Thou Shalt Run For Your Life

On Monday, I started to run.

I got up early--after setting three different alarms and paying my brother Danny five bucks to throw a glass of water on me if I wasn't awake by 8am--and I ran.

Ten blocks up, ten blocks across, then back again.

Lately, I've been thinking it would be good for me to incorporate a little exercise into my everyday life. And even though I'm so scrawny the last thing I look like I need is cardio, running is something everyone can do without a Bowflex.

(I actually own a Bowflex, but I use it as an ironing board.)

After I finished the run, I expected to feel exhilarated. Instead, I felt...blah.

ADAM: What do you mean 'blah'?
ME: I felt...upset.
ADAM: About how out of shape you are?
ME: No--Well, that, but also...I don't know. I just didn't feel good about it.
ADAM: So forget about it. Go to the gym instead. Thursdays are unofficially 'Gay Day' at the one I go to. Major treadmill hotties.
ME: Tempting as that sounds, I'd like to be able to have the kind of spiritual experience other runners talk about.
ADAM: Then grow up in a war-torn African country and learn to run as a means of escaping the tyranny; other than that, you're just going to feel sweaty.
ME: You know, a running buddy might help. Maybe--
ADAM: I don't run.
ME: But--
ADAM: Not if a man with a knife was chasing me and singing arias from Naughty Marietta.

Before walking in my house, I looked across the street to see what was going on at the Model House. It was kind of hard to tell since the view of the living room was skewed from my front door. I wanted to know if there had been any developments in the Blondie/Punky cheating scandal, or if Odd Guy had said anything to The Greek or Linda Cardellini about it.

From what I could tell, Odd Guy wasn't even home. Then I glanced up at the roof and saw him with his legs dangling over the edge.

Just as I was about to scream "Don't do it! You have so much to live for! I'm not sure what, but even so," Rory came running out the front door nearly knocking me down. I forgot that he was heading to school--partially because he avoids going at all costs.

RORY: Sorry Kev, I didn't know you were out. Ha ha, that's funny actually.
ME: I was just about to stop Odd Guy from taking the plunge.
RORY: Don't worry. He spends a lot of time up there. I think he's trying to figure out whether or not he should tell his friends that his other friends are cheating on them.
ME: Poor Odd Guy.
RORY: It must be rough living in that house.
ME: Yeah, all that tension. Discomfort...

Just then my mother screamed from inside--

MOM: Rory, I told you to do the dishes before you left!
RORY: Do you want me to educate myself or do you want me to scrub dishes like an illegal immigrant? Anyway Kev, think of it this way, he gets the opportunity to see beautiful girls walking around in their pajamas every day. His life can't be that bad.

With that, he headed to the bus stop.

Danny was sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast. Mom was doing the dishes Rory was supposed to have done, and Roger was reading the newspaper in the living room.

ROGER: How was your run, Kev?
ME: Awful. I think it sucked something out of my soul.
ROGER: That's nice.

Roger is pretty much oblivious when he's reading the newspaper, even though he only likes articles that deal with pumpkin growing contests and dogs that call 9-1-1 to save their elderly owners.

MOM: You shouldn't be running. You have a heart condition.
ME: I do not have a heart condition. It's a prolapsed artery.

Bascially it means that I have to take medicine before going to the dentist--seriously, that's all it means. But ever since being diagnosed with it, my mother has been convinced that stress, eating poorly, or overexerting myself is going to send me into cardiac arrest.

MOM: Sit down and catch your breath.
ME: I'm not even breathing heavily.
MOM: Danny, get your brother a chair.
ME: I'm standing next to a chair!
DANNY: I need to start eating breakfast in my room.

I sat down and grabbed a piece of bacon. Maybe Danny would be the right person to advise me on why I was feeling so down after my run.

ME: Danny, is it normal that I'm sort of...morose right now?
DANNY: Kevin, what you're doing is a very solitary thing. You're running by yourself with nothing but your thoughts. That can be very upsetting if there are emotional things you're dealing with right now. Why don't you pray on it?
ME: I'd rather not, but I see what you're getting at.

Nick's disappearance--Harry's Baby--The Decline in Quality of Desperate Housewives...

ME: You're right. I probably need to learn to zone out while I run.
DANNY: Or zone in.

Before I could untangle that little gem, we received a pop-in visit from my grandmother. She was holding at least three pineapples in her arms.

GRANDMOTHER: I brought fruit!
DANNY: His name is Kevin, Grandma.
MOM: Danny, that wasn't nice. Funny, but not nice.
ME: Grandma, pineapples aren't even in season.
GRANDMOTHER: Don't worry about it. Just take one.

This is common with my grandmother. She'll show up with a trunk full of pineapples, Kleenex, VCR's, a Huffy bike--you just never know.

GRANDMOTHER: I have eighteen jars of Heinz tomato sauce in the car.
MOM: Ma, we don't need tomato sauce.
GRANDMOTHER: Maybe if you cooked dinner once in awhile--
MOM: You know, these pop-ins are getting a little--
ME: Grandma, you walk, right?

I thought this would be the perfect way to kill two birds with one stone. Have an activity my grandmother and I could do together (Bingo didn't pan out) and get some exercise without going crazy.

GRANDMOTHER: Every day.
ME: Would you mind if I joined you? We could chat about things--like Dancing with the Stars and why young people are spoiled.

I was trying to make it sound as appealing as possible to her.

GRANDMOTHER: Honey, I'd love to have you join me, but we wouldn't do much talking. I listen to Earth, Wind, and Fire while I walk.

Well, as much as I love "September" and "Let's Groove Tonight," I figured it would just end up defeating the purpose.

After I breakfast I headed to the library. On my way to work, Beth called, and I filled her in on my predicament.

BETH: Do what I do--bike. I just put a new ashtray on my handlebars.
ME: I don't have a bike.
BETH: What are you a communist?
ME: That doesn't even make any sense.
BETH: Sorry, Carlos has been riding me all day.
ME: I didn't know he was interested in that.
BETH: Not funny.

Beth's boss Flamboyant Carlos had been getting on her nerves for awhile. She had threatened quitting, but then remembered that she needed money in order to live. (Studies have shown that 90% of Americans stay in jobs they don't like for that exact same reason.)

Once Carlos realized that Beth realized she couldn't quit, his antics only got worse.

BETH: As we speak, I'm cutting up a meatball sub into five pieces, because Carlos likes to eat it in sections so that he doesn't feel like a pig.
ME: Are you aware that what you're doing may be one of the most demeaning things on earth next to snapping photos for US Weekly?
BETH: I'm aware! That's why I try not to think about it. If I think about it, I'll get sick to my stomach and heave all over the little a**hole's meatballs, so I just don't think about it.
ME: That might be my problem with running. My brother says I have trouble being alone with my thoughts.
BETH: See, it's the exact opposite for me. I love my thoughts. Mostly because they involve putting this cigarette out in Carlos' Dolce cookie bag.
ME: Carlos has a--No, you know what? I don't need to know.

When I arrived at work I could barely find a parking spot. I had forgotten that it's Fall Fest, which means apple pie eating contests and little children running around with poorly constructed paper masks on their face.

One of them ran up to me and screeched--

LITTLE KID: Guess what I am?
ME: Um...a Wiggle?
LITTLE KID: Ewww--No!
ME: Captain Planet?
LITTLE KID: Who's that?
ME: Never mind, I'm old. Are you Sinead O'Connor?
LITTLE KID: I'm an apple picker!
ME: Apple pickers don't wear masks.
LITTLE KID: Yes, they do!
ME: Why would an apple picker need a mask?
LITTLE KID: To protect himself from fire!

Is there an apple arsonist nobody's telling me about?

Just then I heard a voice call--

VOICE: Richie, get over here.

I looked up to find Library Boy, love of my life, walking towards me.

ME: Hi!
LIBRARY BOY: Hey, how's it going?
ME: Great. Do you know this little...apple picker?
LIBRARY BOY: Yeah, he's my nephew.

He's an uncle! How adorable is that?

LIBRARY BOY'S NEPHEW: Uncle, can apple pickers wear masks?
LIBRARY BOY: Sure. I don't see why not.
LIBRARY BOY'S NEPHEW: (Pointing at me accusingly.) He said they don't!

Oh great.

ME: I was just kidding. Of course apple pickers can wear masks. My Dad's an apple picker actually. He wears masks--and gloves!

Library Boy laughed. He could see I was trying to bail myself out.

LIBRARY BOY: Your Dad sounds like an interesting guy. Like father like son, I guess, huh?

Truly, madly, deeply...

LIBRARY BOY'S NEPHEW: Uncle! You promised!
LIBRARY BOY: I told him I'd let him get his face painted.
ME: How is he going to get his face painted while he's wearing the mask?

Oh my God, I am such a moron! Luckily, Library Boy just smiled.

LIBRARY BOY: That's a paradox we'll have to deal with when the time comes, I guess. See you later.
ME: Yeah...nice seeing you.

I went inside feeling like a tool. All the Girls were sitting at the Circ desk eating apple pie.

ME: Weren't those for the pie-eating contest?
MARTHA: They already had the contest. These are the left-overs.
ME: Don't kids stick their faces in the pies when they eat them?
MARTHA: What do I care about germs? I'm going to be dead soon.
ME: Speaking of being dead, how do you all feel about exercising? Why don't we start a walking group?
DAISY: I don't need to exercise. I have a naturally slim figure.
MARTHA: Doing a lot of drugs in your youth will help you with that. She's practically embalmed already.
MILLIE: I do yoga.
ME: You do?
MILLIE: I go with my daughter. It's fun. Plus, the instructor looks just like Robert Redford.

I couldn't imagine Robert Redford doing yoga. Not even Barefoot in the Park Robert Redford.

ME: So nobody wants to go walking with me?
MARTHA: I'll go.
ME: Really, Martha?
MARTHA: Sure. Where are we walking to? The market? I have some things I need to pick up anyway.
MILLIE: That reminds me, Martha, when are we pushing you into a very late retirement?

The library is right next to a park. So I decided to go for another walk on my lunch break. The park is always filled with people, so I figured it would be a great place to kill my feelings of isolation.

No dice.

The weather was beautiful. There were plenty of people. But as soon as I settled into a nice pace thoughts started rushing at me.

HARRY: You're going to be an uncle--
NICK: I just need some time...
UNCLE WILL: We're thinking of adopting.
LIBRARY BOY: Nice seeing you again--
MOM: What are you doing all this for?
ODD GUY: I'm so...odd.

And before I knew it I had walked back to the library in a rather upset state. I didn't even notice when some little kid walked into me with his newly painted face and got most of his visage over my shirt.

But what was I going to do? How do you stop thinking about things that are stressing you out and just relax? That night I could barely sleep. Once again I was alone with my thoughts. The ceiling seemed to be filled with images of things that needed to be taken care of, and eventually I gave up sleep altogether and settled for a late night phone call.

JOEY: Hello?
ME: Sorry Joey, did I wake you up?
JOEY: No...Well, yes...That's okay though. What's up?
ME: I'm worried I'm losing my mind.
JOEY: This is Kevin, right?
ME: Yeah.
JOEY: Kevin Broccoli?
ME: Joey, yes!
JOEY: Ooohhh...it's late.
ME: I'm aware. Are you sure you can you talk?
JOEY: Sure. What do you want to talk about?
ME: The depths of isolation.
JOEY: Is that a musical I don't know about?
ME: Yes, it's a Jason Robert Brown piece, actually.
JOEY: Really?
ME: No. Go back to sleep, Joe. I'll call you tomorrow.
JOEY: Okay. Night Poppy.
ME: Who?
JOEY: Hey hey, shiksa goddess...
ME: Never mind.

Since I still couldn't sleep I decided to go online and see if there was any Nick news. I had put the word out that I was interested in finding out why Nick disappeared so suddenly. After about five minutes, I got an instant message from my buddy Dylan.

DYLAN: Hey Kev, I heard you've been asking about Nick.
ME: Yeah. I just can't understand why he left the way he did.
DYLAN: I've been meaning to ask you if we could get together sometime.
ME: Why? Do you know something?
DYLAN: I'd rather talk to you about it in person. It's kind of private.
ME: Is everything okay? I ran into Juan at the club and he seemed to be kind of dismissive about the whole thing.
DYLAN: Let's just say things aren't what they seem to be at all.
ME: Okay, should I cue ominious music now or wait?
DYLAN: I'll be in touch, okay?

And he signed off.

...WHAT?!? What was that? When did my life become The Maltese Falcon?

So much for sleep.

The next day I had dinner at my Dad's house. I thought I'd try getting him to come running with me. My Dad's notoriously bad when it comes to taking care of himself, and I couldn't think of anything better than getting him back into shape.

DAD: Pass me the gravy.
ME: Dad, I've been running lately and I thought it would be fun if--
DAD: J.R., I don't need to go running. Your father's in great shape.

I should probably mention that since my father is Kevin Broccoli Sr., I'm referred to as J.R. when I'm at his house. I don't mind it, really. After all, it is the name of the most amazing soap opera villain in history.

ME: Oh really? Is that why you were in the hospital six months ago barely breathing?
STACEY: Kev!
ME: Sorry. I'm not trying to upset anyone. I just think he needs to take care of himself a little better.

Actually I was being selfish. I wanted Dad to come along to break the quiet of my mind, but if he happened to get healthier because of it, where was the harm in that? Dad, Stacey, my little sister Annie and I were all sitting down for family dinner when I heard the downstairs door open.

DAD: Who's that?
VOICE: Hello?
STACEY: Oh, I invited Deana and Harry over for dinner.
DAD and ME: What?

Harry appeared in the dining room with Deana looking all smiles, while Dad and I just gaped. Harry was not commonplace at family dinners at Dad's house. Stacey was grinning. Clearly she thought this was a fantastic idea.

I knew better.

DAD: Well, if it isn't the unwed parents.
ME: Oh God...
ANNIE: Harry!
HARRY: Hey, there's the little Auntie!
DAD: Jesus Christ!
STACEY: Kev, watch your mouth!
DAD: They made an 8-year-old an aunt, Stacey.
DEANA: I thought you said J.R. wasn't going to tell him?
ME: I didn't tell him. He guessed. I.Q. over here asked for baby clothes.
HARRY: Yeah, so the secret's out. Oh well. Who cares?
DAD: You should care! You should care about the fact that you can't afford a baby!

Deana looked upset at this suggestion, and Annie was starting to look around wondering why voices were being raised.

ME: Look, why don't we just try and enjoy our dinner?
DAD: Who's going to be taking care of this kid anyway?

Clearly, Dad didn't want to change horses in mid-stream. Stacey swooped in for the save.

STACEY: Annie, why don't you show Deana your new table set, huh?
ANNIE: Daddy's going to yell?
STACEY: Yes, Daddy's going to yell, and then J.R. might yell, and then Harry might yell, and then Mommy will yell at all of them, and pretty soon everybody will be yelling and when we're done you can come back and we'll eat dinner, okay?
ANNIE: Okay.
STACEY: You don't mind Deana?
DEANA: Not at all. Yelling makes me nervous.
STACEY: That'll all change once you have kids, honey. Trust me.

Once Deana and Annie were gone, Stacey looked at all of us with utter disappointment.

STACEY: All right, have it out.
DAD: Why didn't you tell me?
HARRY: Because it's none of your business.
DAD: I'm your father.
HARRY: Starting when?
ME: Low blow, Harry.
HARRY: It's true.
ME: It's also true that bad though he may be, you've borrowed money from him--
HARRY: Here we go.
ME: --And you'll be borrowing money from him again, I assume. But that's not the point. The point is, you're going to be a father. Dad's going to be a grandfather. I'm going to be a gay uncle. And we all need to accept that and move on from it.

Quiet.

ME: And Dad's going to come walking with me.
DAD: Absolutely not--on all counts! She's giving up the baby.
HARRY: No chance.
STACEY: Maybe I should just bring dinner down to Annie and Deana since this is leading to a standoff.
DAD: And don't invite people over here without telling me!
STACEY: They're not people; they're family. And I'll do whatever I want so long as it's not 1782!

Stacey stormed out of the room, followed by Harry.

ME: Congratulations, Dad. You cleared the room.
DAD: That's fine by me. I prefer eating alone anyway.

Like father like son...

ME: You prefer doing a lot of stuff alone, huh?
DAD: Lovemaking tends to be a little difficult, but other than that--
ME: Annnnnd I'm not hungry.

On the way home, I stopped off at my old school. They had a track outside. I was determined to conquer this. I would not be someone who couldn't be alone. I would not be that lame guy who clings to people everywhere he goes. Yet as soon as I stepped out of my car, the anxiety hit me, and I ended up driving the rest of the way home instead.

I never used to be like this. I used to go to movies by myself. I used to sit in bookstores for hours reading and having a great time all by myself.

So what happened?

CARLY: You got used to having someone there. It happens.
ME: Terrific. I'm a codependent.
CARLY: Not so fast. I've got the perfect solution to your problem. We're going to get you dating again.
ME: Carly, every solution you have to any problem I mention to you involves me dating again.
CARLY: Because there isn't a problem you getting a little action couldn't solve. By the way, I see you're a kiss down. Ninety-nine to go, huh?
ME: Not a chance.

Carly has a genius idea that involves me kissing one hundred boys and then crowning a winner. I don't have anything against a little competition--after all I am a Bravo reality junkie, but Tim Gunn never has to make out with anybody--although I think we all saw him making eyes at Kayne last season--not that I blame him.

CARLY: Too bad, because I have a new guy who wanted to throw his hat in the ring.
ME: Really? You're playing matchmaker now?
CARLY: God no, who has time for that? I'm just passing along the message that my friend thinks you're cute--I showed him your facebook--
ME: Of course.
CARLY: And I told him what an amazing catch you are, and now he would like to meet you.
ME: Carly, I'm in the midst of a mental collapse. Now's not the time to be dating.
CARLY: He has great pecs, dark brown hair, and a degree in Poly sci.
ME: Give him my number.

Hey, I'm only human.

Derek called the next day. We agreed to meet up later. The funny thing is, when he mentioned how much he likes working out--I worked out something of my own.

ME: How do you feel about going for a run?

We met at the high school near his house. I'll admit Derek was everything Carly said and a little bit more. When I got there he was in cute blue shorts and a sweatshirt.

DEREK: You must be Kevin.
ME: I must be.

I was a little nervous. Not just because Derek was so cute, but because that newly found anxiety was rearing its ugly head again, even though I had finally found a running buddy.

DEREK: You ready to run?
ME: I'm ready.

Once we got going, I let our conversation distract me from my nerves. Derek turned out to be incredibly well-versed in lots of areas, not just politics. He was very well-read and had an undying passion for Fleetwood Mac.

DEREK: I knew all the words to Rumours by the time I was thirteen.
ME: That's awesome. I frequently sing along to 'You Make Lovin' Fun' in my car on the way to work.

We went around the track twice, which caused us both to break a sweat, then Derek asked if I'd like to get something to eat.

ME: Like this? I'm sweaty--and not in a hot way.
DEREK: Did you bring a change of clothes?
ME: Yeah. I have my work clothes in my car.
DEREK: So you can come use my shower. I live a couple of minutes away.
ME: Okay. Great.

So, a few minutes later, I was pulling into Derek's driveway. He owned a decent-sized house, showing off that in addition to being handsome and brilliant, he was also pretty well off. Part of me wondered whether I was going to be participating into the latest rose ceremony upon entering his house.

DEREK: The bathroom's down the hall. You can hop in the shower. I'm going to go grab some clean clothes from the laundry downstairs while you're in there.
ME: Okey doke.

I went into the bathroom, put my duffel bag with my library clothes onto the counter, and proceeded to shower. About three minutes in, I heard the bathroom door open.

DEREK: How are you doing in there?
ME: Um...good, thank you.
DEREK: Excellent.

The door closed. Then I heard footsteps.

ME: Uh...you're not planning on reenacting any of Norman Bates' greatest moments, are you?
DEREK: I can't. My wig and muumuu are at the cleaners.
ME: So then what--

But before I could say any more, Derek had hopped into the shower alongside me. (And like most people jumping into a shower, he was naked.)

ME: Whoa, I...uh...
DEREK: I hope you don't mind. I thought this could save us some time.
ME: Yeah, I guess I should have seen this coming.
DEREK: Carly said sometimes you're the more passive one.
ME: In what sense?
DEREK: The pursuit.
ME: There was a pursuit? I didn't get any memo about a pursuit.
DEREK: She also mentioned the kissing contest.

F**k me. (Actually I shouldn't be saying that in this situation.)

ME: That's actually something that she--
DEREK: Mind if I throw my hat in the ring? It'll be pretty hard to beat a first kiss in the shower now, won't it?
ME: I don't--um--never mind. I can't win this argument.

And I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to--I mean, how often do random spontaneous opportunities to be slutty come up?

So he kissed me...then we kissed some more...

VOICE: Well, that was fun.

I opened my eyes. I was lying in bed with nothing on but a towel feeling incredibly happy and fairly tired. He stood in the doorway, the indescribeable Mr. Right.

MR. RIGHT: You look like you're going to fall asleep.
ME: Showering tends to tire me out.
MR. RIGHT: I bet.
ME: Where are you headed?
MR. RIGHT: I'm going to go for a run. Then we need to pick up your nephew.
ME: You sure you don't mind him staying here this weekend?
MR. RIGHT: Are you kidding? I'm thrilled. I hate having to send him home.
ME: Well, maybe we should get one we wouldn't have to send home.
MR. RIGHT: You have a nephew we could keep?
ME: I mean, a child. Like--of our own.

Mr. Right sits down on the edge of the bed.

MR. RIGHT: You realize there are things you have to give up when you have a kid of your own?
ME: Like whoopee in the shower?
MR. RIGHT: Like whoopee in general. At least until they're older.
ME: I want a family. I can't help it.
MR. RIGHT: I'm not asking you to.
ME: I'm years older than my parents were when they had me.
MR. RIGHT: I thought you wanted to wait?
ME: Until I found the right guy, but now I've found you. So--
MR. RIGHT: So...I'm going to go for my run.
ME: Okay.
MR. RIGHT: And when I come back, we can talk more about this.
ME: Any chance I can get an answer before you take off?

Mr. Right laughs then leans over and kisses me.

MR. RIGHT: How about a great big 'Yes'?

I smile and pull him onto the bed with me.

MR. RIGHT: Why am I having deja vu right now?
ME: Quiet you, I'm amending your exercise routine.

We both laugh and kiss and...

All I could hear was the sound of his breathing. I wasn't sure when he had fallen asleep, but I couldn't follow suit. I kept staring up at the ceiling, and after awhile it became pretty clear that I just needed to get out of there.

I texted Carly:

TEXT FROM ME: I just showered with Derek.
TEXT FROM CARLY: You slut. I'm so proud.

I didn't want to be the guy who takes off after...you know, so I wrote him a note explaining that I had a great time and it would be terrific if we could hang out again--perhaps somewhere a little more public than his shower. Something told me I wouldn't be hearing back from him any time soon--thank God.

On the way home, I got a call from Uncle Will and Jeff.

JEFF: Bryce or Bryant?
ME: I'm sorry.
UNCLE WILL: Which is a better name?
ME: For what? A retirement home?
JEFF: The baby. Our baby.
ME: You're already picking out baby names? You just decided to adopt.
UNCLE WILL: We were just discussing it casually, and then Jeff got all crazy--
JEFF: I did not get 'all crazy.' You want to name our son after a college.
UNCLE WILL: And you want to name him after your ex.
JEFF: I just like the name Bryce. I can't help that he was an ex of--
ME: I just hooked with a guy after knowing him for less than three hours!

Silence.

UNCLE WILL: Are you--uh--okay?
ME: Yes, I'm fine. No, I'm not fine. I mean, I just--
JEFF: Kevin, it's not the first time someone's done something like that.
UNCLE WILL: It sure as hell isn't the first time you've done something like that.
JEFF: Will!
ME: I know, but I'm trying to be better, remember? Be a better person? New rules of my life?
JEFF: This doesn't make you a bad person, Kev.
UNCLE WILL: If anything it's a minor slipup if your quest to be perfect. It's not that big a deal. By the way, was he hot? Ow!
JEFF: Oh sorry, was that my elbow in your ribs?
ME: I'm also having trouble running.
UNCLE WILL: Running from what?
ME: No, not from what. Just--

Wait a second.

Running from what?

Exactly.

That's why I was having trouble. That's why being alone was freaking me out. That's why even moments of quiet like the one I experienced lying next to Derek unnerved me. I felt like I was running away from something that I knew was going to catch up with me. I felt like I was biding time.

But biding time until what? What was chasing me?

JEFF: Kevin, is it possible that you could be running from who you used to be? Who you're trying to stop being? Are you afraid that old person is going to come back and ruin all the work you've done?
ME: Yeah...Yeah, I guess that could be it.
JEFF: Why don't you stop running from that guy and face him? Face him head on.
UNCLE WILL: Great. You're encouraging him to develop multiple personalities.
JEFF: Whatever, Bryant.
UNCLE WILL: Bryce sounds like a ranchhand!
JEFF: What's wrong with ranchhands?

After a spout of bickering, Uncle Will and Jeff managed to bid me good-bye just as I was pulling into my driveway. I looked across the street and found Odd Guy sitting on his roof. I wanted to know what he thinks about when he's up there, but another part of me already knew.

He was probably telling himself what was right and what was wrong. What he should do and what he couldn't. Thinking about all the things he knew and the things he'd never understand.

I decided it was time to have a little talk with someone I haven't spoken to in the past few weeks.

ME: Hey Old Self.
OLD SELF: Hey Kev, I guess you're ready to talk.
ME: Yeah, I'm ready. No more running.
OLD SELF: You know, we used to have some good times.
ME: We did, but...
OLD SELF: No more?
ME: No.
OLD SELF: I don't get it. What was it about me you didn't like? I'm strong. I'm passionate. I'm determined.
ME: You alienate people. You're controlling. Manipulative. Selfish, petty--
OLD SELF: At least I don't let people walk all over me.
ME: And at what cost? You walk all over everybody else instead.
OLD SELF: It's dog eat dog out there, Kev.
ME: Yeah, well maybe I'm sick of being a dog. Maybe I want to be something else.
OLD SELF: Like what?
ME: I don't know. A good friend. A good boyfriend. A Dad...someday.
OLD SELF: So this is good-bye?
ME: Afraid so. Good luck.
OLD SELF: Thanks. I'm thinking of moving to L.A.
ME: I think you'll do well there.

After the convo, I got out of my car and started walking down the street. The walk turned into a jog. And the jog turned into a run. And this time all I could hear in my head were the sounds of my foot falling on the ground, going somewhere I didn't know and couldn't wait to get to.

Thou Shalt Not Meddle

This is the week I stopped meddling.

For those of you who read last week's entry and are saying--But wait, aren't meddling and judging really similar? Well, meddling is like judging--only the next step. Meddling is active judging. It's putting your judging skills to the test. So Kevin, you say, since you gave up judging--wouldn't meddling go with it?

Yeah, it's not that simple.

ADAM: Explain this to me.
ME: Apparently you can meddle without judgment.
ADAM: Of course you can. It's called manipulation. It's my favorite party game.
ME: No more of that for me. From now on, I'm going to let people live and...um...let live.
ADAM: So you're not going to give your opinion anymore?
ME: No.
ADAM: Interfere in other people's lives?
ME: Nope.
ADAM: Tell me when I'm making the wrong decision as I'm walking into a taken guy's house at 2am slightly tipsy and poised to strike?
ME: That one might be harder to give up, but I'll manage.
ADAM: You're never going to be able to keep this up.
ME: Watch me, Madam.

But this time, and I don't say this often, Madam may have been right...

I woke up and began my new life as a meddlesome free person confident that I could achieve my new goal. That lasted until breakfast when I walked into the living room to find Rory and Mom looking out the window with the blinds closed. It was then I knew this day was going to be--

RORY: Here comes another one.

--Noteable.

ME: Another what? Police officer up the walk coming to take you two away?

Mom flipped around looking guilty. Rory, however, didn't budge.

MOM: Good morning, honey. Do you want breakfast?
ME: Don't try sweet talking me, Peeping Tomasina. What I want to know is if Roger's outside on the branches of a nearby tree with a pair of binoculars.
RORY: Shut up. I can't concentrate.
ME: On what?
MOM: We have new neighbors.
ME: Congratulations Mom, it's happened. You're a desperate housewife.
RORY: Kev, they're amazing.
VOICE: Oh God, not the neighbors.

Danny was walking in from the porch after doing his morning prayers. Don't ask me why he does them outside...Something about communing with nature, and blah blah blah--

DANNY: You've been watching them for two days now. Give it a rest.
ME: Two days? Are they Kennedys?
RORY: Better--come look.

I decided to see what all the fuss was about. Apparently, the Real World's standards have gotten so low they're doing one in Johnston, Rhode Island. Across the street from me where Mrs. Brennan with the one eye used to live--she now lives in Florida where I would imagine she continues to raise cats and give two-dollar haircuts--there now resided four gorgeous college-age kids. There was a blonde girl with a perfect body, a Mediterranean boy with a perfect body, a punk-rock looking boy with red and blue hair who resembled Jonathan Rhys-Meyers, and a studious looking brunette who was totally working the Linda Cardellini look. There was also a fifth roommate--a not-so-hot guy in major need of one of Mrs. Brennan's haircuts and a visit from the Queer Eye guys.

I knew all this because they were all sitting together in their kitchen eating breakfast, which I have a perfect view of from my living room.

ME: Wow.
RORY: It's like Newport Beach--minus Odd Guy.
ME: I hope you're not actually referring to him as Odd Guy?
RORY: Who else would I be talking about?
MOM: I wonder how they met him.
ME: Yes, because people that beautiful don't interact with the outside world.
MOM: That's not what I meant. They just all seem to be so much more, um--
DANNY: I think they're students.
ME: Students where? We don't live near a college.
RORY: Maybe they go to RIC.
ME: I went to RIC. People who go to RIC don't look like that, trust me. People who look like that go to beaches in Miami and do calendar shoots.

I had to admit--I was a little fascinated by the Model 4 Plus 1, but I had other things to do today--or rather, things not to do, since I planned on being a model of my own--a model non-meddler.

ME: I'm going to be late for work. Rory, keep the stalking to a minimum.
RORY: You know, you always tell me to get a hobby and then when I do--
ME: Mom, try not to encourage this too much.
DANNY: At least he's not setting anything on fire.
RORY: Kev, you should go talk to them. Find out about them--like why they're friends with Odd Guy.
ME: Absolutely not. I'm not going to insert myself into the lives of our hot new neighbors--not even the life of the one with the really nice tan.
MOM: He has a six pack. I saw it when he was doing sit-ups in his room this morning.

Awkward silence.

DANNY: Good to know my prayers for all of you are working.

So far I had avoided meddling once today--if you can even consider that meddling--but it was clear harder challenges were ahead of me.

Before I had even gotten to work, I was faced with the opportunity to put my two cents in on a Beth predicament.

BETH: Tell me to quit my job.
ME: Beth, I can't do that.
BETH: Kevin, my boss is a nightmare.

Beth's boss is a flamboyant man named Carlos who always seems to get under her skin with minor little catty comments.

For example:

CARLOS: Beth, when I asked you to file those forms, I meant alphabetically--not in Beth's Magical Mystery Order, which it seems is any which way but loose.

...And...

CARLOS: Beth, are you taking another smoking break? Something tells me you're going to give our health insurance provider a run for its money sometime in the near future.

...And who could forget...

CARLOS: Beth, that outfit again...really?

So, it wasn't that I didn't think Beth should quit and tell Carlos to take the job and snap snap shove it. I just decided it wasn't my business to say.

BETH: But I'm asking your opinion!
ME: But my opinion isn't needed. You should just do what you want to do.
BETH: I want to run over his mailbox!
ME: Okay, well...Do you want to go to jail?
BETH: See, that was helpful. You dissuaded me from doing something illegal.
ME: No, I didn't. I just asked an innocent question that led you to a reasonable answer.
BETH: Fine, Broccoli, we'll play it your way. Ask me if I want to quit my job.
ME: Do you?
BETH: I don't know! Tell me what to do!
ME: Beth, you already know what you want to do, you're just asking me because you're second-guessing yourself.
BETH: You're right.

I heard a bump on the other end of the line.

ME: Tell me that wasn't his mailbox.
BETH: I can't confirm or deny anything.

My convo with Beth made me five minutes late for work. Luckily, the place is dead on Fridays so it wasn't like the place was overflowing with work that needed to be done.

MARTHA: Well, look who's gracing us with his presence.
ME: If you're not good, you don't get the donuts I brought.
MARTHA: There's the grandson I never had!

I handed out the chocolate frosted goods and went to work. Downstairs Daisy was substituting for the children's librarian who had called out sick. That's right. Daisy was doing Story Time. I found her reading of Where the Wild Things Are to be particularly engaging.

DAISY: Now, I might change this part around a little bit only because I don't want any of you to get scared.
LITTLE BOY: I won't get scared. My Mommy lets me watch Saw.
DAISY: Is that on Nickelodeon?
LITTLE GIRL: I like Hostel!
DAISY: Let's see what happens to Max. I hope he doesn't get eaten by the big hairy men.

I was going to step in and take over, but today I wasn't meddling. Meanwhile, Millie was in the fiction room weeding out the Steinbeck.

MILLIE: Is Cannery Row any good?
ME: It's a classic.
MILLIE: Not in Johnston it's not.

In Johnston, Jackie Collins' Hollywood Wives is a classic.

I was going to offer to help find some of the less desirable books in our collection (I was dying to get rid of half the Danielle Steel) but again, that would be meddling. So instead I went looking for a lost copy of The Virgin Suicides when I ran into...him.

He was standing in front of the the 'M's and I saw him pick out Gorgeous Lies and read the summary, after which he scooped it under his arm, thereby showing his good taste in contemporary literature.

I went to move back behind one of the stacks so that I wouldn't be found just standing there staring at him when I literally walked into the bookshelf instead, toppling over three Salmon Rushdie novels (Sorry Satanic Verses.)

He turned and saw me standing there with a pile of books at my feet and he did the most wonderful thing--he smiled. I smiled back, and then went to walk forward and tripped over Haroun and the Sea of Stories. Library Boy literally had to stop me from falling right on top of him.

ME: Sorry.
LIBRARY BOY: Don't worry about it.
ME: I just took out Salmon Rushdie.
LIBRARY BOY: I saw. I think you may be able to collect a reward from the Ayatollah.

Be still my heart.

ME: Can I help you find anything?
LIBRARY BOY: Actually I was looking for George Saunders.
ME: I think he's from Manhattan.
LIBRARY BOY: I mean, where in the library to find George Saunders.
ME: Oh...right.

Eesh...

ME: We actually don't have any of his books, but I'd be happy to put one on hold for you.

I'd be happy to put my life on hold for you actually. I can have it sent to you from any library in the state.

LIBRARY BOY: That would be great. I've been dying to read In Persuasion Nation.
ME: I just finished that! It's excellent.
LIBRARY BOY: Well, now I have to read it, since it comes highly recommended from a hired assassin.

I laughed...a little too hard.

Back at the Circ desk, I relayed the details of my meeting with Library Boy. The ladies were mostly encouraging.

MARTHA: You don't sound like you made too big a fool out of yourself.
ME: I know, right?
DAISY: Did he end up checking anything out?
ME: Yeah. He took out Talk Talk.
MILLIE: Isn't that your Book Club book for this month?
ME: Possibly.
MARTHA: Did you try to get him to join Book Club so you could see him again?
ME: I didn't try anything... I just happened to drop a Book Club flyer in front of him.
MARTHA: You know, sometimes, you remind me of that old movie star--
ME: Jimmy Stewart?
MARTHA: No, Eve Arden.

Hey, I'll take that. She was a fine looking woman in her prime.

While I discussed the plans for Library Boy and myself, I decided to check my e-mail (because that's how professional I am). There was the usual mix of spam, marriage proposals from loyal blog readers (by the way, yes Carter from Des Moines, I will be your life partner) and a rather curious e-mail from Nick, one of my good friends.

If you're not sure who Nick is, he's all over the other blog (www.100dates100boys.blogspot.com).

Nick is generally a really quiet person. Very laid back. Of all my friends, he's definitely the least flashiest. Getting an e-mail from him was a little strange. It just seemed way too formal. Especially since I had just talked to him last week.

It was a group e-mail and it read as follows:

To All My Friends,

I've been going through a really rough time recently with some personal issues that many of you do not know about, but that I don't feel are worth discussing at this point in time. I'm going to be going away for awhile, and I just wanted to let you all know I'm fine, and that I'll try to stay in touch if I can.

All My Love,
Nick

Uh...what?

CARLY: Sounds like he's pulling a Greta Garbo.
ME: Clearly.
CARLY: So give him what he wants.
ME: I don't get it, though. We're good friends. If there was a problem why didn't he tell me?
CARLY: Kevin, not everyone likes talking about their problems.
ME: Are you serious?
CARLY: I know, I find it hard to believe, too.
ME: How does he know I can't help him if he won't even give me a chance?
CARLY: Hey, aren't you done with meddling?
ME: Yes, yes, you're right. I'll leave it alone.
CARLY: Terrific, because I have a brand new idea to jumpstart your blog.
ME: Carly, I think the blog is going fine.
CARLY: Let's not kid ourselves here, Broccoli. Attach the paddles and yell 'Clear.'
ME: Clear.
CARLY: Here's the idea--

This Fall...

ME: I think this frog needs to kiss a few more princes.

From the Creator of 100 Dates, 100 Boys...

ME: If at first you don't succeed...

Comes a new take on Kiss and Tell!

ME: ...Make out with 100 more boys!

100 Boys

ME: And this time--

100 Kisses

ME: There will be a winner.

1 Winner for Top Kisser

ME: Pucker up, boys.

100 Boys, 100 Kisses

ME: Mwuah.

Produced by Carly

Silence
Silence
More Silence

CARLY: So? What do you think?
ME: Um, I don't...hate it.
CARLY: Do you like the new slant?
ME: It sounds like a sluttier version of the dating blog.
CARLY: That's the point!
ME: I'm not sure I could find 100 boys I'd be interested in kissing.
CARLY: Don't worry. I'm giving you plenty of time to get it done. I figured we could unveil the winner at next June's pride.
ME: There's going to be a winner?
CARLY: Of course! Kevin, this is a competition. The person you feel is the best kisser wins the title and perhaps some sort of goodie bag, I'm still in negotiations with Coach and Banana.
ME: But Carly--
CARLY: We could even send you out to do press for it. Philadelphia, New York, Toronto, Minneapolis, Boise--
ME: Boise?
CARLY: You're huge in Idaho.

While Carly detailed the plans of my North American tour--at one point she suggested I open for the Twisted Sister reunion shows--I headed home for dinner.

When I got there, Rory was still sitting in front of the window staring at the Model House.

ME: Any new developments?
RORY: No, but I did figure out some of the relationships.
ME: Fine, it's been a long day. I'll bite. Who's dating who?
RORY: Blondie is with the Greek.
ME: That bitch.
RORY: And Smart Girl is dating Punky.
ME: So Odd Guy is single?
RORY: Does that surprise you?
ME: Poor bastard.

As I was sitting down to some lo mein, the phone rang. When I saw whose number it was on my caller ID, I nearly hit Reject. But, being the dutiful brother that I am, I picked up.

ME: Hi Harry, what's up?

Harry is my older half-brother. Before my Dad married my Mom, he was married to another woman and had a child--my brother Harry. They got divorced--it was particularly nasty. So much so that Harry's mom changed his last name. (Sometimes I'm a little bit envious of the fact that he got to rid himself of Broccoli.)

He appeared in my life when I was seven, but only for a brief moment when my Dad decided it was time to meet him. Apparently it took seven years for Harry's mother to cool off enough to let him meet his younger brother. By that point, however, Danny had already been born, and I felt a much greater kinship to the little newborn than to this eleven-year-old boy that my father told me was family.

I don't mention Harry when people ask me how many siblings I have. We barely saw each other over the years until he turned twenty, and started trying to become a part of my Dad's life again. It used to be a real sore spot between me and my father, since I always thought it was awful of him not to fight for joint custody of Harry, but Dad always acts as if that's something I don't need to know about.

Yeah, it's complicated.

But now Harry calls me once a week--usually to ask for something. It's not always money, sometimes it's just little favors here and there. I can't say he's grown up to be the most exemplary guy, which was why I was more than a little upset when he told me--

HARRY: You're going to be an uncle.
ME: Uncle who--wait, what?

I actually looked over at Rory to see if that was who he was talking about. Had Rory already gotten someone pregnant? I mean, I knew it was going to happen eventually but--

HARRY: Deena's pregnant.

Deena is Harry's incredibly sweet girlfriend. I instantly felt really sorry for her.

ME: Did you plan this?
HARRY: No, but we're both mad happy about it. I bought cigars and everything.
ME: Have you thought about other things you may need to buy--like a house?
HARRY: Haha, good one, Kev.
ME: How pregnant is Deena?
HARRY: Three months.
ME: Three months?! And you're just telling people now?
HARRY: No! I'm not telling people. I'm telling you. And you can't tell Dad. He'll flip.
ME: What do you plan on doing once she's born? Telling him you just like pushing around a carriage for fun?

Part of me wanted to scream at the top of my lungs--You cannot keep this baby! You will destroy it's life. You will create another messed up human being to walk the earth and mumble to themselves!

But then I remembered my resolution.

And instead I took another high road and said--

ME: Harry, I can't lie to Dad. I wouldn't feel comfortable doing that.
HARRY: I'm not saying you have to say Deena's not pregnant. Just don't say anything at all.
ME: Harry--
HARRY: When do I ever ask you for anything?
ME: You asked me for twenty bucks last week.
HARRY: Anything important.
ME: I just don't--

Then I realized all the times Dad had slightly manipulated the truth where I was concerned--

DAD: I would have called you on your birthday, but I was on a secret government mission.
DAD: You'll die if a cat sneezes on you.
DAD: Your mother didn't just leave you here for the weekend; she moved to Beijing.

--And suddenly, I thought, What the hell?

ME: Fine. I won't say anything.
HARRY: You rock, Kev. You're going to make a great uncle.
ME: I'll start stocking up on nickels in my ear.

It's not that I wasn't thrilled to have a little niece or nephew on the way; it's just that it felt like it wasn't the real deal. Harry had been such a late addition to my life that everything about our relationship just felt fake.

Still, it gave me a legitimate reason to try contacting Nick. I had no intentions of meddling and telling him that he should have given me and his other friends more of a heads up before disappearing. All I was going to do was update him on my new gay uncle status and wish him luck on all his future endeavors.

But when I tried to send him an e-mail, I got the mailer demon back. He had deleted his e-mail address. Not only that, his myspace and facebook profiles were gone.

Now, I understand starting a new life, but who the hell gets rid of their facebook? That's like deleting your soul!

JOE: Maybe he wants a fresh start.
ME: If you want a fresh start, you get a new haircut. You don't erase yourself from the mainframe.
JOE: Kevin, all he did was delete an e-mail address and two online profiles. He didn't burn down his house and kill his family.
ME: We don't know that. I don't know anything his family or the possibly burned down house they live in.
JOE: You have no idea why he'd take off like this?
ME: Not a clue. Why would anyone take off like this? Have you ever done anything like that?
JOE: One time, I went to the mall and I didn't tell anyone.
ME: And that set off sirens all across Rhode Island I'm imagine.
JOE: Yeah...I had like...twelve text messages.
ME: And did you feel bad about making your friends worry?
JOE: Oh, nobody was worried. The text messages were about my new facebook photo. It was after I had let myself get a little scruffy. It was a big hit.

Wait a second--Text messages! Perfect. I sent Nick a text--no dice. When trying to phone him I discovered that the number had been disconnected.

What the hell was going on here?

Before I could think any more about it, my phone rang--it was Dad. I was determined to keep my promise and not spill Harry's secret until he was ready to tell our father.

ME: Hi Dad.
DAD: She's pregnant, isn't she?

F**k me.

ME: What? Who's pregnant?
DAD: Don't play dumb with me. The only person in this family that's a better liar than you is me, so talk.
ME: Dad, I can't do that.
DAD: Do I have to get your Uncle Vito and the backroom of a bar involved?
ME: Dad!
DAD: How could he be so irresponsible?
ME: Gee, I don't know. Maybe he learned from the best?
DAD: So that's an admission.
ME: An admission that Harry is irresponsible? Yes, I'll admit to that.
DAD: He comes over here asking if we have any of Annie's baby clothes still hanging around and he doesn't think I'll know what's going on. Asking for baby clothes. That moron.
ME: And what did he say he was asking for?
DAD: Said he wanted to give them to charity.

Bad lie. Really bad lie.

ME: Maybe he's taking on a more generous outlook towards life.
DAD: Or maybe he forgot to wrap it before he tapped it.
ME: Please never use that expression again.
DAD: I'm too friggin' young to be a grandfather!
ME: You were too young to be a father; that would just be the next step in the process--hypothetically speaking.
DAD: You should talk to him about this. Tell him to consider the options.
ME: No way, Dad. I've given up meddling with people. From now on I'm keeping my mouth shut.
DAD: Fine, but Kev, promise me one thing. Promise me you'll never get a girl pregnant until after you marry her.
ME: Gay gay gay, Dad. Remember? Interior design, Bravo, Cher--
DAD: Doesn't mean anything. Girls are tricky. They'll trick you.
ME: Yes, Dad, I'm sure Deana had to use a lot of smoke and mirrors to get Harry in bed.
DAD: Is that what you kids are into today? Smoke and mirrors?
ME: Get some sleep, Grandpa. I'll talk to you tomorrow.

I finished talking to Dad just as my Mom was coming into the kitchen.

MOM: Your father is going to be a Grandpa?
ME: Yes, Mom. Harry's having a baby.
MOM: Oh, thank you Lord, for making him old before me. The jokes shall be bountiful.
ME: Great. Now my biting wit is rubbing off on you.

That night I went out with Adam, Joe, and Beth. At the club, I had to put my new non-meddling skills to the test.

ADAM: That guy's hot.

No he's not. He's strung out on something--maybe lighter fluid.

ME: Mmm...

BETH: I think I'm going to take a cigarette break.

Don't do it! If your lungs were children, DCYF would have seized them already!

ME: Cool.

JOE: I have to use the men's room.

NO! GERMS! UGLY GUYS CHECKING OUT YOUR JUNK WHILE YOU PEE! GERMS!

ME: Okay.

This was going to be harder than I thought. At one point, a guy approached me.

GUY: Hey, you're Kevin, right?
ME: Um...yes.
GUY: I love your blog.
ME: Oh, thank you so much.
GUY: It's really clever.
ME: That's so nice of you to say.

I shot Adam the 'Ha Ha, I'm Famous' look, and he shot me the 'You're a Dorky Tool Who Writes About Biting Your Nails' look.

GUY: So, can I try?
ME: Try what?
GUY: The Kissing contest.
ME: You want to--I'm sorry, I'm very confused.
GUY: I get one try, right? One entry. I already have chapstick on. I think that might put me over the edge.
ME: Carly's idea? How did you hear about that?
GUY: I'm friends with her on Myspace and she posted a bulletin about it.
ME: Oh geez--
GUY: My friends tell me I'm an amazing kisser. I use a lot of lower lip.
ME: Well tempting as that sounds, I think I may have to--
GUY: Aw, c'mon--

And before I could say another word, I had been pulled in for the lip lock. It last about thirty seconds and wasn't altogether unenjoyable, although I was going to have to mention to Carly that I would not be kissing 99 more random strangers.

When the kiss was over, the guy shook my hand and said--

GUY: Trevor. The name's Trevor. Just so you have it right when you crown me winner. I'll message you my e-mail address.
ME: Um, thank you...Trevor. You may just win by default.

I looked over at Adam who was now giving me the--

ADAM: You're a skank.

Yeah, that look.

Across the club I spotted the guy Nick had been seeing for awhile. His name is Juan, and he's a local college student. I only met him a few times, but he seemed like a relatively nice guy. I figured if anyone knew where Nick was and what was going on with him, it would be Juan.

I made my way over, but before I could even get there, Juan spotted me and seemed to be searching for an escape route. Luckily, I moved too fast and before he could go anywhere I was standing right in front of him.

ME: Hey Juan.
JUAN: Hi--Kevin, right?
ME: Yeah, Nick's friend.
JUAN: Riiight.

I detected some hostility.

ME: Speaking of Nick, I got his message, but now there doesn't seem to be any way to contact him. His phone number--
JUAN: Yeah, he left my house the night before he sent that message out. We had a big fight and I told him I never wanted to see him again. Maybe that's why he spazzed.
ME: A fight? What was the--
JUAN: Really none of your business. Unless Nick wants to tell you, in which case--
ME: I would love for him to tell me, but he seems to have vanished into thin air.
JUAN: Don't be so dramatic. No wonder you two are friends. You have that in common.

With that, he walked away. There was a part of me that wanted to grab him by his little vanity "Push My Button" t-shirt and yank him back, but I thought better of it.

There was something about all this that was really unsettling to me.

Unfortunately, before I could think of what to do about it, the phone rang.

ME: Hi Uncle Will.
UNCLE WILL: Your Mom told us the good news.
JEFF: Congratulations Uncle Kevin!

This is why I don't talk to my mother. Harry's baby was probably going to be the headline of the New York Post tomorrow.

ME: Thank you for the well wishes, but keep it on the downlow.
UNCLE WILL: Aren't you excited?
ME: Well, it's Harry's kid.
JEFF: So what? He's going to let you see it, isn't he?
ME: See it? Are you kidding? He probably already has me booked to babysit the kid for the first six months until the kid learns to crawl, speak, and support itself financially.
UNCLE WILL: Just be supportive. This baby is going to need all the love it can get.
ME: I know, I know. I need to stop being so selfish and look on the bright side of things.
JEFF: Ironically, we've got a big announcement of our own.
ME: You finally figured out the secret to Aunt Dana's peach cobbler?
JEFF: No, but if that hag knows what's good for her she'll give it up soon.
UNCLE WILL: Jeff--
JEFF: Oh, right. We're adopting!

Hold me closer, Tiny Dancer.

That night when I got home, Mom was sitting by the window watching the Model House.

ME: Mom, it's 2am.
MOM: They all went to bed except for the strange one.
ME: His name is Odd Guy, Mom.
MOM: There was a scandal earlier tonight. Roger told me about it.
ME: You've got him watching too?
MOM: Let me have some joy in life, will you?

I got out the cheese block.

ME: Thanks for telling Uncle Will and Jeff about the baby, by the way.
MOM: It just slipped out when they told me they were adopting.
ME: I don't know how this happened. My life has turned into thirtysomething--and I'm still only twentysomething.
MOM: You don't think your Uncle having a baby is a good idea?
ME: I don't think anybody in my life having a baby is a good idea. I don't think solving your problems by taking off to who knows where is a good idea. I don't think kissing strangers is a good idea. And I don't think spying on your neighbors is a good idea.
MOM: So say something about it.
ME: I just did. But I can't otherwise because then I'll be meddling and I'm not going to meddle.
MOM: Why not?
ME: Because I can't keep inserting myself into other people's business.
MOM: Great. Let me know when they make you a saint.

Mom got up and gave me a hug.

MOM: Make sure you turn the light off after you finish with your cheese.
ME: I will.
MOM: For what it's worth, I think it's nice that you try to help when you can.
ME: It's not always that selfless, Mom.
MOM: Maybe not, but at least your heart's in the right place.

She started to walk away, and then my curiosity got the best of me.

ME: Hey Mom?
MOM: Yeah?
ME: What was the scandal?
MOM: Oh...Saint Kevin wants to--
ME: Oh, just tell me, Joan Crawford.

My mother grinned like the Cheshire Cat. She lives for this stuff.

MOM: The Dumb Blonde and the Boy with the Weird Hair--
ME: Blondie and Punky.
MOM: Right. They were making out in the kitchen while the other two were out somewhere and Odd Guy caught them.
ME: Shut up!
MOM: I'm thinking of bringing over a cake tomorrow, but Rory says if I do that I'll contaminate the environment.
ME: What?
MOM: He says it's like National Geographic. If you stop the leopard from eating the lion cub, you've spoiled the whole thing.

She shrugged, patted my arm, and left. I looked out the window at Odd Guy in the living room watching television. I thought I could see a look on his face. That look you have when you're dealing with some you can't deal with because you're not supposed to be dealing with it in the first place.

Yeah, that sounds right.

I looked at him and thought, I know how you feel, Odd Guy. I know exactly how you feel. How do you not involve yourselves with other people's lives? Isn't that what being human is all about? Connecting with people? Becoming a part of their existence? How do you sit back and watch them do something you think will hurt them? How do you sit by and watch when they fall down--make mistakes...

Then I thought of my new niece or nephew. How I'll have to do exactly that. I'll have to let this baby make its own mistakes. Do its own thing. Lead its own life. And I realized...

I need to learn to get used to that.

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.