And The Avalanche Cascades

With the stroke of my silver tongue wagging "As soon as I walk out this door, I'm nothing, but your neighbor. Borrowed cups of sugar and maybe half and half on a Saturday morning and that's it," I've completely unraveled whatever was raveling with my neighbor. I think it's for the best.

Here's how it started.

I was on the second day of a coolout period that included cooking angel hair pasta with olive oil, hot pepper flakes, cherry tomatoes and basil leaves. It was spicy, yet delicious and cooking it was the fun part. Yesterday was the second day. I worked through lunch and headed to the driving range after work intending to whack some balls and then eat and then enjoy a glass of wine and sleep like a baby. Solitary. Confined. Okay. Three bottles of wine, a myoplex bar and two cups of coffee in 36 hours. That's your 100% RDA of bad idea.

I got home from the range and showered and cracked open a moderately priced bottle of Cabernet. Dropped the tuning on my guitar to a D and ran through a Minus the Bear song on my acoustic. Finger tapping on an acoustic is an acquired taste. I was completely into what I was doing and completely alone. Happy.

My phone rang and it was the neighbor. She had lost her keys at work and was a bit frantic. I told her to just come by when she gets home and I had a half a bottle of wine and some smokerretes for us to share while she waited for maintenance. Happiness was officially threatened.

She had had a rough day. We shared some personal/very personal thoughts. We killed the bottle of wine. We opened a bottle of Mick Fleetwood (yeah, that one) Merlot. It was a gift from a neighbor for Christmas. It tasted like Tusk.

She got tired of waiting for maintenance and thought she could pick her lock with allen wrenches that I loaned her. I watched attentively at her lock picking techniques and then pulled her screen out and popped her window off the hinges and asked her if she would like me to let her in. I let her in and then got a screw lock for her window so no one could do what I did again.

We hung out for a bit at her apartment and listened to music from my iTunes library. That part was kinda awesome. She's on my network. Another bottle got opened and we sat and listened to Jeff Buckley's version of Hallelujah in a dark room. Everyone should do that once or a hundred times.

We then got to some touchy subjects about us which culminated in an ultimatum. I left a neighbor while she played Hallelujah on a loop that I could hear in my apartment. I texted her to turn it off and it persisted. I then shut down the network to turn it off. Brilliant. Don't fuck with your IT guy.

So, this morning I read our text exchange where she referred to me as drunk and mean and left her a voicemail with a neighborly apology. Three bottles of wine and eleven days of acquaintance equals one apology. Not bad.

I'm letting it go, but still have a soft spot for her. How does one do that in such a short amount of time? I'm emotionally easy. That's really the reason that I questioned the whole thing. I fall too fast.

In other news, I went to the doctor today and got my ankle checked out. It's healing. While I was there I got my annual STD screening to the question of "Have you been exposed to any STDs in the last year?" with a response of "Statistically? Probably." While there I asked him about my back. I've got a beat up L5 vertebrae from soccer and it hurts persistently. I asked him whether I should just get surgery to fix it while I still have health coverage. He recommended I go to physical therapy and I started laughing. He asked what was funny and I told him about how I dated the therapist twice. He laughed right in my fuckin' face and said "That was stupid." I'm about to send her an email and warn her. I'm sure she'll bump me to another therapist so that I can feel rejection again.

Cognitive therapy this evening. Thank god. I managed to get some material pulled together for it. Just a man with a shovel at the bottom of a hole looking at everyone else asking how he got there and how to get out.

Live By The Bottle. Die By The Bottle.

I've worked at a few jobs in the past where I was consistently pondering where the coffee came from. I'd roll into work and smell it brewing and go grab a cup and feel like someone in a tv show getting to work. I even considered whistling and taking up a briefcase briefly. (Briefcase briefly? Seriously?) Did I say few? I meant once.

Not only do I know why the caged bird sings, but I fuckin' know where the coffee comes from. I also know who changes the water bottle every goddamn time it goes empty. I know who picks up the cigarette butts next to the ashtray and the stray McDonald's wrappers next to the trashcan. I know the guy who straightens crooked pictures and throws away stray butter chips from the refrigerator. It's actually gotten to the point where co-workers will walk up to my desk and ask me to make coffee or change the water bottle or fix their chair or unjam the copier.

There was one company that I worked for and the coffee pot was all the way on the other side of the building. So, I would trudge from my office to go put a pot on and then retrudge back to my office to work while it brewed. No whistling. No wanting to take up a briefcase. By the time I returned to the pot it was empty. Those motherfuckers would take it while it was brewing leaving me with nothing unless I stood next to it.

The water bottle? I went on strike here and refused to change the bottle for a week stating that you cannot help anyone unless you can help yourself. I was hoping that I would spot some initiative in the office. It sat empty for three days and everyone just switched to bottled water. I got fed up and changed the water bottle. They won. They always eventually win.

Yes, I make better coffee than them and yes, I don't spill a drop when changing the bottle out, but just because I'm good at something does not mean I should have to do it every time. Hmmm? Perhaps they would be better if they ever tried it. Perhaps they would be better if they even took interest in it. It's shit like this that is going to result in our civilization culminating in nothing but a smear on a dead planet as a legacy in the Universe.

I mean, come on. We have more referential materials at our disposal for intense amounts of information than at any point in history and we're doing what with it? Going to see movies with Katherine Hiegl in them? Status updates about what we're eating? This is what we do? I'm beating up on myself here, too. I watched ten minutes of Hell's Kitchen last night and watched three episodes of Kendra a couple of weekends ago, so I'm not off the hook either. I'll also update a facebook status 72 times in three hours.

I guess it goes beyond coffee and water bottles, but they're a start. From there we can progress to modifying the AC to come on before 4:00 PM everyday. Actually, I'd try, but the union dudes would kill me.

Try Not to Love They Neighbor

This week's therapy session is going to be about how short the road is from smitten to smited. I am quickly falling hard for my neighbor. Too quickly?

There is that undefinable quality in a person where you just know after ten minutes that you like them a lot. The first conversation I had with her there was a surge of butterflies in my stomach and a tightness in my chest. My first reaction was flight from the situation. The proximity factor was too dangerous. I fought it that first week, but we hung out a lot. This culminated in going out again last Friday night.

Let me just jump in with a childhood story. I was probably twelve years old and had done particularly well at baseball tryouts and got bumped up a division. I got put on a team with 14 year olds. I showed up to our first practice and everyone else was much bigger than me. Some probably had pubic hair for christ sakes. This was my first encounter with operating out of my league. I tried to hang, but it was very frustrating as everyone else was two years ahead of me. It was a rough year, but I eventually got through it and the next year was much easier. I feel like I'm operating out of my league with my neighbor at this point.

She is super cute, young and actually has a glowing personality. She makes me giddy. She makes me feel funny. She makes up funny words for things. She makes me drop all of my normal defenses that I employ. She scares the hell out of me and is a threat to my normal, sustainable routine. I've been here a few times and the eventual result was devastating, but when it all went down at least I didn't have to see them everyday or sit in my apartment and know that they are on the other side of the wall.

Anyway, Friday night she came over after work and we listened to music on the porch and had a few beers while she smoked these cigarettes that smelled like candy. They will forever be associated with her. She went into my apartment and grabbed my guitar and looked at me and simply said, "Play for me." I don't play for people anymore. It's something I do by myself in my apartment. I looked back at her and couldn't say no.

She had me play along with some flamenco music that she loved and then I turned it back on her and gave her a real quick lesson on some basic chords and she was killing it. She was playing along with "Ashes of American Flags" by Wilco within a half hour. We decided we needed to eat so I suggested we go downtown and grab something.

We changed and jumped into a cab and headed downtown. I showed my exceptional talent in singing traditional Indian music and impressed both her and the cab driver. He thought I was a natural. We got downtown and I jumped out of the cab and ran to an ATM to grab cash for the cab. I was so wrapped up in the moment that I left my card in the ATM. Brilliant.

We walked to the restaurant and managed to crash a table for two with no reservation. Totally crediting kismet for that and also putting absolute trust in it at that point. We had a nice dinner with the best gay waiter known to man. I thought he had a crush on her until we figured out that he had a crush on me by the end of dinner.

From there, we rolled to a club and put on a dance exhibition. The dances included Making Pancakes, Grocery Shopping, Double Dutch, Jumpshots and a variety of other completely goofy dances as the patrons just stared as us as if we were absolutely crazy. We both could fall back on being part-time mimes at any moment in our lives.

There is a definite caveat when hanging out with a super hot girl in a club environment. Every dude in the club and some of the girls want to destroy you. Even with that distraction, she never dropped her attention from me. I was probably too buzzed to really appreciate this as we devolved into a pair of hot messes. She grabbed my glasses and turned into sexy Sarah Palin before stepping on them and then managed to lose her credit card. We were killing it with recklessness. I realized we were done and pulled her from the club.

We walked past a group of homeless people and her golden heart bled. So, we ended up buying forty bucks worth of pizza for the homeless as all of the cabs sped off into the night filled with drunks. After she had distributed all of the pizza, she looked at me and said, "I'm hungry." This is where we had our first argument. We were really packing in a lot in a small amount of time. We argued in some alley and did that awkward face in face thing, but resisted making out because we were neighbors.

She saw a couple sitting on a curb and the girl looked really tore up so she grabbed me by the arm and led me over to the couple where she talked to the girl and then held her hair while she gave it up into a planter. As the couple walked away the dude looked at her and said "That dude's an asshole. You shouldn't date him again."

I looked at her and told her to hold my glasses while I went and showed him how much of an asshole I was. She grabbed me and talked me out of it as we walked back to where the cabs used to be. As we approached, a cab was going towards the throngs of displaced revelers waiting impatiently. She jumped into the street, stopping the cab short of the people waiting and yelled to me, "Get in!" She then rolled down the window and flipped off everyone waiting while she yelled "Fuckers!" at them while we drove past.

That was the point that I realized I was done. I was smitten.

We made out in the cab on the way home like the ship was going down. Both of us realizing it was totally wrong and that we shouldn't be doing it because we were neighbors.

We got home and...The next morning she was laying on my chest while I stroked her hair and we just talked about whatever before I snuck her back to her apartment next door in an effort to conceal it from any of the neighbors. It was as at peace as I've felt in a really long time and more potent than any amount of booze that I've ever tried to use to self-medicate and forget. She made me want to remember every moment we were spending together. She made me want to live and die on every word that came out of her mouth.

This is not a crush. This is an emergency.

Chile Coloradical

Yesterday my neighbor and I rode our bikes into work. It was cute. I've never done that with anyone before. I did kind of miss my me time and my iPod, but it couldn't hurt to get comfortable around other people. I have to admit that I was a little concerned when she left my office yesterday morning. Honestly, the bike that I was letting her ride was as advanced as a fixed gear with freewheel and handbrakes can get. I was waiting for a call all day from her describing some horrific, face ensnarling bike wreck that was going to be due to my shoddy bike repair skills.

Anyway, I headed home from work and got home with saddlebags under my arms from a proliferation of perspiration. I don't sweat. Things have to be pretty extreme to get me visibly sweaty. Got home and donned a wifebeater and continued working on my patio for a bit when my ex-neighbor's kid came by and asked some question of me that really didn't have an answer so I made one up. He then went and knocked on the new neighbor's door. She answered after a little bit and he let her know that if she needed help moving anything that him and his friend would help. It was actually supercute, but nothing worth waking up from a nap for.

She came over to my patio and we talked for a bit and she went back to her place as I went to soak and drink beers by the pool. I bumped into another neighbor that is kind of a trip. He rocks a Speedo and is super tan and has his nipples pierced and turns fifty in a couple of months. We always get talking about philosophy and quantum mechanics. Yesterday was Taoism and whether science will ever advance to a point that would lead into religious values completing a belief system based in logic and faith. The more we drink, the more interesting it gets. So, we have a few beers and are just talking and hanging out and he goes "Well, I met this chick on, uh..." and then he paused and I jumped in with "On match.com or something?" and he replied back, "No. It was singlenudist.com or adultfriendfinder." The dude's advanced in the online dating department for sure. I had to look up singlenudist.com today because I didn't really believe that it existed.

So, it started to get dark and he came by a little later and we just sat and smoked cigarettes, watched a little Bill Hicks, and had a few more beers. It was getting ridiculous for a Monday night. Anyway, the new neighbor came out on her way to our "State-of-the-art" apartment complex gym. I'll admit, as he pointed out later, that I got giddy when she came out. It was the booze, but regardless, the conversation turned to the neighbor after she had left. I told him that it was strictly off limits and to not speak another word of it. He just looked back at me and said "Bullshit. You've got a new toy."

She came back later and we ended up getting burritos after a conversation that went like this:

"Are you guys still open?"

"No. We close at 10:00"

"Dude. It's 9:55"

"Yeah, but we can't make anyone dinner in five minutes."

"Dude, remember that loco guy named Hugh from last Saturday in the bar being totally loud and obnoxious? This is him. Can I just get two Chile Coloradical burritos and one chile verde burrito to go."

"Oh. It's you? No problem. You love Vicente Fernandez and Lionel Richie, senor. They'll be ready in ten minutes."

"Thanks. Vicente Fernandez es mejor cantador del Sudamerica y Mexico. Duh."

So, the neighbor? Really tempting, but it would be one of the stupider things one could do. So, plan on keeping it all above the covers and it's just really cool that, so far, I've been lucky in the neighbor lottery this time. We're supposed to be biking to a Steely Dan tribute band in the park tonight, but I'm secretly hoping she flakes so that I can be breezy. Now if only something could happen with the creepy neighbor. I know that one shouldn't wish that on anyone, but it sure would make things a little cooler.

Oh and did I just listen to "This Is It" by Kenny Loggins three times on my iPod? WTF?!?!?!

Normalcy. Normal Do.

The weekend. I had therapy last Thursday and we actually changed the schedule to every other week because things have been going well and we were actually struggling to find new things to talk about. It's really cool. My ex-wife texted me in the middle of the session. It was perfect. Feeling normal or at least similar to everyone else.

I played soccer Friday night and even skipped postgame beers in lieu of going home and relaxing with ice around my ankle for ten minutes every hour. I had a couple beers by myself or at least only with Tiger Woods on xbox. Never drink alone. I went to bed relatively early for a Friday night and slept in as late as I could which is now about 7:45. Hit my routine schedule and went and got coffee at Philz and did a crossword before going to my last DUI appointment ever.

I got to the appointment and dude started sweating me by saying that he couldn't find my file. I've never missed a class for over 9 months and they can't find my file? Honestly, the whole program is an administrative nightmare, but is over. He handed me a bunch of paperwork and talked about what a shitty day he was having and how his pension sucks. I got out of there in six minutes and was done. Paperwork should clear in a week and I'm back to normal after the whole harrowing affair. I learned so much from the experience and ultimately it's proved to be incredibly positive. I'll actually miss it a little bit.

I left the appointment and drove to the music store to buy a capo. I've never owned one, but need it to play The Decemberists and Josh Ritter accurately. Plus, only ballers have a capo stuck on the neck of their acoustics. When I got to the music store, I put a toe in the water and went and looked at some of the used stuff. There was a strat that spoke to me a little, but it was only a whisper. It was no reason to tie myself to the mast. My ship was safe from the rocks.

I went to the companion store with all the new gear and looked at some strats for a bit. I saw one for $650 and took it on a test drive. The neck felt like hot butter. It was brilliant like wooden Xanax. As I was playing it, though, I caught an Ibanez RG350 out of the corner of my eye. It's a way cheaper version of one of my first guitars ever that got stolen. I got nostalgic and asked one of the dudes who works there to grab it for me. He handed me a cord and a pick and sent me to the gear room. It took ten minutes of playing for me to walk out and ask, "Does it come with a case?"

He went to go ring it up and gave me a soft case for cheap. I almost forgot the fuckin' capo I was so excited. He threw in some complimentary strings and I also grabbed a stand for my Guitar Hero controller. I felt just straight fuckin' giddy driving home. I suppose it's what it would feel like coming home from the hospital with a newborn. Or, at least my equivalent.

Got it in the apartment and tuned for 45 minutes as the gitbox got acclimated to my apartment. Dual locking tremolos are a pain in the ass, but they have whammy bars for the rock. Played it for a bit and then put it on its stand next to my other two guitars and caught myself just staring at it from time to time.

A side effect of the whole experience is that I think I've talked my neighbor into buying his a kid a Chinese B.C. Rich Warlock for his kid's tenth birthday. It was my first guitar and I know that it will inspire the kid to play forever. It looks badass enough that a kid will just want to rock it. So, it's on. Lil Trav is getting a Warlock for his birthday. Sick. Of course, it comes with me obligated to give him lessons, but that will be good for me.

So, the neighbor came by to check out the new ax and a girl walked out of the apartment that he had just moved out of. On top of that, she was cute. He started up a conversation with her and we all exchanged introductions and gave her a few tips for checking out San Francisco for the day and also about the weird neighbor.

I hung out and owned Tiger Woods and played guitar for the day completely spacing on eating. The neighbor came back over that evening and I set up his kid on Rock Band. Over the span of a half hour I decided I had to eat and told him he was in charge of my castle and I was going to jam to a Mexican restaurant for margaritas and a kick ass Chile Colorado burrito. He asked if he could go and I told him, "Shit yeah you can, but you're not paying." He always pays.

We grabbed our Lolitish fifteen year old neighbor and I set her up on my wireless to babysit in my apartment and bailed. We got there and the HughVoltage show immediately went into effect. $10 in the jukebox to play Vicente Fernandez and Lionel Richie with one MJ tribute of "PYT." Within ten minutes we had met everyone in the tiny bar and were hanging out. There was a pregnant lady drinking margaritas and it went like this:

"You're pregnant? What the hell are you doing drinking?"

"They're virgins."

"Hey, I bet you aren't."

So, we ate and drank and were merry and my neighbor was going to take off. At the same time a couple of girls who wore bigger jeans than I would were leaving, too. They asked if I'd like to go to a bar with them and I thought "What the hell" and got into a stranger's car. One of them smoked weed in the back seat and they took me to their friend's house. That was awkward. We got to the bar and I bought them a round and realized I was done. One of them ordered an Adios Motherfucker and it totally put a shot across my bow. If you see a blue drink, you should leave the vicinity immediately. Pro tip.

I snuck out and grabbed a cab and went home as I had a pending breakfast date with my mom the next morning.

The next morning I woke up and heard nothing from my mom. She pinged me at 11:30 AM and said she would try to get to my place by 4:00. I simply told her that that was a late breakfast and bailed to Der Wienerschnitzel to satisfy a dersgusting urge. It was derlicious and gave me derarrhea. Gross.

My new neighbor had mentioned that she worked at the same place that I did and I had offered her my backup bike because parking is a joke. This meant I had to put it back together and it became my Sunday afternoon project. The back tire was a little messed up so I rode it to the bike store to use their tools and got it rocking by the time I left. It's a beast and it's awesome, but a little intermediate for riding. On the way home I grabbed the Sunday paper and a FroYo. It was turning into a perfect Sunday.

Anyway, I got the bike all set up and went out with my mom. We had a really good talk. The therapy is contagious and she talked about the scarlet letter that we both wore when I was growing up because she was a 16 year old mom. We have a lot of the same things going on because of it. It was really cool. There is a lot of opening up going on. A lot.

I got home and was chillin' from a really productive weekend, I felt. My new neighbor knocked on my door and was holding two beers and came inside to hang out. We moved to the porch and she smoked flavored cigarettes while we kicked it. We ended up biking to work together this morning. Trust me. It was way too cute for my tastes and my comfort zones.

Threebird

Two nights ago I was coming off a night of no sleep and heading to bed at 8:15. It was still light out. The night before, I had gone to bed and woke up every hour on the hour with my favorite waking up being at 2:34. Numbers are fun. I was having super vivid dreams that kept waking me up and it was like a hundred degrees and didn't cool down until around 4:00 AM. I only know this because I was laying awake in bed and noticed that the temperature was more tolerable.

So, the next night, I'm exhausted and inching up to that pre-bed smoke. My neighbor knocks on my sliding glass door as I'm laying on my couch semi-lucid and points excitedly towards his apartment and is saying something that I can't hear through the glass. A couple minutes go by and he walks by with this chick towards the pool. Okay, he wanted me to see that he was with some chick. Good for him.

About a half hour later, I'm indulging that smoke I mentioned before and they are walking back from the pool laughing and holding hands. Holding hands the first time hanging out is something I'll never understand. Perhaps I should. That could have been my bad with the physical therapist. We had an invisible shield between our personal spaces that, in retrospect, may have been emanating from me.

They walk towards me and he says as he giggles, "Hey, show my buddy."

I look up and she pulls her towel back and pulls her bikini down to show me her giant fake boobs. I acknowledge and look back down politely saying "Thanks." Ten minutes later it sounds like a raping at a petting zoo in his apartment and I headed to bed.

The following day I got home from work and was purposefully avoiding going outside to avoid the play-by-play. It's always kind of gross to hear about that stuff coming from him. Avoidance never works.

Around 8:00 PM last night I decided to pick up the gitbox and practice for a little bit. It was hot as hell so I had my screen door open. My neighbor walks through my screen door into my apartment and says "Hey man, does this look okay for a job interview tomorrow?"

I reply in my head, "Yeah, if it's at Tommy Bahama," but actually say out loud to him, "Sure, but I would add a belt, tie and socks."

He then asks, "Hey, can I borrow a brown belt, brown socks, a tie and a sport coat?"

"Dude, Macy's is having a sale you should just go pick up some gear. Plus, my sport coat would require a time machine to look fashionable. It's gross and from JC Penney in like 1995." I answer back. Trying to mask my sarcasm.

He then says, "Dude. Target is always having a sale and I have a credit card there."

"Then I would do that," I say.

He leaves and I go back to my scales. I'm rusty.

Moments later he comes back in the screen door. I think I'm about to be victim of a home invasion it's so abrupt.

He sits down on th couch next to me. I haven't even stopped from playing F sharp major to F sharp minor alternately. He starts cycling through his camera of the previous night. Not only do I get a play-by-play, but I pretty much get a powerpoint presentation of it. He finally stops the slideshow at a tongue to breast picture. My brain is scarred.

Then this happens: "Dude, I was gonna come get you last night. She asked if I'd grab you because she likes to have two dudes at once. Like..." I'll paraphrase the rest. In the blue movie biz they refer to it as MFM. It's like the letter "H." He gets into some detail here that's not worth repeating. He says she is coming back from Las Vegas in a month and maybe then.

I simply reply in a monotone, "I'll keep my eye out for the evite, man. Hey, what does she do for a living? She seems like a nice girl."

He says back, "She's a masseuse."

At this point, I just start laughing and say "Is that what they call it now?"

He left and my mancave was mine again. I moved on to F sharp Dorian to F Sharp Lydian alternating. Consequently, slept like a baby except for the dream of hooking up with Dakota Fanning that woke me up. That was gross. It was an older Dakota Fanning, though, that seemed more like Tatum O'Neal in Bad News Bears. I cannot be held responsible for my dream state.