no, three--things:

1) I'm a hypocrite.
2) A judgmental hypocrite is the worst kind of hypocrite.
3) In addition to giving up being judgmental, I also needed to stop checking my text messages at 2am.

ADAM: So did you go over the guy's house?
ME: No. I went back inside and ate a block of cheese.
ADAM: Ew, you need help.
ME: But the point I'm making is, in the past I totally would have gone over his house. I felt vulnerable, needy, and insecure. I would have hooked up with him and then not told anybody all the while judging away. Well, no more. From this point on, I'm not going to judge anybody anymore for any reason.
ADAM: You're full of it.
ME: Try me.
ADAM: I shoplifted a soda from the store today.
ME: You're not serious.
ADAM: I am. I took the soda and walked out.
ME: Didn't any of the alarms go off?
ADAM: Nope. Guess I got lucky.
ME: Well, that's...Do you do this often?
ADAM: Occasionally.
ME: Okay.
ADAM: No comment?
ME: Adam, you're a big boy. If you want to--

Now wait a minute! My mind was trying to play a trick on me. It was trying to sneak out a judgment. I was about to say:

HYPOTHETICAL ME: If you want to risk getting arrested and ruining your future for a bottle of soda which you can clearly afford just for some cheap thrill, then go ahead. Steal a pack of gum while you're at it, or a copy of Men's Vogue.

But that would still be judging. So instead I said--

ME: Hey, it's your life.

That would become my new mantra.

Hey, it's your life.

I was finally one of those cool laidback people who don't care about anything anybody does. I was a hippie! Now all I had to do was stop bathing.

Wait! That's a judgment! A judgment about hippies.

This was going to be tricky.

RORY: I'm not going to school.
ME: That's cool, Rory.

The next morning before everyone headed out for work and school--or didn't head anywhere in Rory's case--I unveiled my new, non-judgey self to my family. My mother was making breakfast--Frosted Flakes--for everyone, Danny was reading his Bible, and Roger, my stepfather, was reading the newspaper.

Instead of them being shocked that Rory had just declared his intent to skip school, they all turned and cast their mortified eyes at me.

MOM: Kevin, did you just tell your brother it would be 'cool' if he skipped school?
ME: I don't actually mean I think it's cool, Mom. I'm just deciding not to pass a judgment on him about it. It's his life.
ROGER: Maybe you should stay home, too, Kev. You sound a little feverish. By the way, Rory, if you don't go to school, I'm taking away drumming privileges.
DANNY: Oh please, just take them away anyway. I haven't slept well in weeks thanks to Tommy Lee and his set of devil bongo's.

My mother wasn't letting go of the subject--namely my new attitude shift.

MOM: So you don't care that you brother could become a truant?
DANNY: He already is a truant.
MOM: Isn't someone supposed to be reading about Jesus?
DANNY: I'm reading the Old Testament today.
MOM: What's your point?
ME: Mom, if you want to discipline Rory or demand that he do what he's supposed to, that's fine, but that's not my job. My job as his brother is just to love him and let him know I support him with no judgment attached.
RORY: Mom, I think he's been looking through my drawers again, because I definitely have some stuff in there that could be making him talk like this.

So my family wasn't taking the new me as well as I had hoped, but surely my friends would appreciate my new view on life.

BETH: Kevin, I had a cigarette today.
ME: Okay.
BETH: Did you forget something?
ME: That you were supposed to quit smoking? No, I didn't forget.
BETH: Then...why aren't you angry?
ME: Why would I be angry? I'm assuming you wanted a cigarette.
BETH: Yeah, I really did.
ME: And you had one. Now you're happy. So why would I be angry?
BETH: Is this reverse psychology? Because my mom tried that on me once. She made me smoke an entire pack to make me quit.
ME: Did it work?
BETH: I actually asked for a beer and another cigarette when I was done.
ME: Beth, you're a grown-up. You should be able to do what you want to do without having to hear about it from your friends who are just supposed to support and love you for who you are.
BETH: I can't handle this.
ME: What? Support?
BETH: Yes, it's freaking me out. I need a cigarette.
ME: So have one.
BETH: Now I don't want one!
ME: Why?
BETH: Because you took the fun out of it! Thanks Kevin!
ME: Hey, it's your life.
BETH: Go to hell!

Okay, so this wasn't going exactly according to plan. But I was going to stick with it. It was just going to take people some time to get used to me not being a nagging prude whose always telling everyone what to do.

I had no doubt at all, however, that my new approach to life would be appreciated at work.

MARTHA: What the hell is wrong with you?

This was Martha's response when I told her that I didn't see why we should criticize Daisy for always giving her son money when he has A) No job B) No prospects of getting a job and C) Has been on Maury twice for paternity tests (He's their biggest sweeps stunt).

ME: I just think how Daisy deals with her son is her business.
DAISY: Thank you, Kevin.
MILLIE: But she's not dealing with him. She's writing him a check and sending him off to buy God knows what--
MARTHA: Drugs, booze, porn--
MILLIE: Meanwhile, she should be setting him straight.
DAISY: Jerry won't buy porn. He gets it free off the Internet.

It was time for a little enlightenment.

ME: Ladies, let me explain my philosophy. I call it 'the moving train.'
MARTHA: Hang on, let me get my earphones. I can either listen to you or Tony Bennett, and it's pretty clear that Tony's going to win.
ME: Just give me a chance here. In most situations, you're dealing with a speeding train. Somebody likes someone they shouldn't. They're addicted to something they should give up. They keep repeating bad behavior that isn't good for them. So you tell them to stop. Give it up. Stop seeing whomever it is they're seeing. Do you know what you're doing?
DAISY: Impersonating Dr. Phil?
ME: No. You're standing in front of a speeding train. Nothing you say or do is going to stop them. They need to make their own mistakes and if you care about them, you let them do it and you're there for them whatever happens. It's that or get hit by the train. That's something I just recently learned.
MILLIE: No more letting him go into the self-help section on his own.
ME: Now, take Daisy and her son. We could bully her all we want about what we think of what she's doing--
MARTHA: --my heart in San Francisco...
ME: But why bother? Why not just let her come to a decision about it herself?
MILLIE: You're right, Kevin. As a matter of fact, why don't I write Jerry a check too?

She took out her checkbook.

MILLIE: I mean, after all, he's on a moving train.
ME: No, I didn't mean--
MILLIE: Nothing we can do is going to stop him anyway. Might as well just get him where he's going faster.
ME: Millie, you don't have to be sarcastic. I was just saying--
DAISY: Make the check out to Jerry Gray--
MARTHA: God, Tony, you send me.

I didn't understand. Here I was trying to be all zen about everything and instead I was getting everyone riled up.

JOEY: It's because people are used to having a certain relationship with you, Kevin.
ME: What relationship?
JOEY: You're the practical one. You're the one who tells people what they don't want to hear.
ME: Yeah, but everyone hates me when I do that.
JOEY: I know. It's like flossing though. You hate doing it, but you have to or your teeth will look gross.
ME: So I'm--
JOEY: And then someone--you know, you--will have to say, 'Hey, your teeth are gross. Floss.' And you may not want to hear it...but you have to.
ME: That's true.
JOEY: Because nobody wants gross teeth.
ME: You're right about that one, Joey.
JOEY: So be that guy. Be the guy who fights plaque.
ME: Be Listerine?
JOEY: Yeah, be Listerine...or Scope. Whichever.

I understood what Joey meant. For most of my life, I have been 'that guy' with people. They hate hearing what I have to say, yet they always ask me because they know I'll tell them the truth. The thing is, I don't want to be 'that guy' anymore. Let someone else do it. I want to be the guy who tells everyone they should keep doing what they're doing and godspeed while they're doing it.

Luckily, I knew someone who would love the new me. The guy who I've judged more than anyone in my entire life: My Dad.

DAD: The queer across the street and I got into another argument today.
ME: That's a shame, Dad. I hope you two manage to work it out.

I was eating dinner at my Dad's house. That meant a pork roast that could choke Don DeLuise. My stepmother, Stacey--who happens to be young enough to be an embryo--was still unloading her purchases from the mall that day. We get along fine, mostly because we both grew up on the same television shows.

My sister, Annie, is still only eight, so Dad and I try to watch ourselves around her.

DAD: What the f**k did you just say?
ME: Nothing, Dad. Just that I hope--
DAD: I heard you.
STACEY: Big Kev, I got Annie that computer game she wanted.
DAD: I thought we weren't getting her anything until she started doing better in school?
ANNIE: Daddy, I love you.
DAD: Oh, never mind. Have fun with your game, sweetheart.

I could never have gotten away with that as a child. Girls can work magic with their fathers. My only magic was making my face transform into a smile when I said, 'Of course, Dad! Who wouldn't want to play soccer?'

I would have said something about him spoiling her, but--

ME: Yeah, Annie. Maybe you can show me how to play the game later.
ANNIE: Okay, Brother.

She still calls me 'Brother.' I'll admit, it melts me like ice cream in Key West.

DAD: What's going on with you? First you don't get mad at me for calling the fairy neighbor a queer, then you don't say anything about me spoiling your sister.
ME: Dad, it's your vocabulary and she's your daughter. Who am I to say anything?
DAD: Hey! I raised you to have an opinion about things!
ME: But you disagree with all my opinions!
STACEY: Can't we have one dinner without you two shouting at each other?
ME: Stacey, if you can tell me one band that was at Woodstock, I'll respect you forever.
STACEY: Um...The Bangles?
ME: Wow, I was worried for a second there.

My Dad speared a piece of roast and ate the whole thing without chewing.

DAD: You going to mention how all all this meat is killing me? All the fat? The grease? The carbs?
STACEY: There's no carbs in roast, Big Kev.
DAD: He knows what I'm talking about!
ME: Dad, eat a bowl of lard for all I care. I just want you and everyone else to be happy.

Annie laughed.

ANNIE: Brother, you crazy.
DAD: F**king right, he's crazy.
STACEY: Little Kev, tell your father not to swear in front of your sister.
ME: Now Stacey, it's his life.
DAD: Stacey, get me a bowl of lard!
ANNIE: Oh no! Daddy's going to eat lard.
ME: I'll just have the salad.

I haven't seen my father that mad since I told him that my fascination with wrestling had more to do with the tiny underwear than the athletic aspect of it.

CARLY: I've got a list of things I think you'll be horrified by, all right?
ME: And why do you have this list?
CARLY: Because we need to get you back on track.
ME: I am on track.
CARLY: Kevin, people expect certain things from you. Ugly shirts. Obscure literary references. And Judgment.
ME: That reminds me. I have to do a load of plaid later. Ha, that reminds me of a quote from Sister Noon by Karen Joy Fowler...
CARLY: Kevin, I once snorted baking soda.
ME: Um, why would you do that?
CARLY: I thought it would be cool.
ME: Carly, I don't believe you.
CARLY: All right, well...I also shot up heroin once.
ME: You hate needles.
CARLY: I killed a puppy.
ME: You love animals.
CARLY: It was an ugly puppy.
ME: This isn't going to work. This experiment is about making changes in my life, and whether or not everyone accepts it, this is a change that's not going anywhere. I'm not going to be judge and jury anymore. From now on, when people tell me their problems, I'm going to listen and do nothing else aside from be there for them.
CARLY: Wow. I don't know what to say that. Except...I slept with a married man.
ME: Carly--
CARLY: Two--no six! Six married men!

Oblivious as I can sometimes be, I thought giving up judging would only apply to my family and friends, but I never actually thought it would come into play in terms of my dating life--mostly because there isn't much of any at all.

It just so happened, however, that I had a date the following night.

This was a dilemma. I mean, on some level, you have to judge the person you're on a date with, to see if they're someone you want to pursue anything with, right? On the other hand, I had the tendency to judge too harshly. So what was I to do?

Then I had it.

I would be able to judge but only from a non-hypocritical standpoint--meaning--I could only rule this guy out as someone who was not a good match if he hadn't done anything that I already hadn't done (e.g. if he was an alcoholic--I don't drink, and I don't particularly want to date an alcoholic--so turning him down in that circumstance would be totally within my rights, but if he was a nail-biter or addicted to Flip This House, well I'd have to suck it up...not that I'd mind someone who likes Flip This House.)

The date started off really well. We were having a great conversation, when--as conversations usually do when I'm on a date--ours took a turn for the uncomfortable.

REESE: I'm very liberal sexually.
ME: Oh...are you?

I could feel a judgment coming on, but I fought it. After all, aren't I liberal sexually?

REESE: I think sex should be something people can talk about freely without being embarrassed.
ME: I agree.
REESE: For example, I find I can only get off when two other people are involved--not just one.

Okay, I guess I'm not that liberal.

ME: Is that so?
REESE: Yeah--I mean, does that shock you?

It can't. I can't shock me, because--well, I can't say I've never been involved with a threeway now can I? I mean, granted, that was awhile ago and I'm a new person now, but--

JUDGEY MCJUDGE PANTS!

ME: No, not at all. It's important to experiment, I think.
REESE: God, it's so nice to be out with someone who has an open mind about things.
ME: Thank you. I'm trying to be less judgmental.
REESE: I think that's terrific. You wouldn't believe what happened the last time I suggested to a guy that he come hook up with me and my boyfriend.
ME: Oh, I mean, I don't know about fooling around with a couple. I don't know if I'd--

You've done it before, Skanky, so keep your mouth shut.

ME: It's not something I'd do again, but people do...um...do it...with a couple...I guess.
REESE: You sound just like my boyfriend.
ME: Your boyfriend?
REESE: He was against one-night stands.
ME: Well, I--

No, you can't. Remember? Sitting in the car. Looking at the text message. How close were you you to going over--

ME: --Can't say anything about that, really. I can't judge, I mean.
REESE: He was against pornography as foreplay, too.

God, I'm a slut. Wait, now I'm judging myself. I can't win.

ME: To each his own.
REESE: But he still lets me have my threeways. That's why I stay with him.
ME: Stay with him? You mean you're still with him?
REESE: It's an open relationship.

Ding ding ding. An ungodly act I've never committed! Open relationships!

ME: I think I might want the check.

Even though I clearly had no future being the baloney in yet another open relationship sandwich, I still wondered if maybe I came off too judgey.

UNCLE WILL: I'm going to go with--
JEFF: No.
UNCLE WILL: Yes.
JEFF: Will, he's your nephew. You really want him being the bookmark in the page-turner?
ME: Okay, that's a new one.
UNCLE WILL: Jeff, he can't go around judging people in open relationships. Do you want him judging us?
ME: You guys promised that was over!
JEFF: It is! We just do it on holidays--all the holidays...even the Islamic ones.
UNCLE WILL: But in those cases only with actual Islams.
ME: Forget it. It's your...um...Hey, it's...oh screw it. Do what you want.
JEFF: Kevin, I know it's hard. But what you're doing is incredibly admirable.
UNCLE WILL: He's right, Kev. Stick with it. And every time you get the urge to judge, just remember, he who throws the first stone--
ME: Do you even know the last part of that or where it comes from?
JEFF: We ate Chinese last night. It might have been in a fortune cookie. But at least he got the right context.

That night after the date, I was exhausted. I came home and sank into the sofa. Mom was getting ready for work at the hospital.

MOM: I see not judging isn't working out so well.
ME: It's just going to take some time to get used to.
MOM: Why is this so important to you all of a sudden?
ME: Because I'm sick of people recoiling every time I open my mouth! And I'm sick of caring so much about stuff that's absolutely none of my business. And on top of all of that, I have no business judging anybody. I'm no saint.
MOM: You're a good boy. You're just a little obsessive sometimes.

Hmm...That sound...it...it sounds like...

A heriditary disorder.

ME: Although, I will say, as one final judgment, I know where I get my judgy ways from.
MOM: Your grandmother?
ME: You.
MOM: Me?
ME: Mom, you criticize everything about everyone.
MOM: That's not true.
ME: Everyone's terrified of you. Auntie Deidre didn't tell you she was getting a divorce until after it was already finalized.
MOM: If she didn't want to hear that she made a mistake, she shouldn't have made it in the first place.
ME: See! See what I mean!

Mom stopped ironing and shot me a look. A judgey look. The same look I've been giving to everybody I loved for god knows how long the minute they commit the slightest moral infraction.

MOM: Kevin, do you have any idea how many times I've had to hold this family together? Who do you think raised you to have a good moral compass?
ME: Yes, but you didn't need to do it by nagging and judging.
MOM: Maybe I did. Maybe somebody needs to say, 'No, that's wrong' or 'Don't do that. You'll regret it.' How else are people supposed to know what right and wrong is anymore?
ME: And who are you to tell them what right and wrong is?
MOM: That's the problem with the world you kids live in today. Everybody just goes around acting on every whim and fancy they have, and then they turn to their quote unquote friends and ask if they're doing the right thing and you all say 'Sure! Of course you are! Go ahead. Stick your head in the fire! You'll love it!' Because none of you are strong enough to risk losing somebody just to try and help them.

She came over to the couch to grab her pocketbook. I was stunned. Is this what my mother actually thought of my generation? That we were all wimps who couldn't stand up to one another and that we were all too sensitive to hear the truth?

I mean, for god's sakes, her generation wasn't that much better! I've seen The Big Chill! Those people were psychotic!

ME: I didn't know you had such disdain for me and my entire age group, Mom.
MOM: Honey, I don't. I think you kids just need to develop a tougher skin. When I was growing up, if somebody wasn't shouting at you, they didn't love you. They didn't care. And you took what they had to say and maybe you did want you wanted anyway, but you at least knew that there were people who cared enough about you to say something. People that were looking out for you. Now nobody looks out for anybody, everybody just looks out for themselves. Don't you be like that. Don't you only worry about yourself. You're better than that.

She kissed the top of my head and started to leave.

ME: The thing is...there are times when you should just say...'Hey, it's your life.'
MOM: Like when?
ME: Like when your son says, 'Ma, I'm gay.' You should say, 'Okay, honey. It's your life. I still love you. I won't...'

Mom came back and sat on the couch with me for a second. I could see she that her eyes had watered up a little. I had hit a sore spot. We'd come a long way since that great admission to her all those years ago, but for some reason I never stopped thinking that she was judging me. That she was thinking everything I did was wrong.

She put her hand on my hand and looked me right in the eye.

MOM: How's this for a judgment? Your mother was wrong. She said the wrong things because she thought she screwed you up and she blamed herself for that. And someone should have been there to say, 'Hey, leave the kid alone. He just wants your support. Stop being such a bitch.' But nobody was there. So she did what she did and she said what she said, and she was wrong. She's human. She's sorry. She loves you to death. And she thinks that because you are how you are, you're braver than she'll ever be.

I guess that's my Mom for you. At certain times, she'll say something and make you feel two inches high, and other times she'll praise you and you feel like you can float up into the clouds, but not matter what, you know she's telling you the truth and that she's saying what she's saying because--even though it might sting a little--she thinks you're worthy of nothing less.

Thou Shalt Love Thy Enemy

A few days ago, Allan's dog died.

For those of you who don't remember Allan, he's my archenemy. The Lex Luthor to my Superman. The Joker to my Batman. The Hillary Swank to my Annette Bening.

(Check out www.100dates100boys.blogspot.com if you need more background.)

I found out about Allan's dog via compulsive away message checking.

"R.I.P. Harry--the best dog in the world."

Now, I'm not a barbarian. I would never be glad to find out somebody's dog died. But in any situation involving Allan, it's normally incredibly difficult for me to rustle up anything more than indifference towards him.

But this time was different.

My goal with this whole experiment was to a be a better person. A good person. And good people don't hold grudges against someone whose just suffered the loss of a pet. (I'm a big-time animal-lover, and the mere thought of either one of my pets dying makes me shudder.) I was going to end this feud with Allan. No more cattiness, no more fighting, no more lighting his mailbox on fire...um....moving on--

I decided that life was simply too short to have enemies.

ADAM: Are you kidding? That's what life's all about!

My decision led to a conversation with Adam about life philosophies.

ADAM: My philosophy is--Everybody hates me anyway.
ME: That's your philosophy?
ADAM: Try it for yourself. Any time you're faced with a moral decision, think 'Everybody hates me anyway' and then make your choice. You'll find life becomes a lot less stressful.
ME: You find life is less stressful when you believe the entire world dislikes you?
ADAM: Think about it. When everybody likes you, you have certain standards and expectations to live up to, but when everybody hates you you can do whatever you want.
ME: Adam, have you been reading The Prince again?
ADAM: The point is, you've never gotten along with this kid. Why start now?
ME: Because I'm trying to be a good person. And good people are not universally hated.
ADAM: Yeah, but even superheros have a nemesis. Like the Olsen twins and the paparazzi.
ME: Did you just refer to the Olsen twins as superheroes?
ADAM: They were billionaires before they could eat solid food and now one's on Weeds and the other is pre-med. That kicks the s**t out of x-ray vision and super speed.

My plan to mend fences with Allan was simple. I was going to write him a sincere, compassionate e-mail where I would tell him how sorry I was to hear about Harry dying. Part of me wishes we still lived in a time where everyone did everything by letter. Everything seems so much more personal that way. Granted, I was sending him my condolences via aol, but nevertheless, it appeared so Victorian.

A few hours later I received a reply from Allan. I was expecting a "Thank you for your thoughts." What I got instead was a--

"F**k you. I hope you're happy. You've made my day that much worse."

Um...So much for Victorian sentiment.

ME: Maybe he thought I was making fun of him. Whenever you e-mail it's always difficult establishing a tone.
BETH: Maybe someone needs to put a cigarette out in his eye.

Beth was a little skittish after quitting smoking...again. Part of me really wanted to believe that the response from Allan had to do with my e-mail voice sounding like Hal from 2001.

ME: Beth, he's suffered a loss.
BETH: So have I! I've lost my favorite addiction!
ME: A tangible loss. I just feel so awful. He thinks I was digging at him.
BETH: Hey, at least you tried.
ME: Well, I'm going to have to think of something else.
BETH: Why is this so important to you? Lots of people like you. Who cares if this one person doesn't?
ME: Because it bothers me when people don't like me. Don't ask me why. It just does.
BETH: It's okay, honey. I feel the same way. I'm a total people pleaser.
ME: Is that why the last time someone asked you if you had a cigarette you told them you didn't speak English?
BETH: Que?
ME: It's pronounced like "Che."
BETH: S**t. Now my diction is going. I have to start smoking again.

While Beth planned on going back to an old friend, I planned on winning over my enemy. My Plan B? I was going to help Allan get past Harry dying with my own special arsenal--Self-Help literature.

My idea spawned from the fact that the library was having a book sale, which is always a good place for finding books on grieving and loss. Once people are done grieving, nobody wants to look at the books that helped them stop grieving anymore.

................

Yeah, I guess that sentence made sense.

While I was rummaging through boxes, I asked the library ladies what they thought of my predicament with Allan.

MARTHA: Tell him to stop being a #$%^. It's just a dog.
ME: Martha, how would you feel if one of your cats died?
MARTHA: Life wouldn't be worth living. But cats are different. They $%^& in the same place everyday.
ME: You're right. That makes them so much more worthy of love.

Millie was organizing the magazine section, while Daisy sorted the kids books.

DAISY: This book is filthy.
ME: It looks clean to me.
DAISY: No, I mean the content.
ME: What is it?
DAISY: Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret.
ME: Daisy, that book hasn't been controversial since 1974.
MARTHA: You forget, Kevin. She was still old back then.
DAISY: What's it about?
MILLIE: It's about a girl's aunt coming to visit.
DAISY: Well, that sounds nice. Maybe I made a snap judgment.

While Daisy learned about that time of the month from Judy Blume, I asked about methods of getting past a loved one dying. I thought maybe I could go to Allan with some heartfelt suggestions from the wiser generation.

DAISY: When my dog Lily died, I was devastated.
ME: And what helped you move on from that?
DAISY: My husband bought me another dog that looked like just her.
ME: But...I mean...that's not really Lily. That was another dog.
DAISY: Yeah, but it looked just like her so...you know...It was pretty much the same thing.
ME: Uh...huh.

The thought of buying Allan another dog crossed my mind, but golden retrievers can be a little pricey, plus I was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to keep one at his apartment.

MILLIE: If you really want to extend the olive branch to this guy, why not just call him so he can clearly hear that your intentions are pure?
ME: I just get so nervous when it comes to talking over the phone.
DAISY: Not only that, why would he want to give this guy an olive branch? Won't that just make him look strange? Or is that what you people do when one of your pets dies? You know, the boys who like boys people?
ME: Yes, Daisy. Whenever a homosexual experiences a loss, we bring tree branches and dance the mambo to show our grief.
DAISY: Really?
MARTHA: Will someone find her a jigsaw puzzle to put together, please?

When I finally got up the nerve to call Allan, he wasn't answering his phone. I knew our feud had been fiery in the past, but I didn't think he was holding this much of a grudge against me.

Another part of me realized that what Allan was going through had nothing to do with me, and maybe I was being selfish by trying to force him into a truce at this point in time. Even with that in mind, I was still really troubled that night at family dinner.

MOM: What's the matter? Don't you like your American chop suey?
ME: First of all, I'm almost positive you don't make American chop suey with ketchup. Second of all, I just have a lot on my mind.
ROGER: What's the problem, Kev?

That's my stepdad, Roger. He's a great guy. Very open-minded and incredibly rational. I figured if anyone would be a good guy to bounce my problem off of it would be him.

ME: Roger, I really want this person to forgive me, but I'm not sure what to do to make that happen.
DANNY: GTTB.
ME: Huh?
DANNY: Go to the Bible.
RORY: Oh Christ.
MOM: Rory!
RORY: What? Kevin says it all the time!

My mother glared at me.

MOM: See what you start?

This is what I get for letting my little brother read my blogs about gay dating just so he can look cool at school in front of the pre-teen hag set.

ME: I'm trying to have a conversation with my stepfather right now. If we could put the crazy on hold. I can't tell Allan to go to the Bible.
MOM: This is about Allan? Then tell him to go to Hell.
ME: Mom, his dog died.
MOM: So the poison worked?
ME and DANNY: MOM!
RORY: And she wonders where I get it from.

I smirked at my mother.

ME: You see what you start?

Roger raised his hands to indicate he had something to say. I'm not sure how he got himself into this family, but he doesn't yell...ever. It's incredibly uncomfortable.

ROGER: Kevin, you can't force someone to forgive you. And forgiveness should come with no strings attached--including your own personal relief at being forgiven.
ME: You're right, Roger. I just can't stand knowing there's nothing I can do to resolve a situation.
DANNY: Take comfort in knowing that if he doesn't forgive you he's sinning against God.
RORY: Because that's something you can take to the bank along with the Invisible Man and Santa Clause.
DANNY: Mom, Rory's mocking my belief system again.
MOM: Honey, you want to be religious, expect to be ridiculed.
RORY: Damn straight.
MOM: And Rory, the ridiculing is going to cost you. You're doing the dishes and you're coming to church with me and your brother next week.
DANNY: I'm not sure he can step inside the place without turning into ash.
ME: Hey, has anyone ever held a grudge against you, Mom?

The phone rang. Mom got up to get it.

MOM: Kevin, grudges are pointless and petty. Only small people hold grudges.

She answered the phone.

MOM: What? No. Forget it. Please, I'll hate you until I die. Kevin, it's your father.

I took the phone.

ME: Hey Dad.
DAD: I heard about the dog.
ME: How?
DAD: Your brother told me.
ME: Which one?
DAD: The crazy one.
ME: I'm going to need you to be more specific.
DAD: The one I slip a twenty to whenever I see him.

I held my hand over the mouthpiece.

ME: Rory, please stop giving my Dad information about my personal life.
RORY: And watch the twenties stop? I don't think so.
MOM: You're coming to church the week after next week, too.
DANNY: You're only punishing me by doing that, you know.

I could hear my Dad's voice take on a firm tone.

DAD: Why are you trying to get this guy's forgiveness? Have a little pride.
ME: You know, I would hope that if anything awful happened to anyone I cared about, everyone would have at least a little sympathy for me.
DAD: Kevin, you want sympathy? It's right before 'stupid' in the dictionary.
ME: That's not true, but continue your thought, Dad.
DAD: All I'm saying is that your goal in life shouldn't be to make people like you. It should be to make people respect you. And when people respect you they're not always going to like you, and that doesn't matter. You think everybody like Condi?
ME: Do you mean Condoleeza Rice or Ghandi?
DAD: The Indian one.
ME: Ghandi, okay. I can't wait to hear this one.
DAD: Lots of people hated him, but now he's revered in history as being a great man. Any person worth anything is going to piss people off at some point in their life.
ME: Sort of like the Dixie Chicks?
DAD: Oh, are they still around? I hate them!

Usually after family dinner, I need a little decompression time. I went to Coffee Exchange to read the new Khaled Hosseini book when who should walk in--thank you Rhode Island for your tricky ways--but Allan.

He saw me and immediately walked out of the place. I dropped A Thousand Splendid Suns and ran after him. I caught up with him halfway up Wickenden street.

ME: Allan, hold up!
ALLAN: I wish I had something I could throw back at you to slow you down!
ME: I have some stuff in my pocket that might work.
ALLAN: I just want to be left alone!
ME: Okay, okay, Greta Garbo.
ALLAN: That's not who said that.
ME: I'm not trying to make you mad. I just wanted to let you know how sorry I was that you took my 'I'm sorry' for something other than a genuine 'I'm sorry.'
ALLAN: I knew it was genuine.
ME: What?

He stopped and turned around.

ALLAN: I said I knew it was genuine.
ME: Then why were you so mean when you wrote back?
ALLAN: Because I don't need your f**king pity, Kevin. I have friends and family to make me feel better when life sucks. So just leave me alone.

With that, he turned and walked off, and this time I didn't follow him.

CARLY: He'll never work in this town again.
ME: Because that's a real punishment.

Carly was the first one I called after my altercation with Allan. Lately I was finding myself doing something I've never done before--

Defending Allan.

ME: He's in a lot of pain. It was evident all over his face.
CARLY: You could see his face while he was running away from you?
ME: I could sense it. It was more a feeling, I guess--
CARLY: Kevin, let Mr. McWhiny Pants grieve all he wants for little Hugo--
ME: Harry.
CARLY: Whatever. He needs to learn to accept forgiveness into his life or risk people thinking he excretes mucus from various parts of his body.
ME: Carly, don't bother blackballing him.
CARLY: Why not? I've already gotten a focus group together to figure out which rumors would do the most damage.
ME: Don't bother because anything awful that can be done to Allan has already been done by me. So just don't worry about it.
CARLY: Fine, but if you ever want to start thinking outside the box in regards to character assassination give me a call.
ME: Will do.

Slowly it was beginning to dawn on me. Why should Allan want to mend things with me? We'd done some horrible things to each other. Unforgivable things. We'd said things that could never be taken back. At times our hatred for each other was almost biblical. So why should he just put everything to rest now because I wanted to?

The next day I was checking away messages and this was what came up when I checked on Allan's.

"Burying Harry after work today at my Mom's. Come pay your respects if you like."

I thought I'd give this one more shot. I typed in:

"I don't mean to bug you, but if you wouldn't mind me being there, I'd like to go."

And a few minutes later I got back:

"Okay. It'll be at five."

It seemed like my persistence might have actually paid off, but now what was I going to do? Was this going to be an actual funeral? I'm awful at funerals. I never know what to say, and for the most part I avoid them like the plague. But this was going to be for a dog. Was there going to be a viewing beforehand? Was someone going to sing? What do you sing for a dog?

JOEY: Probably something from All Dogs Go to Heaven.
ME: You mean like 'You Can't Keep a Good Dog Down'?

Meet my friend Joey. He's the sweetest guy I know. Very caring and considerate. He's also one of those people who everybody likes, so I figured it was a good idea to ask him how I should conduct myself at the funeral.

JOEY: Bring doggie snacks.
ME: But Harry's dead, Joey.
JOEY: Yeah, so? You should bury him with things he loved in life.
ME: I don't know what he loved though.
JOEY: What about bacon? Every dog loves bacon.
ME: Yeah, but I don't think Allan would want to bury his dog with raw bacon.
JOEY: You could cook it.
ME: I'm sure Allan wants this event to be as somber as possible.
JOEY: Are you going to wear black?
ME: Of course I am. I'm Portuguese.
JOEY: I mean, to show mourning.
ME: Yeah, that too.

The funeral was in Allan's Mom's backyard. When I arrived, Harry was already buried. The dirt was fresh over his grave. Allan was sitting on the spot just looking straight ahead. I approached him and wondered if I had missed the whole affair.

ME: I'm sorry. I thought you said five.
ALLAN: I did.
ME: So...where's everyone else?
ALLAN: I guess nobody actually wanted to go to a dog funeral.
ME: I'm sorry, Allan.
ALLAN: How ironic. With all my friends, the person who showed up today is the one person I don't get along with at all.
ME: I was hoping we could change that.
ALLAN: Kevin, it's not that I don't want to be your buddy. It's just that very few things in my life make sense anymore, and the one thing that does is that you and I don't get along. For some reason, that gives me comfort. No, more than that, it gives me a drive. I have an opposite. I have someone I want to be better than in life. For some reason, you and I always going at each other has made my life better. It keeps things balanced.

He stood up and looked down at the grave.

ALLAN: Harry was good for that, too.

I took out a piece of paper I had in my pocket.

ME: I printed this. It's from one of my favorite podcasts--This I Believe, on NPR. It's about dogs. I thought you might want to hear it.
ALLAN: Sure. You can read it if you want.

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=14415923

At the end, Allan looked pretty touched. I was glad that maybe something I had done in the past few days wasn't a complete failure.

He didn't seem to know what to say at first, then put his hand on my shoulder and said:

ALLAN: I was making burgers inside. Do you want to come have one?
ME: Sure.

Hey, it's a step in the right direction, right?

JEFF: I love This I Believe! I wrote an entry for them once about my belief in good hygiene before a first date, but I don't think the metaphor was expressed well enough.
UNCLE WILL: Yeah, deodorant on NPR can be a tough sell.

I was bouncing Allan's reason for keeping me as his enemy off Uncle Will and Jeff while they prepped for a dinner party at their house.

UNCLE WILL: I can understand what Allan is saying. Every guy needs someone he can judge himself against. That's how he knows how far he's come.
ME: What about just having a sense of personal accomplishment? Why do you need to be better than a specific person?
JEFF: It's just guys for you, Kevin. We're all so competitive. Remember when I entered that blueberry pie contest last year? I was a total madman.
UNCLE WILL: He still hasn't forgiven Grandma for not reading him her recipe right over the phone.
JEFF: She said TWO CUPS! 'Two' and 'four' sound nothing alike!
ME: I just don't see why you someone would need to watch someone else fail in order to feel better about their successes.
UNCLE WILL: You do live in America, right, Kev?

While I was eating burgers with Allan, we talked about old times. And surprisingly, a lot of those times weren't so bad. The funny thing is, as I was sitting there, I realized that I know more about Allan than I do some of my really good friends. How is that possible?

ALLAN: It's because you make an effort to learn all about your enemies. You don't really try that hard with your friends.
ME: Yeah, I guess you're right. There's a lesson in there somewhere, but I have a feeling it translates into both of us being lousy friends.
ALLAN: Just admit it, Kevin. Having me in your life has been a lot of fun, and it's because of the volatile relationship we've had.
ME: It's made life more interesting, I'll give you that.
ALLAN: It's just funny to me that you always want life to be like a tv show, yet in the best tv shows there's never a moment where the two enemies are sitting together eating hamburgers after attending a pet's funeral.

Maybe he was right. But then again, part of me could see the camera panning away from the two young men. One still glancing down every now again and at a dish reading 'Harry' that was never going to be used again, and the other reaching across the table to hand the first the ketchup.

Ceasefires may not make good tv, but they're necessary all the same.

Thou Shalt...Um...Explain

So I got a response to the last entry that I, in turn, responded to (I do that sometimes) because though this is a public forum where I should expect that people will, at times, respond to what I've written unfavorably, I also think of it as a two-way street, meaning I might have an unfavorable response to your unfavorable response--welcome to blogocracy.

Granted, I don't want to get into sniping matches with everyone who thinks I'm a tool. After all, who wants to argue with their family that much? (Ba dum bum.)

In this case, what I have to say isn't even unfavorable. It's just a response that I thought I should put in case any of you feel the same way the person responding to what I wrote did. The comment is under the last entry, and it has to do with perception and reality.

This was what I wrote back:

So, since I had way too much free time at work today, I looked up the perception-reality saying and found a colossal philosophical argument about whether perception is reality. I found this kind of ridiculous, since perception can only be one person's reality, but not necessarily (actually, almost definitively) objective reality. I don't try to achieve that with the blog I write. It's not me stating "This is what happened. Believe me. Side with me." It's just what I feel, what I think, what I experienced. That being said, I also try to be fair with what I write. I went back and read the entry, and I don't think that it's in any way bashing anyone. It's an entry about an argument between two people who used to be close. A person can read it and think whatever they want. I do know--from countless English papers--that readers tend to identify aka sympathize with the narrator, but I've had people take me on about stuff I've written before.

I guess the reason I was writing to you is to say that my goal with writing what I wrote wasn't to absolve myself or try to make myself look like a victim. When I write, I usually write to try and make sense of things since a lot of times with people (including myself) things can seem frustratingly illogical. In this case, it was more the situation than anything else.

I'm not sure you're going to bother reading this whole message, but after reading everything I did about perception, reality and delusion I guess I'd have to say what I wrote was probably a mix of all three, but it was also how I felt; it wasn't meant to be something catty or clever. I can't represent any side of any story but mine, and you know what they say about sides to a story...

Kevin

And that about does it.

Thou Shalt Not Speak His Name

I stopped saying his name sometime after midnight.

"Him" being a guy I used to date. You know who he is--those of you who read the other blog. The wonderful, generous, incredible person who everybody just loved--was really pissing me off.

After a particularly nasty argument via text (he would never call me during arguments like this, only because he knows it's easier for me to rationalize when I'm talking about something, and at that moment, he didn't want rationale), I decided enough was enough. He had accused me of doing something I didn't, and that was the one thing I can't stand.

When you've screwed up and admitted to it as much as I have, you get really defensive when you haven't screwed up and someone still thinks you have.

This was all after a long, drawn out battle to try and be friends with someone based on who they used to be. He was no longer who I used to know, he was someone else with new priorities, new ways of looking at things, and a hardened sensibility that it made it easy for him to forget that for eight months we meant an awful lot to each other.

It was then I realized that I had found yet another bad habit in need of breaking.

No more trying to mend, repair, fix, contort, reason or beat this dead horse anymore. There could be no friendship right now. It was time to stop.

ADAM: A-f**king-men.

Adam once again manages to bring sacrilege to a whole new level.

ADAM: You pounded this thing into the ground long enough.
ME: I just don't see why we can't be friends.
ADAM: Well, nobody else has ever had that problem, except for everyone whose ever dated anyone.
ME: Wait a second, I'm confused. Are you trying to be supportive?
ADAM: I'm saying let him move to Crazytown, and don't send him any postcards.

That's right. He's moving to Florida with someone he's known for a month. He quit his job, he's getting a puppy, life is good for him.

ADAM: It's easy to think you're happy when you're crazy. It's one of the upsides of schizophrenia.
ME: He's not schizophrenic. He's just trying to figure out his life.
ADAM: Can you add 'defending a**holes who treat me like s**t' to the list of things you're not going to do anymore?
ME: He's really not an a**hole though--
ADAM: I'm hanging up now.
ME: You don't have any advice for me at all?
ADAM: Um...A boy like that...he kill your brother...forget that boy...and find another...
ME: Okay, now I'm hanging up.

It's funny what you miss when you determine that someone will no longer be in your life.

For some reason that night, when I went to bed, I missed having someone there. That warmth. That presence. The feeling that I was safe. He and I hadn't slept together in over a month, but some reason that night it really hit me that we wouldn't be sleeping next to each other ever again.

It's funny how just knowing someone is there means you don't really have to think about them too much, but knowing they're not there and can't be there makes you think about them all the time.

Suddenly everything was attached to something else. Cheap VH1 reality shows that I used to watch with him seemed pointless, whereas before they were "a night in" complete with pasta and cuddling on the couch. Inside jokes disappeared. Good memories took on a sting. I had to resist the urge to say "that reminds me of when--" because otherwise I'd be saying it twenty times a day. By trying to erase him, I had installed him everywhere.

I felt embarrassed by the hard time I was having with this. But then I assured myself that it wouldn't be easy for anyone to cut someone out of their life the way he and I had cut each other out of ours.

Seeking that understanding, I turned to the two most wonderful women in my life--my mother and grandmother. Both had divorced and remarried--and even then my grandmother's second marriage didn't take. Surely they would know the pain of letting someone go.

GRANDMA: The day your grandfather left my house, I made margaritas and danced to Tony Orlando.
ME: Is she serious?
MOM: It might have been Neil Sedaka, but yes, she's serious.

They were getting ready to go to bingo--their favorite Thursday night activity. My mother was doing her hair, which in true Johnston fashion meant she was putting enough hairspray on her scalp to set off an alarm in Al Gore's bedroom.

ME: But there must have been something you missed about him?
GRANDMA: I missed the five years I couldn't get back. That's what I missed.
ME: But--
GRANDMA: You're too skinny. Aren't you feeding him, Connie?
MOM: Ma, I made him lasagna yesterday.
ME: She did, Grandma.
GRANDMA: Was there meat in it? He needs to eat meat.
MOM: There was meat in it.
GRANDMA: I'm going to make you some ham.
ME: Grandma, I don't need ham.
MOM: I can make my son ham if he wants ham.
GRANDMA: You don't know how to make ham.
MOM: Who doesn't know how to make ham?
GRANDMA: I make good ham.
MOM: It's ham!

This was getting me nowhere.

ME: You didn't miss your second husband either?
GRANDMA: Him even less. It was probably easier seeing him go because I had practice the first time around.
MOM: Your grandmother can have a heart of stone when she wants to.
GRANDMA: Stone's the only thing that doesn't break.
ME: Actually, it can if you have a sledge--never mind. I should have just savored that statement.
GRANDMA: Why are you so worried? You're young. There's a lot of fish in the sea.
ME: Yeah, but the more I date the more polluted the sea looks.
GRANDMA: You'll get past this, sweetie. Just give it time.

Unfortunately, I'd heard those cliches from everyone I knew, and they weren't doing me much good.

ME: What about you, Mom? How'd you get past Dad?

My mother sort of winced. She briefly stopped the onslaught of hair teasing (yes, my mom still teases her hair--she also listens to Warrant and watches reruns of Square Pegs), and gave me a sort of sad look, which quickly became defiant.

MOM: I don't like talking about it.

And with that, they were ready for bingo.

BETH: Honey, I'm sorry you're so upset.
ME: It's okay, Beth. I'm sure time will help.
BETH: Trust me, if I can give up smoking; you can give up him.
ME: You gave up smoking?
BETH: Any day now.
ME: But I don't--
BETH: I'm waiting for a really low-stress day, so that it won't be too challenging when I quit. For awhile it looked like November 1st was going to be a good day, but then I'm going to have all that Thanksgiving stress--
ME: That's the thing, though. I can't decide when to quit him. I have to quit him now. He wouldn't talk to me now even if I wanted him to.
BETH: That's why I prefer men to cigarettes. You tell the cigarettes when you're ready to quit, not the other way around.
ME: And also because just when you think you're through with them, you try one and pretty soon you're going through a pack a day?
BETH: Or like how sometimes you can't wait until after sex to smoke, so you smoke during it?

Awkward silence.

ME: I didn't really...um....no.
BETH: Oh. Anyway, got to go.
ME: Bye now.

Determined to find someone who could give me some tips of quitting cold turkey, I asked the ladies at work for their opinion.

Upon walking into the library, I found all of the women wearing "Kiss Me" shirts.

ME: Uh... Why?
MILLIE: Before you say anything, yours is underneath the desk.
ME: I don't understand.
MARTHA: The boss has decided the library needs to be friendlier. He asked me to come up with a way to make us more personable.
ME: What the f**k is he talking about? We're super personable! What a jackass.

Hmm, perhaps the library atmosphere does tend to make some of us a little spinster-y.

ME: So the shirts are--
MARTHA: The shirts were Daisy's idea.
DAISY: What's friendlier than a 'Kiss Me' shirt?
ME: But what if people actually try to kiss us?
MARTHA: That's why I brought this in--

She held up a can of mace.

ME: Couldn't this fall under some sort of policy infringement?
MILLIE: Probably, but we have to wear the shirts until one of us reads the policy and figures out what rule we're breaking by wearing them.
ME: Meaning we're going to wear them forever.
MARTHA: You got it.
DAISY: I think Martha and Millie are just mad because mine's a medium and they both needed a large. Hehe...
MARTHA: You're right. I wish I could store all my fat in my a** the way you do, Daisy.

I put on my "Kiss Me" t-shirt and got to work.

ME: Hey Martha, how did you get over your husband?
MARTHA: I put the car in reverse.
ME: No, I mean--how did you emotionally move past him?
MARTHA: Alimony.
ME: Did you ever miss him?
MARTHA: No, his money kept me company.

It was becoming increasingly clear that all the women figures in my life were...um...bitter.

MILLIE: Trying to get past someone, Kev?
ME: Yeah, and it's not going so hot.
DAISY: The only real way to get over someone is to go out and find someone else. Then bring that person to where you know the old person is and get them jealous. That's how you find true happiness.
ME: Really? That sounds kind of petty.
MARTHA: Just because she looks like Yoda doesn't mean she can dole out sage wisdom.

I did think that half of what Daisy said made sense. I needed to move on with my life, and that meant meeting new people and forgetting old ones.

Luckily, I was going to have some help with that.

CARLY: I have the perfect idea to spice up your dating life.

My friend Carly is absolutely fantastic. If Ari from Entourage and Carrie Bradshaw had a child it would be her. She's blonde, gorgeous, and fiercely loyal to her friends. When I needed some ideas on finding Mr. Right, Carly was the first person I turned to.

CARLY: The first thing we need to do is complete make-over.
ME: Carly, I've tried that before.
CARLY: But this time we're going to make it fun. A competition.
ME: A competition?
CARLY: Deadline November 1st. 'Make Over Broccoli.'
ME: How will people know it's not a Velveeta commercial?
CARLY: We can take photos of you. You can put the whole thing on your blog. People can vote for a winner. It'll be huge.
ME: And you think this will help me meet a decent guy?
CARLY: Kevin, the better you look, the better you do. They've done studies.
ME: Whose done studies?
CARLY: Who the f**k knows? But it's common knowledge. So, make a post. "Thou Shalt Make Over--"
ME: Yeah, yeah. I get it. In the meantime, I have a date tonight, so I should get going.
CARLY: Remember. Show off your best features.
ME: What do you think those would be?
CARLY: Definitely your jawline.
ME: So I should...
CARLY: Chew gum. Lots of gum.
ME: Thanks Carly.
CARLY: Love you, doll!

My date was with this really laidback guy named Taylor. We went out for drinks (or rather, him for drinks, me for atmosphere) and instantly ran into trouble.

The shirt I had worn to work was absolutely hideous (libraries don't really call for style) so I just wore the t-shirt I had under it--that's right, the 'Kiss Me' t-shirt.

Everyone kept commenting on it, and a few people actually tried acting on it. I ended up turning it inside out so that we could have a real conversation. I had let Taylor know I was still getting over someone when he asked me out.

TAYLOR: So this guy--
ME: Oh, let's not talk about him.
TAYLOR: Painful?
ME: No, just unnecessary.
TAYLOR: Gotcha.
ME: I'm sure everybody has a story like mine.
TAYLOR: Are you kidding? I'm going through a story like yours.
ME: Beg your pardon?

It turns out Taylor was in a relationship he just couldn't let go of either--albeit for trickier reasons. He and his ex-boyfriend worked together, lived together, and went to school together, so it was really hard to put a period at the end of things.

ME: Well, that's understandable.
TAYLOR: It's also that, well, I mean...it sucks to be alone, right?

Wow, finally someone understood why I couldn't move on--too bad it was the person who was supposed to be helping me move on.

ME: It does, in fact, suck.
TAYLOR: I mean, there's a lot of s**t wrong with Nicky--that's his name--Nicky. He's a complete loser, but I mean, he's something, you know?
ME: Yeah.
TAYLOR: Even when I know I wouldn't miss him, I know I'd miss having someone there.
ME: But if he's there, that means nobody else can ever be there.
TAYLOR: I guess it's a question of whether or not you're willing to take that chance. That someone else could be there, because I mean, someone could also not be.

...And sometimes you don't have a choice.

UNCLE WILL: If you really want to get the guy back, put out a rumor that you're dying. It always works.
ME: Okay, granted, I don't want to get him back, I just want to move past him, but just out of curiosity, what happens when you don't die?
UNCLE WILL: Oh, by that time you're back together, he loves you again, and he doesn't care that you lied.
ME: That could never work.
JEFF: Actually it does...occasionally.

I had placed a conference call to my Uncle and his boyfriend in Boston to see if they had any tips for me.

JEFF: You're on the right track, Kev. Just find stuff to distract yourself and eventually you'll be fine.
ME: What kind of stuff do you recommend?
UNCLE WILL: Casual sex.
JEFF: Will!
ME: I know, Uncle Will! Geez. How about you Jeff, any thoughts?
JEFF: Oh, I think casual sex is a great idea. I was yelling at Will because he's not using a coaster.

The next day I went over my mom's house for, you guessed it, ham.

On the way in, I stopped to see how my brother Rory was doing. If Danny was a the religious one in the family, Rory was the black sheep that couldn't be found. He's constantly in trouble, and what's worse, he has the charm to get out of almost all of it.

My mom had told me that he had just broken up with a girl the day before and that the poor thing was calling the house at all hours of the night begging to speak to Rory.

I should mention that he's 14.

ME: Rory, don't you think you should talk to this girl?
RORY: Why?
ME: To make her feel better?
RORY: Why is it my job to make her feel better?
ME: Because you hurt her.
RORY: I don't like her anymore. That's not my fault.
ME: But it would be nice if you could help make this easier for her.
RORY: Won't she get past it faster if I just leave her alone? Like that time I got punished for locking Danny in the shed and I couldn't watch football for a week? At first it really sucked, but after a few days I didn't really miss it anymore.

Leave it to my brother to use football as an analogy for getting over heartbreak. Danny walked by as we were conversing.

DANNY: Rory, somehow your ex-girlfriend got my cell phone number and she keeps calling it.
RORY: That b***h is crazy.
ME: Hey, watch your g******ed mouth!
DANNY: Kevin!
ME: Sorry. I can't believe you don't feel bad for this girl. Danny, do you see what I'm saying?
DANNY: I don't date. I've given my life to God.

Oh f**k me sideways.

ME: Rory, I'm talking about the difference between being a caring, considerate person and being a complete jerk!
RORY: It sounds like you're talking about the difference between being a guy and a girl.

Okay, that one stung. Not gonna lie.

ME: Danny, religion him! Quick!
DANNY: Kevin, I've just taken solace in knowing he doesn't hurt small animals for fun.
RORY: Well...not anymore.

I retreated to the dinner table where my Mom was doing her Avon order. She could tell I was upset, so she asked what was wrong.

ME: I just feel like I've failed at a lot of stuff, Mom.
MOM: Just because of that guy?
ME: It's just--you invest yourself into something so that when it doesn't work out, how can you help but think that it's probably because there was something wrong with you?

My mom sat down next to me at the kitchen table and looked me right in the eye.

MOM: Are you aware that when I was your age I had a child, no husband, a one-bedroom apartment with a mouse, a lousy job, and an ex-husband who--Well, you know your father.
ME: Yeah, I do
MOM: I was embarrassed about it for a long time, and a big part of me still is. That's why I don't like to talk about it. You'll find that your life is going to end a thousand times before it actually does. You'll think you have nothing, and everything will be taken away from you.

.........Silence.........

ME: And?
MOM: That's pretty much it.
ME: Great. Do you think you could get me a noose or a sharpened knife?
MOM: What I'm trying to say is, even with all that, I'm here. You haven't failed if you're still going, and you're still going. When you feel like you've got nothing else to be proud of, be proud of that. That you're still in it.
ME: Yeah, I'm in it all right. I'm in a rut.
MOM: Above all else, remember this. My son is not a failure. He's a smart, handsome boy and he's tough as nails like his mother. Now eat your ham.

She kissed me on the head and that was that.

ME: But wait, how long does it take until you stop being upset towards the person who hurt you?
MOM: Oh, it varies.

The phone rang. She picked it up.

MOM: Hello? No, I was just telling Kevin how you destroyed my life.
ME: Is that Dad?
MOM: Yeah, it's him.

I took the phone.

DAD: Do you want me to break his legs?
ME: Who told you?
DAD: Your grandmother.
ME: Since when do you talk to grandma?
DAD: I loaned her money for bingo.
ME: You did what?
MOM: Has he been giving your grandmother bingo money again?
ME: Dad, she's your ex-mother-in-law.
DAD: Yeah, and I keep her on the take, what's wrong with that?
MOM: I'm going to kill her!
DAD: Where does this guy live?
ME: Dad, as much as I appreciate you threatening to physically harm someone for me, I'm a big boy. I can handle myself.
DAD: All right, but make sure you eat. You grandmother said you looked skinny.
ME: Mom made me dinner tonight.
DAD: What'd she make you?
ME: Ham.
DAD: Your mother can't make ham.
MOM: Is he saying something about my ham?
ME: Hey Dad, you ever feel bad about what you did to Mom?
DAD: Every day, kiddo. But don't tell the witch that.
MOM: What'd he say?
ME: He said he wishes he'd done more.
MOM: Son-of-a-bitch!

I have a dream.

In the dream, it's thirty years from now. I'm 53. There's a barbecue going on with lots of people. Family. Friends. My kids. Maybe grandkids. Pets. Neighbors. Suburbia.

I'm making burgers on the grill. There's a pool with people splashing in it. Music is playing from a stereo that somebody brought out onto the porch.

There's laughing. Drinking. Eating. It's heaven.

Then it's night. The house is empty, messy from the people going in and out of it all day. I don't care. I'm in pajamas. I hear music. I go downstairs where there's a piano in my living room. Someone's sitting at the piano playing a song. I know the song, but I don't know it.

I sit next to him. It's a him, by the way.

ME: So you're Mr. Right?
MR. RIGHT: You are correct, sir.
ME: I thought you'd be taller.
MR. RIGHT: So did I.
ME: I was just kidding.
MR. RIGHT: So I can play piano?
ME: Piano and guitar.
MR. RIGHT: Already your hopes are a little on the high side.

I want to get a good look at him. I want to memorize everything about him, but I can't. I just keep listening to the music. And strangely, it seems like it's all a reminder. That I won't really be worrying about anything that I worried about before I went to sleep even a year from now. That there are always things to look forward to. New people to meet. New paths to walk down.

And the perfect guy sitting at a piano in a messy house plunking out heaven.

It was then that I said to goodnight to someone whose name I would not say again for a very long time...

Thou Shalt Abandon the Crutch of Caffeine

On Monday, I gave up caffeine.

Although I have yet to get the nails fully under control, the train has to keep rolling one way or another, and caffeine was next up on my list of things to go.

ADAM: Why do you keep making your life suck more than it already does?

Always count on Adam to turn a phrase.

ME: I just don't like the fact that without at least two cups of coffee every day I can't function until 4pm.
ADAM: That just makes you normal, which means you should cling to it for dear life.
ME: Some people jog in the morning. They make breakfast. They're coherent at 9am. I want to be one of those people.
ADAM: Those people are called freaks. You're not taking into consideration the fact that you're a night owl.
ME: I have taken that into consideration actually. I'm thinking of scaling back my late hours.
ADAM: You mean you'll be in bed before 3am?
ME: Probably before 1am even.
ADAM: Great. We'll never speak again.

I should probably mention that this conversation took place at 12:36 am. That meant I had to be getting to bed soon...but first I needed to get caught up on Weeds...then read some Cormac McCarthy...then...oh damn...

Cut to me waking up at 6am after going to bed at 4am.

ME: I don't care. I will not drink coffee. I don't need coffee.

I decided to go for a jog. The thing is...jogging is pretty boring with nobody to talk to. So I decided to bring my friend Beth along.

Beth is incredibly energetic, so I figured she'd be ideal to take along for a brisk morning jog. She's like an old Hollywood agent, a real pro at a lot of things. She's also a great support system and hearing her laugh tends to make my day. Of course, I didn't count on the fact that I've never actually seen or talked to Beth before 2pm.

BETH: Hello?
ME: Beth, it's me.
BETH: Oh my God...the brightness.
ME: Relax. It's just morning.
BETH: What--is that the taste in my mouth? Is that morning? Am I tasting morning?
ME: It's 6:30.
BETH: AM?
ME: Yeah.
BETH: Jesus Christ, I need a cigarette.

Click. Silence.

ME: Hello?

Well, there goes that.

Instead of a jog, I decided to make myself a healthy breakfast. Unfortunately I couldn't find anything in the house that didn't have the word "processed" in front of it. My mother walked into the kitchen as I was trying to decide whether or not frosted flakes could be considered part of a vitamin-rich morning meal.

MOM: Uh...
ME: Good morning.
MOM: Are you sleepwalking?
ME: Yes, Mom. I make pancakes in my sleep.
MOM: It's not even noon yet.
ME: I know. I'm trying to be more of a morning person.
MOM: So you're going to need coffee?
ME: I gave up coffee.
MOM: What about men?
ME: They'll be the next to go.
MOM: Good. They're all scum.
ME: Mom, you're married.
MOM: So then I don't have to say 'Ask a woman who knows.'

My phone rang. It was my Dad. I had phoned him earlier to say something like--

'Happy Morning, Dad! Um...I'm awake...This is awkward.'

DAD: Are you on drugs?
MOM: Whose that?
ME: Dad.
MOM: Is he one of the men you're giving up?
DAD: Why are you up so early?
ME: I decided to see a new world.
DAD: You sound like a chain letter.
MOM: Tell him you've given up coffee. He could never do that.
DAD: What's she saying I could never do?
ME: She's saying you could never give up coffee like I have.
MOM: That isn't all he could never do...
ME: Okay, you can curb that right there, Aunt Sassy.

I had tried to make my pancakes look like Mickey Mouse, but instead they had gelled together and now they looked like a cross between Mickey Mouse and the Elephant Man.

ME: Damn, I just screwed up Mickey.
DAD: Whose Mickey? Are you seeing a guy named Mickey?
MOM: It's not that bad. Mickey just looks like he has a brain tumor.
DAD: Why are you giving up all this stuff? Are you trying to tell us something? Is this a cry for help? Are you going to commit suicide because you're gay?
ME: Yes, Dad. I can't take living in a world without Judy anymore.
DAD: Judge Judy? She's on at four every day!
MOM: You know, this boy on Lifetime committed suicide right after he came out of the closet.
ME: First off, that boy was Chad Lowe, and he wasn't real. Secondly, would everyone please stop talking about suicide?
MOM: Sorry, I was trying to plant a seed in your father's head.
DAD: What did Cruella just say?
ME: It's too early in the morning for this.

So I went into work a little bit early. There I was greeted by Miss Julia.

ME: Ahhhhh!

I should probably mention that Miss Julia was a ferret running around behind the circulation desk.

ME: What the hell is that?
DAISY: Martha turned Millie into a ferret...because she's a witch? Get it?

Giggle giggle.

MARTHA: Keep telling that joke. It never gets old.
ME: Where is Millie?
MARTHA: Downstairs getting coffee.
ME: Oh God, there's coffee.

I could already smell it. It smelled like a beckoning cabana boy and strawberry cheesecake all at once...Must be a new blend.

Meanwhile, the ferret was playing with what I believed to be the New Book stamp.

ME: Once again, what the hell is that?
DAISY: It belongs to my grandson. I'm taking care of it while he's in school. I thought we could make it the library pet.
ME: Daisy, every time a rodent comes near me, I have to shower for four hours with brilo pads. Could you please put it in your car or something?
DAISY: In this heat?
ME: Okay, I realize that's inhumane.
DAISY: You're not kidding! I'd have to ride home with the car smelling like ferret!

Millie arrived from the staff room with two mugs of coffee.

MILLIE: I heard you come in, so I got your coffee.
ME: I can't drink it, Millie. I've given it up.
MARTHA: What are you a Jehovah witness now?
ME: No, Martha, I think even they can drink coffee.
MILLIE: Guess I'll have to drink both cups. I even made it with half a hot chocolate mix like you like it.

I call it "Wake Me Up, Chocolate!" ...Clearly, I'm incredibly lame.

Miss Julia (I would find out her name later after Daisy made her an ID card and put it around her neck) started rubbing up against my legs. I jumped onto the Circulation desk and shrieked.

DAISY: Don't be a baby. It's just furry and friendly.
MARTHA: You work with Daisy all the time, you should be used to it.
DAISY: Martha, don't be jealous just because the ferret gets played with more than you do...

Millie noticed that I was slowly sliding down onto the Circulation desk into a lying down position.

MILLIE: Are you okay?
ME: Yeah, I'm just a little tired.
DAISY: Drink the coffee.
ME: No.
MARTHA: Kevin, you can't be asleep at work.
ME: I work at a library. Who would notice?
MARTHA: I can't argue with that.
DAISY: I think I might be asleep now!

Giggle giggle.

Throughout the day I escaped into the stacks to take cat naps. Do you have any idea what it's like falling asleep in the Dean Koontz section? I kept having dreams that I was a monk who could see Elvis.

After work, I called my Uncle Will to see if there was any other healthier supplement for coffee.

UNCLE WILL: Um, cocaine?
ME: Now how did I not think of that?

My Uncle Will and his partner Jeff live in Boston. I used to live with Uncle Will back when I first got out of college. He and I aren't that far apart in age, so we've always been more friends than anything else. He and Jeff are the only stable gay couple I know.

JEFF: Did your Uncle Will tell you I'm moving out?
UNCLE WILL: And the Oscar goes to--

...Of course, I'm constantly redefining the word 'stable' in my head.

JEFF: I am not a drama queen! You need to quit, Will!
ME: Quit what?
JEFF: Take an example from your nephew.
UNCLE WILL: It's not the same. You can't make money by drinking coffee.
ME: No, but it might cost me money when I lose my job for falling asleep onto a date due slip. What's going on?
JEFF: Your uncle has a problem with gambling.
UNCLE WILL: I do not.
JEFF: He's bet on everything from ponies to football.
ME: That's just insane. He's gay. He knows nothing about football. Ponies on the other hand--
JEFF: Ha ha, laugh it up.
ME: ...Are they pretty ponies?
UNCLE WILL: I happen to know a lot about football. I even dated a New England Patriot once.
ME: My Little Ponies?
JEFF: I'm serious, Kevin. Addiction runs in your family. Good luck trying to break the cycle. I have some great books on the subject if you want me to mail them to you.
UNCLE WILL: You mean like, My Gambler, My Lover?
JEFF: And the autobiography of Gladys Knight!

Wow, was what Jeff said really true? Does addiction run in my family?

ADAM: Everyone has some kind of addiction.
ME: What are you addicted to?
ADAM: Fierce singing black bitches and lean cuisine.
ME: I feel like it's okay to be addicted to....Well, at least one of those things.
ADAM: What I'm trying to say is everyone needs something to get them through the day. If biting your nails and sucking back some java is what it takes to keep you from realizing your life is kind of pathetic, then why take that away from yourself?
ME: Aw, you're so caring.
ADAM: So guess what happened to me today--
ME: And there's another call I have to take. Voicemail me your story.

I switched over.

BETH: I had a dream you called me this morning.
ME: I did.
BETH: Hahahaha!
ME: Beth, I wanted you to come jogging with me.
BETH: HAHAHAahahaha!
ME: I'm serious. I wanted to take up jogging now that I'm up in the morning since I've given up coffee, biting my nails, and staying up until all hours of the night.

Silence.

BETH: Honey, did they put you in rehab? Because I can come bust you out--or smuggle you in cigarettes...if you give me money.

I was still so tired that I almost thought of cancelling my date with this guy Nathan, but then decided to go since...Well, since I had nothing else to do.

Of course, what did he feel like doing?

NATHAN: Let's just get coffee.

F**k me sideways.

NATHAN: So you've given up coffee?
ME: Yup.
NATHAN: How's that going for you?
ME: I feel like lighting someone on fire and then falling asleep.
NATHAN: Well do you have anything else to fall back on in terms of vices?
ME: Like?
NATHAN: Do you drink?
ME: No.
NATHAN: Smoke.
ME: Nope.
NATHAN: Sex?
ME: Not nearly enough.

We continued to converse but after a half an hour I called it quits when I realized that when I become as tired as I was, I say things like:

ME: You know who's actually still sort of attractive? Corey Haim.

--And--

ME: Why doesn't Anderson Cooper just come out of the closet?

--Plus my favorite--

ME: As a kid, I was really scared of the Fanny the Flame video.

And we're done.

Once again I trudged home feeling worse than before the new resolution was made. I thought the point of this blog was to make me feel better about my life. Instead having all these distractions taken away was just making me deal with stuff I really didn't want to deal with--so why was I doing it?

My brother Danny asked the same thing. Danny is one of the coolest 16-year-old's on the planet. He's got an amazing heart; he's very kind and a great little brother. He's also obsessed with religion. He's convinced that he has a higher calling in life, and plans on traveling to Tibet as soon as possible, because...Well, I guess that's where people with higher callings go. He even has a t-shirt that says "Ask Me About Jesus." I keep telling him Jesus never went to Tibet, but he doesn't listen.

When he saw me fall down on the couch in the living room and attempt to pass out, he asked--

DANNY: Kevin, why don't you let the Lord give you strength?

I ignored that. I'll take strength wherever I can get it, but at the moment it didn't seem to be coming from anywhere--let alone the Lord. Then he asked--

DANNY: Why is this so important to you?

I got up. I went to the bookshelf where I keep my ridiculously large collection of books--considering I work in a library--and I took one down. I opened it up to the page I knew what I wanted was on, and I handed him the book.

It was the last page of the first part of To Kill a Mockingbird when Atticus tells the kids about the old woman dying after she finally loses her battle with mortality while winning her battle with morphine. Danny read about Atticus, the best father in all of literature, telling his kids that even though it's okay to take whatever you need to take to make life easy, she wanted to die "beholden to nothing and nobody."

I lay on the couch looking up at the ceiling wanting to bite my nails and make a "Wake Me Up, Chocolate" but I didn't move. I let my exhaustion force me to stay where I was--to keep me in the moment of wanting something but not giving into it. Then I turned my head and looked at Danny.

ME: I want to be beholden to nothing and nobody.
DANNY: Amen, big brother.
ME: Oh Christ...

And that was the last thing I remember saying before the blissful sleep took me over while feeling unsatisfied, but proud.

Thou Shalt Spend Less Time on Facebook

But that doesn't mean y'all have to.

http://ric.facebook.com/group.php?gid=4877853929

Join and be merry.

~ Kevin ~

Thou Shalt Not Bite Thy Nails

At exactly 8pm on August 25th, I stopped biting my nails.

Five days away from what would have been a one-year "anniversary" with someone I was no longer dating in any way, shape, or form.
Thirty-seven days after my twenty-third birthday.
Five months after my dad went into the hospital and nearly didn't come out.
More than a year since I had started a blog determined to find "Mr. Right" and failed.

It was a great time to start changing...well...everything.

I am, however, a big believer in baby steps.

ADAM: Wow, sounds earth shattering.

Meet my friend Adam.

ADAM: Nail biting? Why don't you quit something that's actually ruining your life?
ME: Like what?
ADAM: Writing stupid blogs?

He's very honest.

ADAM: Your hair looks dumb like that.
ME: I wanted it to look messy.
ADAM: 'Hot' messy or 'I just rolled out of the gutter and now I'm looking for money to buy more crack with' messy?

Very very honest.

ADAM: Or 'I had sex with someone off their meds and now I can't find my kidney' messy?

He enjoys a little bit of gossip.

ADAM: Oh my God, guess who calls their #$%* John Denver?
ME: I'm not sure I want to know.
ADAM: And they call their ^&*@ area the Rocky Mountains.

He can be a diva at times...

ADAM: Can we talk about how fierce I was at karaoke last night?

...Especially at karaoke.

ADAM: That bitch dared to sing 'I Believe in You and Me.'
ME: And you couldn't believe it?
ADAM: Did you just pun?
ME: Well, I--
ADAM: Get away from me.

And yet he's my best friend in the world.

ADAM: P.S.! I detagged some photos of me today on facebook.
ME: Why?
ADAM: I looked fat in them.
ME: But not in the others?
ADAM: Well, I was sitting. You always look fat when you're sitting. Rolls appear where they're really not. I don't need people on facebook who don't know me thinking I'm fat.
ME: I'm sure they would understand.
ADAM: Mmm...Better to just detag. Be on the safe side. You never know who you're going to want to have sex with in the future.

He's always a good person to bounce things off of so I decided to share with him my idea of changing my life one step at a time.

ADAM: I have a better idea. Write a blog about fierce Broadway divas. Start with Leslie Kritzer.
ME: I want to write about something more meaningful and use it as a stimulant for me to better myself.
ADAM: Better yourself? Did you just say better yourself?
ME: You're going to go right into 'Little Shop' now, aren't you?
ADAM: Alarmmmm goes off at seven--and you start uptown!

As Adam was riffing on the last note of "uptow-ow-ow-ow-own," it occured to me that although he may not have wanted to take my blog seriously, there were others who definitely would. Namely, Blanche, Dorothy and Sophia.

I'm referring to the three women I work with at the library. They're all in their sixties, so that when the four of us together, it's almost like we're The Golden Girls...and yes, somehow I'm Rose.

We all work at the Circulation desk together, and because we have a lot of down time, we often get to talking about things in our daily life.

There's Martha, my direct supervisor. She's a bit of a hard nut to crack. She's been divorced from her ex-husband for over thirty years but still gets alimony, probably because she knows where he buried most of the bodies. Her hobbies include Disney movies and solitude.

Millie is the sassier, more practical one. She often agrees with whomever she's talking to at the moment, she enjoys gambling, and she's eaten fish and chips from the same place every Friday since I started working at the library six years ago.

Then there's Daisy, a real sweetheart. I often tease Daisy for being an 'investigator.' She's the one you send onto the battlefield to tally the casualties, just because she's so unassuming. She's also the queen of making a nasty remark followed by an adorable little giggle so that you can't possibly get mad at her.

MILLIE: How long has it been since you stopped biting your nails?
ME: Two days.
MARTHA: How have you been doing with it?
ME: I've eaten two toes and an elbow.
DAISY: You'll pull through. Hang in there.

I cataloged some new non-fiction while Martha hunted for Danielle Steel online.

MARTHA: My ex-husband bit his nails.
ME: How'd you get him to stop?
MARTHA: I divorced him.

Remind me not to marry Martha--regardless of how much I love Harold and Maude.

MILLIE: I have an idea. Just put tobasco sauce on your fingernails.
ME: I did.
MILLIE: And?
ME: I found out that I really like tobasco sauce.

Daisy was looking over at the guy on the computer we all think is a pedophile. We call him, appropriately, Pedophile Pete, even though his first name is Hank.

DAISY: Today I caught him on manspace.
ME: You mean myspace or manhunt?
DAISY: He was looking at a girl.
ME: A real girl or a guy dressed as a girl?
DAISY: A real girl--from Fresno. I checked it out when he went to the bathroom.
ME: Well if she's in Fresno I think she's safe from harm.
DAISY: He could have her fly here. I hear pedophiles do that sometimes. They send them plane tickets and then kidnap them at the airport.
ME: Yeah, but he's a Rhode Island pedophile. Chances are he's not going to pursue anything long distance.

I noticed that as I was talking to her I had started biting my nails again. I was doing all right with quitting on a conscious level, but subconsciously I was as hopeless as seeing something classy on VH1.

ME: Great. I'll never quit. I'll be an eternal nail-biter.
DAISY: I guess it's true what they say about the homosexuals--no self control.

Giggle giggle. I should have been offended, but that giggle is just so endearing. Luckily, Martha is resistant to it.

MARTHA: You know what they say about you Italian women--big mouths, big tits, no brains.
DAISY: Speaking of breasts, have you stepped on yours lately, Martha?
ME: All right, enough girls. You're both pretty.

Millie snapped her fingers--this is what she does when she gets an idea. When Martha gets an idea she just lets it die in her head. Daisy says "Hmmmmmmmmmmmm" over and over again until you ask her what's up.

MILLIE: Gloves. Get yourself some hospital gloves and wear them all the time.
ME: Isn't that a little extreme?
MILLIE: I thought you might say that. That's why I found a photo of an infected finger on google.

She handed me the sheet of paper.

ME: That looks awful.
MARTHA: It looks like my Bennie--after the divorce.

Good thing I know where to get hospital gloves from. My mom works at a women's hospital in downtown Providence, and she's always good for a favor.

Basically, my mom is my hero. That might sound cliche, but it's completely true. As I grow older, I find that I keep trying to emulate certain qualities about my mom, but there are also other qualities that could use a little toning down.

MOM: You need what?
ME: Hospital gloves.
MOM: Jesus Christ, you're into that now?

For instance, she's a little too paranoid at times. She thinks I'm some kind of a sex maniac.

MOM: So whose going to be the patient in your little scenario?
ME: Nobody Mom, I'm trying to quit biting my nails.
MOM: Oh...GOOD BOY! Of course, you have no will power. You're just like your father. Except you stick your fingers in your mouth. He sticks his--
ME: That's quite enough of that.

The phone rang. Ironically it was my Dad. He and my Mom have been divorced since I was three. Whereas most people have a hard time accepting their parents' divorce, I was begging for it by the age of two and a half. My parents are all right on their own--My dad and I have a rather tumultuous history--but together they're...um...this:

DAD: What's she screaming about?
MOM: Tell your father your fingernails are falling off.
ME: They're not falling off.
DAD: What's not falling off?
ME: My fingernails. I'm not biting them anymore.
DAD: Good. It's a dirty habit.
ME: Dad, you eat a pound of animal fat a day with extra grease and you swallow it down with two bottles of Cocoa-Cola.
DAD: And?
MOM: Leave your father alone. It's nobody business that he's let himself turn into a blubbered up couch sore.
ME: Mom--
DAD: What did she say?
ME: Nothing, Dad.
DAD: What the hell is blubber?
ME: Mom, can you get me the--
MOM: I'll get you the gloves tonight.
DAD: What the hell do you need gloves for? It's winter?
ME: My nails, Dad. To stop me from biting--
DAD: And what the hell is blubber?

My Mom smiled. Winning arguments like these are what got her through her divorce without having a nervous breakdown.

ME: I gotta go, Dad. Love you.
DAD: Love you, too. Hey, my boss' daughter--
ME: Gay gay gay, Dad. Gay gay gay.
DAD: I'm just saying.

Now you see what I mean by tumultuous.

A day after wearing the gloves, I was starting to feel really confident. Every once in awhile I'd forget that they were there and go for a nibble. There were even a few times during the day when I got a little anxious. I never realized what a crutch the habit was until it wasn't there anymore. Of course, it would only take a short time before my mind got used to not having it there and then I would have kicked it once and for all.

...Had it not been for the rash.

I'm guessing it started on my hands. I felt the itch after an hour, but I thought it was just the gloves chafing my skin. It wasn't until the rash crept up both my arms that I realized I might just be allergic to the gloves.

ADAM: Tell me again why you were wearing gloves.
ME: To stop me from biting my nails.
ADAM: Wasn't the goal of this to get control over yourself?
ME: I was getting control.
ADAM: You were cheating! You were forcing self-control upon yourself and now karma has punished you with a communicable disease.
ME: It is not a disease! It is a rash!
ADAM: Don't you have a date tonight?
ME: Oh, f**k me sideways.
ADAM: I'll pass on that.

My date was with a really cool guy named Cal, who I had absolutely no faith in--allow me to explain. Cal was going through life changes of his own. About a month ago, his boyfriend dumped him...for a woman. He quit his job because the ex-boyfriend worked there. He moved back in with his parents into a little room in between their kitchen and their garage that I call "the cave." He constantly drinks and can't really seem to focus.

So why did I agree to go out on a date with him?

He plays guitar, he's pretty cute, and I live in Rhode Island--the land of "eh, whatever."

I should probably mention that since the ending of the old blog (www.100dates100boys.blogspot.com) I've found myself to be rather cynical when it comes to dating. I realize most people weren't too happy with the way the blog ended, and honestly, neither was I. I wanted a happy ending just like everyone else, and when it didn't come right when it was supposed to...it felt like the laws of the universe had abandoned me...not to be melodramatic or anything.

I met Cal at his house. He was throwing on his shoes in his room when he noticed my attire.

CAL: Aren't you warm?
ME: Huh?
CAL: You're wearing a long-sleeved shirt.
ME: I like long-sleeved shirts.
CAL: You should roll up the sleeves. It'll look better.
ME: Um...yeah, maybe.

What could I say--No? The rash was looking extra pink today. I was hoping he would think it was a double-armed birthmark and have the tact not to say anything.

CAL: What the hell is all over your arms?

No such luck.

ME: I got a rash from hospital gloves.
CAL: You work in a hospital?
ME: No, my mom got them for me so I could wear them and stop biting my nails.
CAL: Why couldn't you just stop?
ME: Because I couldn't.
CAL: Why not?
ME: I don't know. Why can't you stop drinking?
CAL: Because I'm an unemployed alcoholic. What's your excuse?
ME: I'm on a date with an unemployed alcoholic who lives in a cave?
CAL: You added the cave part.
ME: Oops.
CAL: It's not a cave. It's an inter-room.
ME: Is that what they're calling walk-in closets nowadays?

Cal took off his shoes.

CAL: Maybe we should postpone the date.
ME: Because I just insulted you.
CAL: No, I don't care about that. I just don't want to catch your rash.
ME: It's not catchy. It's from the gloves.
CAL: Yeah, you caught something from hospital gloves. I'm not going to take a chance on that. It could be bacterial.
ME: They weren't used hospital gloves.
CAL: How do you know that?
ME: So you'll soak your liver in vodka but you won't hang out with me because of my rash?
CAL: Sorry man. Can you hand me that bottle?

I went home and bit my nails. I enjoyed it. While I was biting I checked my e-mail. Who was I kidding? I couldn't do this. I couldn't make dating work, and I'm not going to make an entire life make-over work just by blogging about it and thereby forcing myself to do better at everything. I was throwing a real pity party when I read an e-mail from someone whose address I didn't recognize.

Hey Kevin,

I love your blog. Can't wait for the new one. I've decided I'm going to do it with you. My ex broke up with me two months ago and I still can't seem to get over it. I'm always sad and miserable, but from this point on I'm making a change. If you can do it, so can I. Hope the writing is going well.

~ Max Wright ~

I looked down at my tiny little cuticles and said 'No more.' And this time I meant it. So far it's been a week of absolutely no nail-biting, and I feel like I can keep it up. Of course, it's not all self-control and sometimes I slip, but that's okay. If nothing else, I need to learn that nothing is all or nothing. Screwing up isn't an excuse to give up.

The only thing that scares me a little is...

I've only just begun.