Friday, July 06, 2012


I have, believe it or not, been accused (more than once) of being a non-team player. I have also been told that I am as stubborn as a brick wall. Both of these adjectives are probably very true, but still I at least attempt to deny them both. Why I do not know, because really and truly I both understand and embrace my non-team playing stubborn behaviour. Most people don't really care for either of these traits that I seem to posses in abundance, but then again, I am not trying to impress most people. I have a select, limited number of people that know me well, and none of them have ever asked me to impress them. That is why they are on the short list of people that I call my friends.

Friends and teammates are not the same group of people, although some lucky few get the honour of being both. If, of course they are lucky, though I suspect their idea of lucky, and my idea of lucky might just be a little bit different. However, the idea is still basically the same. If you are my friend, well you are stuck. I don't make friends lightly, or easily, but once you are 'made' you are made, and you will have to do a lot of evil, evil things in order to lose me as a friend. Trust me people have tried, a couple even succeeded but they are exceptions that prove the rule. If you are one of those treasured few souls that I count as my friend, I will do as much as you ask of me, even cat sitting for you while you are out of town, and trust me, if anybody in this world hates cats, it is me. Sit them and not microwaving them takes all of my self-control, but a friend asked a favour, and a favour he shall have.

However, there is one thing that I do not, on purpose, possess. That is the rare thing called a 'best' friend. I have great, good friends. Friends who would make any other person in the world proud to call their best friend. There are two reasons that I choose (and it is a conscious choice) not to confer the title of best friend upon any one person. The first reason is the good reason which is why I will mention it first. It is a simple enough reason; it is the fact that all of my friends are, in their own way, quite awesome. That is why I picked them out of the rest of you lot to begin with. Each of them compliment my shitty personality in a different way. Each of them have certain traits that make them both unique from the others, and awesome in their own way. Most 'normal' people would be proud to call any ONE of them their best friend, and I realize how lucky I am to have such an amazing group of people that will suffer me for longer than 5 minutes.  The second reason is the bad reason which is why I saved it for second. Despite every member of this group of amazing people's talents, and obvious suitability to be my best friend, I remain a bit of a lone wolf at heart. It goes back to that non-team player tag that I have been carrying around for years. The fact that I seem unable to trust people in a positive manner makes having one best friend impossible. I cannot pick just one of them to be my best friend, and am unable to place all my eggs in the one basket of best friendness (a new word).  I prefer to scatter my best friend out amongst 3 to 5 people that way I become less vulnerable to the variances of personality (both mine and theirs).

 This group of wonderful people understand my stubborn nature, and are either okay with it, or are able to overlook it. It is an article of faith amongst this group (and they do not possess a great deal of what you would call classical faith), that I am fine as long as you do not try to get me to do anything I do not want to do. Quite a number of people (the non-friend) group make (in the broad sense) me do things I do not want to do, and sometimes get a bit disgruntled about that. Me being disgruntled is probably an unpleasant sight to see, and I am pretty sure it is something that gets really old, really fast.  My friends, on the other hand, realize that I am, at my core, about as mature as a five year old petulant child, and trying to get me to do something I don't want to do is a prescription for disaster. I might attend that function you wanted me to attend, but I will get by (and have done so many a time) with saying as few words as possible. I will stop short, I hope, of being outright surly, but I doubt you will want to bring me back for a return performance.

I am not completely okay with this as a personality trait, but it seems to be a defining one. If I were to radically change it, I might radically change myself, and then that group of amazing people that I count amongst my friends might change as well. I somehow doubt any of the group would be so shallow, but it is a big risk to take. Sometimes I wonder if it is a risk worth taking, but then I realize that I might be too old of a dog to learn new tricks. I do warn people about this bad trait of mine in advance, but sometimes seeing is believing. In many ways, I apologize for all those holidays ruined, parties shortened, and functions made awkward, but in many ways I told you so, and if it is possible to, I mean that in a good way.

This post is dedicated to two small, but not mutually exclusive groups of people. One the group of friends that I waxed lyrical about above, and two my loyal readers. You might have noticed, if you were paying attention that today is the sixth year anniversary of the beginning of this blog. Whatever you do, do NOT go back and read the first few posts I attempted, they are cringe worthy, and I am quite ashamed of them. However, I keep them up to remind me of my extremely awkward beginning, and to hopefully, show that I have improved as a 'writer' ( I even manage to do paragraphs nowdays).  It has been a long six years, and several times my finger was on the delete blog button, but someone usually was there to talk me out of it. For both of those groups of people I would like to express my undying gratitude, and thank you all for your patience in reading this dross. I can only hope that you get one tenth the pleasure out of reading it as I do (most of the time at least) writing it.  Tack, merci, gracias, danka, and thank you.

Monday, July 02, 2012

First in Time, First in Right

I was his first, I am hesitant to call myself his first 'love', so I will just stick with naming myself the first. The first who ever showed him exactly what the joys of love could bring. I doubt he remembers me very often, and I am not sure he remembers me with anything approaching fondness, but while he can deny all sorts of things (and does all the time), he cannot deny me no matter how much he would like to. I was the first 'filly' that he tried to break, and he came close, but I was never really that broken. I let him think he was in charge a lot more than he really was.

It was more years ago that I care to remember when I took him aside on that dirt road and taught him the rules of the road. The ways of the world, and all the other things a young lad like him needed to know in order to navigate his way around.  Try as he might, and I am quite certain he has tried, he can never forget me. I won't allow it, you see even if the rest of you lot have taught him things I never could, even if you lot have changed him from that nervous, uncertain, confused boy that I used to know, I will remain first in time. First in time, first in right is a property law axiom that some other person taught him long after I was gone, and I am not longer first in right, that is something I do not desire to be, it is enough for me to be first in time.

I was born in Detroit, the same state as his father, he didn't like his father that much, but he promised not to hold the state of my birth against me. What he did hold against me was a pair of very uncertain, untrained hands. That was fine with me, after all I was his first, he was not my first, a fact that he knew, but tried to ignore.  I was younger than he was (and I suppose I still am), but he was a self-confessed 'late bloomer'.  The fact that I was his first was quite quaint in very many ways, but soon began to wear very, very thin. Thin in the fact that he really, really didn't have much of a clue as to what he was doing, and pulling myself out of the wreckage of our relationship became quite painful. In his defense, one of the 'wrecks' wasn't exactly his fault, but one was just quite simply his mistake in not paying enough attention to where I was going. I forgave him the one, but not the other.

He currently has absolutely no idea as to my present whereabouts, and I doubt he really cares. He has long since discarded me in favour of younger, newer models. I never expected anything less from him, he isn't (or wasn't) the type to grow overly fond of things and or people. It is both a personal failing of his, and one of his most endearing qualities.  He knew enough to tell me that he had learned enough from me, and would have to let me go to rust like some ancient, outdated Soviet icebreaker that had become too expensive to maintain. He kept me out all night once, and scandalized the entire of his, and my family. We both got into a lot of trouble for that, and I was banned from seeing him for quite a while. He didn't apologize for it, and I thought the better of him for his unabashed refusal to say he was sorry.  It wasn't the worst night I had ever spent, and it wouldn't be the last night I spent with him.

That last night wasn't anything special, and truth be told, I can't really remember any details of it at all. I doubt he can either, but I am quite certain he would be upset if he knew I couldn't. One of his biggest problems was/is the fact that he thinks he should be remembered longer than he remembers you. I was the first 'victim' of that flaw, but I am certain I was not the last.  It is you lot, the successors in interest that I dedicate this little blog post to. The ones that came after me, the ones that he eventually discarded just like me for younger, newer models. I am old fashioned, and out of date like an inline 6 (and if you get that reference you are miles ahead in the race to understand what this is all about), but no matter where he goes in the world, and no matter how many of you lot he 'test drives', I will always be his first whether he likes to admit it or not.