Have a Cold One

Dammit, I hate when people start off with that….

I’m sorry.

…it’s that waiting is hard. It’s possibly the hardest thing to do. I’ve been waiting for a lot of things recently, and for the most part, the waiting period has come and gone for most of those things. With tomorrow being the most recent thing I’ve been waiting for (I’m going to apologize again as I question the structural integrity of that clause)…

Scratch that.

Tomorrow, I’m going back to camp for the whole summer. I’ve been waiting for this for a while now…almost three months. That is the last thing for now.

However, there is one thing I’m also waiting for that I really seem to have no control over. I’m not going to have any control over it until I’m back in Auburn, and even then, I might not have complete control. 

See, this is why waiting sucks, especially in this context, because you know you have to keep waiting in order to maintain your chances, but deep down you know that you really only have the next step, nothing more. My next step is critical, and it’s not simply getting back to Auburn—that step is already complete; moving back in is a technicality. Easy. 

The difficult part is knowing that there are probably about a million other factors that could influence what I’m waiting for, and those factors are not acting in my favor. At least in my head. At least to my knowledge. 

So, that’s what’s on my mind tonight. It’s what’s been on my mind for about the last 9 months, now. And I’m sorry to anyone who reads this and is put off by any melodrama, but it’s a personal thing to me, and everyone should be satisfied enough to understand that waiting for something you want in life, perhaps more than anything else, and being presently helpless to sway the odds in your favor until the right time arrives is the most difficult thing to deal with in this world. 

Even when the time passes and you’re at that next step, you can always screw things up. That’s why I’m so nervous about it. That’s why I’m losing sleep over it every night. That’s why not many other things seem to matter to me. Because I have this one powerful thing on my mind and it’s pushing away everything else. 

Again, sorry for the melodrama.

But it’s a serious issue. And if you don’t think so, then you’re lying…to me, to yourself, to Congress, to everyone. 

But tomorrow is a good day, because my waiting is over for one more desire in my life, and that is to be out of my parents’ house for three months while I mentally prepare for life back at school through meditation and physical exercise. I’m looking forward to this experience. 

What I’m not looking forward to is more of that helpless feeling. However, I’ll be blessed if I get to that crossroads in August and things have fallen into place for me to make the right move. And that’s a positive outcome worth hoping for. 

…I have seen the following shows:

My Morning Jacket

Mike Cooley (solo)

Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit

Drive-By Truckers

Jerry Chapman and the Jazz String Trio

Wilco 

The Reneaus (and various other Secret Stages acts)

That might not seem like much to most people, and it really isn’t. It’s understood that these nine months have been rather difficult on me for several reasons…transitioning from living independently to living under my parents’ house, heartbreak, a tough economy, the absence of a social life, personal struggles…the list goes on. It’s nice to know that music is the one thing that has held me together for the last nine months. I don’t go to many concerts. In fact, I’ve probably seen more acts in more venues in the last nine months than in the last ten years of my life. I think I decided that I am actually still young and I have time to do these things. I need to do these things. Every show I’ve seen has been worth every penny spent on a ticket. 

Now that my life’s direction has changed once more, it’s comforting that I have made these new memories with some of my favorite (and some new favorite) bands. The silver linings in my clouds now have melodies.

I almost wavered last night at the Mexican restaurant. My dad got a margarita, my mom got a margarita, my dad got another margarita, and I had water. And then Dad gave me the keys because he’s got a lower tolerance than I…or at least, lower than mine used to be. 

The goal I had was to not drink at all while I was doing this new workout program I wrote up, but that thing is six weeks long. I can’t do that. Nobody should. So I just thought, what the hell, I’ll go a month. Partly to see if I could do it, but mostly so that I would have a better advantage when I ran every day, worked out, etc. 

And to be honest, I’ve never felt better, health wise…

The other aspects of my life?

MISERABLE. 

I wish I could make that font 100 times bigger.

Monday. Monday is the day that I will be able to say, “I went without drinking for a whole month.” When that day gets here, I’ll be overjoyed, and probably overly intoxicated since, well, it’s been a month. Four-beer Bobby will turn into Two-beer Bobby because Bobby ain’t gonna have any tolerance. 

I really, really, REALLY need a drink. I think tonight sent me over the edge. 

A lot of people know that I’m currently living in my parents’ house, and I’m starting to think that my parents are really smart and are playing this terrible trick on me—an 8-month long experiment to see if I’ll actually go insane and run over the kids out in the street with my car. I’m paying them rent. Can you believe that? I’m not even a year out of college yet (actually, come Wednesday, I will have been), and they’re making me pay rent! And where is that money going, exactly? It sure ain’t going toward the landscaping. Lord knows I’m doing all that work, too. And it’s certainly not going toward dish washing or food variety or garbage disposal. So naturally, I’m the kind of guy who wants to find ways to make that money back. So I’ve been doing overtime at work and even coming in on Saturdays, including today and last Saturday. The imagined conversation in my head goes something like this:

Dad: Why are you working on Saturdays now?

Me: Well, Dad, it’s bad enough that the federal government screws me every month, so now I’m going to work on Saturdays to get back the money that you and my mother are stealing from me each month.

I’ve even imagined that on the day I leave, I’m just going to lose it, and I’m going to calmly demand that they give all of that money back…sort of like a deposit. It’s like, “Heyyyy, so since I didn’t break anything for the last year, how about that refund?” Or maybe I’ll just act like this was all a joke like, “Heyyy, so that whole rent thing…that wasn’t real, right? Haha, yeah. You guys taught me a lesson. That was funny. So…can I have that money back now, please?” 

Now I’m not here to bash my parents. They make their livings, they pay for what they want, it’s only natural that they milk me for an extra $150 a month or so while I’m here. I mean, after all, it’s their house, right? I’m just a house guest. My brother is 16. He’s not paying rent. In fact, he’s not doing any chores, either (that I know of). In fact, he’s doing no chores and not paying rent. I’m doing most of the chores and paying rent. I’m paying to do my own chores! I always wonder if I do enough yard work, does that lower my cost? Does some of that money go back into some kind of interest-building fund? Nope. 

I even thought about painting my own parking space in the driveway. There are currently five cars in our driveway/garage. FIVE. My brother can’t even drive his car yet, but it’s in the garage. Hell, I’m paying money; I might as well get my own spot, right? If for nothing else, just so I can say, “Hey! What are you doing? I paid for that spot. I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to move your car. Can’t you see the yellow line there?”

Let’s not even get started on our wood floors. We have hardwood floors. We’ve had them since 2008. Since 2011, however, every member of this house is now required to wear flip-flops, shoes, or bear-fur socks that don’t leave bare footprints on the floor. Because LORD IN HEAVEN FORBID that there are toe prints on our priceless wooden floors…that nobody ever sees.

And that’s another thing. My parents’ mindset is to neurotically keep the house clean because you never know when company is coming over…except that company never comes over…except for when my friends come over…once a year…and then they run off scared of my house rules. The rules I’m paying to follow. Isn’t that backwards…

Did you know that I have a dog? My dog licks the floors. So whenever my dog licks the floors, it looks like a footprint. It looks like a little toe just went to town and smudged the hell out of that polished oak. And who gets blamed for it? Moi. 

So you’re probably asking me, “Hey….come on. It can’t be that bad. I mean, surely you have some kind of room all to yourself, right? Like a man-cave?” 

Ah, yes. The man-cave. Our man-cave is upstairs in what was formerly known as the playroom. MY flat screen television, my brother’s XBOX 360, and oh, of course, the family computer.

Dear God, the family computer.

My entire family is on Facebook. My dad has an iPad and a laptop. He doesn’t need the family computer. My mom has none of these things (except for a smartphone), so her only source of utter contempt for her frenemies happens upstairs. Upstairs when my brother is trying to kill Russians in Call of Duty, upstairs when I’m trying to watch television, upstairs when I’m reading. Hell, I can’t even imagine what it’d be like bringing a girl up there. My mother would probably just walk in and say, “Hey, don’t mind me. I’m just checking Facebook. It’ll only be a few minutes.” (I might try that.) I can’t take it. She shuffles up there at least six times a day to get on Facebook.

AND THEN…

She gets mad at me for not putting the throw pillows back on the one couch that now sits in the man-cave. There are ten pillows, but only four live on the couch. The rest sit in a pile next to it. So now those thoughts about bringing a girl upstairs are actually kind of relevant since she’d probably be the only person outside of my mother and my father’s Martha Stewart fantasy land who appreciates THROW PILLOWS.

What kind of world is this? 

So now, as soon as she comes upstairs, I just stop whatever I’m doing, turn the TV off, breathe out a loud sigh, and walk back to my room, defeated. I can’t take it. I can’t take her sitting there in my man-cave scrolling through a list of people that she hates in private but she loves oh-so-much in public. 

Oh my gosh, I am so sorry. I have gotten completely off topic, here. Or have I? 

Well anyway, the point is, I need a drink, and this living situation is not helping at all. I have just one more full day before I can come home from work and crack open that tallboy that’s been patiently sitting in the basement fridge for so long now. Oh, sweet refreshment. Those mountains aren’t blue—they’re purple, and they’ve lost circulation they’re so cold. A hundred different climbers have scaled those mountains by now.

I’ve had enough of this. I’ve had enough of having to wear flip-flops in my own damn house (Do you understand how many times I’ve tripped on those rubber skates and nearly plummeted to my premature death? All of this to keep the wood floors clean? The wood floors that NOBODY EVER SEES BUT US?) 

I’m sick of it. And to be honest with you, I’m not as angry as I am just completely flabbergasted. It’s almost hilarious that all of this is taking place: that I’m paying my parents to live in their house while I work at my job from 8-5 everyday to pay for extra living expenses for when I’m in grad school this fall. It’s getting to the point now that I’m fantasizing about the day I leave. I’m going to have all of my stuff packed in the moving truck, I’m going to hug them, pet my dog, and say casually, “Well, this has been a nightmare. Goodbye.” 

Ooooohhhhhh….please get me a beer. Happy Cinco de Mayo, everyone.

…is the whole marriage thing.

Okay, before you close this window or tab, I’m not going to rant about marriage and how “marriage is evil” or anything like that. I’m not against marriage. I want to get married. 

Just not right now. 

But regardless of how I feel about it, this wave of people my age getting married is staggering. Perhaps it’s simply been going on for a long time and I’m just now old enough to be aware of it, but it really is shocking how many of my high school classmates are getting hitched. 

That in and of itself could be the subject of a longer discussion. But the point I want to make about marriage and people my age participating is that there is now a difference in my way of thinking when it comes to girls I’m interested/was interested in, dating, etc.

Hypothetically, let’s say I’m interested in a girl for the first time, and she’s just gotten out of a long relationship, and she’s close to my age (I’m 23, by the way). If I were in high school or even early on in college, I could risk letting her get away and get into another relationship, because chances are that she wouldn’t end up marrying the guy. The odds state that it would not be favorable. I could bide my time. But now, with a girl like that being my age, fresh out of a relationship, and single—that’s a game-changer. At that point, she’s not going to get screwed over again; she’s going to look for the absolutely right guy. At that point, she probably wants something serious enough to consider marriage, right?

And I’m not saying that every 23-year-old girl out of college who is single is looking for a husband as some kind of last resort. I’m just pointing out that the thought has probably entered her mind…I mean, if we’re basing this on the seemingly overwhelming number of my peers who are tying the knot and everything…

An even greater dilemma is the girl who is already in a relationship. Hypothetically, if I’m interested in a girl, and she gets into a relationship (with all of the same parameters as above), is it wrong to assume that she’s thinking about marriage? If the trend holds that more people are getting married at a younger age, why is that so far off? So at that point, if I’m interested enough in this particular girl, for example, I’m really counting on a very small chance that she’ll break up with the guy…because if that’s the case, at that point he’s not marriage material, right?

Or even greater is the situation where hypothetically I’m interested in a girl, and she’s interested in me, but we’re pretending not to be that interested in each other, but interestingly enough, she’s interested, and I’m kind of interested, and we’re both interested—albeit slightly—at the idea of marriage….

…until we’re not interested in anything anymore, and it all ends. So at that point, if I’m trying to win her back (same parameters), I’m really racing against time, because not only am I competing with just another guy, I’m competing with potential husband material. Again, the game has changed.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that back in high school and even in college, if you liked a girl who was already in a relationship, and there was even the slightest hint that she might also be interested, all you had to do was ride it out. You just had to wait. Because, let’s face it—there are only a handful (if that) of relationships that started in high school and ended in “til death do us part” (as opposed to divorce), and nobody likes those couples anyway. I can’t think of many couples from high school that are still together. In fact, when those individuals broke up, it was mostly the girls who wound up finding their future husbands. The guys stayed behind and didn’t. 

So the one thing I’ve noticed now, as I’m getting older, is that marriage is a real threat. And again, I’m not saying this to be derogatory or to bash the idea of marriage. I say “threat” in the same way I say “competitor.” You used to only have to compete with the actual other dude and a little bit of time. Now, you don’t have that luxury. You either make a move, or BOOM. Wedding invitation. And you’re not in the ceremony. You’re not even an usher. All you ushered in was all the time you wasted being scared, allowing the not-scared other guy to swoop in and steal your girl.

Because most girls that I know want to get married, and if they really want to get married, I have a feeling that they’ll find a guy who’s willing, too. And that doesn’t leave me with a lot of options…or a lot of time.