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22 December 2023
I have been surrounded by friends for at least the past ten years. And I don\'t mean that in some metaphorical \"I have a lot of people who care about me\" kind of way. Literally, I am saying that I have had a friend by my side nonstop for at least the past decade.
Let me explain: In 1994 I moved 500 miles away from everything I had known to pursue my college education. After all, college is what you do when you\'re done with high school, right? And even though I wasn\'t sold on the whole idea of yet more years of schooling (especially considering the fact that I didn\'t do so hot when I was forced to go), I somewhat reluctantly and partly excitedly packed up all of the shit that meant anything to me, and moved all of it and myself into a gray and cold dorm room.
Before I moved away I thought I had been blessed with some of the greatest friends on the face of this fucked-up planet. I was sad to leave them, and they were sad to see me go. Or at least they said they were. That last night in town we drank wine and sat together in my friend Tiffany\'s east side apartment, telling stories about all the stupid shit we had done together over the past four years. There was some silly emotion that night, and, I\'ll admit, I did shed a tear or two. Fuck, man-- at that point in my life, that room full of people was all I knew. Or all that I gave a fuck about, at least.
And then there was my family. Now, I know some people hate their family, or really don\'t think about them in any context other than them being the people they had to spend the first 18 years of their life with. But even though my family isn\'t void of immaturity or drama, I was close to them all the same. Actually, now that I think about it, I think I\'m close with them because of the immaturity and drama, as it\'s the one common bond we all have. But I digress....
College came, and with it a new batch of friends. Amazing friends, in fact. Friends that would not only take a bullet for me, but friends that may very well fire a bullet at someone else for me. (I might cash in on that someday.) Since I no longer had my old hometown friends (who proved not to be that great in the long run, anyway) or family by my side, I decided to make my own family in Ohio.
We got together nearly every day, either to make a meal or watch a movie or get drunk or play video games. Whatever. It didn\'t matter what we were doing, so long as we were doing it together. And looking back on it, that was when the \"best times\" of my life actually started. And, to date, they haven\'t stopped.
During those nine years I spent in Ohio, I had more good times and great memories than most people have in their entire lives. Whenever I would make it back home for a holiday or birthday, I always had a story to tell or a video to show or photographs to pass around. Just like when a proud parent shows pictures to coworkers or old college buddies to show how quickly the kids are growing, or how much fun they had on their family vacation to wherever. My real family would want to know how my faux family was doing. And I always took pride in telling the stories:
\"You should have seen it! Jocco drank an entire bottle of gin and juice, and then barfed into a plastic garbage can!\"
\"So, Cosby and I are in full drag, and I drop the keys down the elevator shaft. So we have to go down in this dirty, dingy elevator shaft wearing dresses and wigs to look for the keys.\"
\"While we were out looking for a Christmas tree to steal, Latta\'s truck got stuck across the road, and we all had to push him out.\"
\"Marla clogged up the toilet... again!\"
\"So, at our Christmas party, we made a birthday cake for Jesus, and Milan threw it into the ceiling fan while it was on.\"
The stories are legend. Or at least they are to me.
It was obvious to me while in Ohio that I was surrounded by an extremely talented and caring group of people. But I really didn\'t grasp how close we all were until I decided to move tastes like chicken 500 miles out of the state of Ohio in July of 2003.
Eleven friends of mine came along for the adventure. Most of them left other friends. Some of them left their families. Others left their jobs (no good jobs, but still, jobs). That summer showed me just how much I cared about all of them, and vice versa.
When we first moved to Milwaukee, people joked to me about the situation: \"How did you get eleven other people to move to Milwaukee, Wisconsin?\"
But I really didn\'t have an answer. Still don\'t. We just did. And that was that.
It used to be that when I would come home it would be expected that I was bringing someone else with me. And it usually wasn\'t just one other person; more often than not, I would bring three or more people home with me. And it wasn\'t just during vacation times. My friends would come home with me for holidays and family celebrations. My friends were just as much a part of my family\'s lives as I was. And it remains that way to this day. Just this past Thanksgiving, four of my friends were invited to dinner when they decided to not go home to their real families. (And sometimes I think my family likes them more than they like me. They let Jocco take home three bottles of wine, and I didn\'t get shit! And my Uncle Kevin got Milan ripped, while I remained unwillingly sober! They\'re taking over my spot in my own family!)
My point is, whenever I go anywhere at anytime, the first thing out of everyone\'s mouth is, \"Who you bringing?\"
It\'s just common knowledge.
Yet, as I write this little piece that may or may not find its way into the Pen & Think section, I am sitting alone on an Amtrak train somewhere between Chicago and... I don\'t know where. It\'s pitch black outside. If I had to guess, I\'d say we\'re probably in Missouri somewhere. I have to be in L.A. next week for some meetings, and planned this trip to get the ball rolling on a few projects I\'m hoping will go through.
And, unfortunately, I didn\'t bring anyone with me this time around. It\'s just me on this dark and stinky train full of crazy fucking people and rude assholes. I\'ve only been on the train for five hours; only 38 more to go. And that\'s not even including the return trip.
I don\'t want to imply that my friends left me high and dry for the first time in, well, ever. They were either too broke or too busy or too both to make the trip. And I understand. Still, I wish someone were here to share the following experiences with me:
- The insane and gigantic black woman who hyperventilates just from walking up the stairs. She also accused all the \"dirty Hispanics and Mexicans\" of stealing her train ticket, to which she asked for Jesus\' help to punish them. (As a fun side note, she just fell down the stairs as I wrote the paragraph above. She once again cursed all the Hispanics, but added \"homosexuals\" into the mix as she lay on her fat fucking ass on the ground. I have been wrong this whole time. There is a God.)
- The woman from London and Johnny Redneck who tried to explain all the intricacies and plot lines of the film The Bourne Supremacy to another woman. Give me a break! Like The Bourne Supremacy is some convoluted and cryptic art house film that needs to be explained and analyzed?!? \"Okay, so, there is a good guy, and he\'s running away from bad guys, right? Okay, good. Got confused there for a second. Glad you both were here to explain it to me.\"
- The cunt (and yes, I mean every letter of that word) that thought it would be hilarious to burp... for two fucking hours straight!
- The smell of piss and shit that permeates the top floor every time someone goes downstairs to use the shitter. I know I won\'t be able to make it to L.A. without taking a dump, but I\'m gonna try so fucking hard. It\'s times like these that I wish I had a colostomy bag.
- The boiled dildo-esque hot dog I paid $3.50 for. Funny thing is, I don\'t even like hot dogs. In fact, I told myself almost a year ago that I\'d never have another one again because the thought of them freaks me out, and I find their taste to be putrid. But, hey, it was a dollar cheaper than a brat and a buck and a half cheaper than their \"flame-broiled\" (microwaved) cheeseburger.
Yes, this trip is fun so far, to say the least. I just wish I had someone to share it with. It would have been nice to have had an answer other than \"no one\" when asked who was going with me to L.A. I guess I never really thought about how much I take for granted the fact that I\'m surrounded by people that care about me. But at least I have those people waiting for me at home when I get back.
So, let me just say to Marla, Milan, Erik, Latta, Jocco, Steve, Carl, and Karen, I miss you all and wish you could have joined me on this adventure. Maybe next time, huh?
Oh, and if this fat religious bitch happens to find out I wrote Heaven, LLC and kills me in the name of God, you can all split up my shit and keep it. Yes, even my stereo.
Let me explain: In 1994 I moved 500 miles away from everything I had known to pursue my college education. After all, college is what you do when you\'re done with high school, right? And even though I wasn\'t sold on the whole idea of yet more years of schooling (especially considering the fact that I didn\'t do so hot when I was forced to go), I somewhat reluctantly and partly excitedly packed up all of the shit that meant anything to me, and moved all of it and myself into a gray and cold dorm room.
Before I moved away I thought I had been blessed with some of the greatest friends on the face of this fucked-up planet. I was sad to leave them, and they were sad to see me go. Or at least they said they were. That last night in town we drank wine and sat together in my friend Tiffany\'s east side apartment, telling stories about all the stupid shit we had done together over the past four years. There was some silly emotion that night, and, I\'ll admit, I did shed a tear or two. Fuck, man-- at that point in my life, that room full of people was all I knew. Or all that I gave a fuck about, at least.
And then there was my family. Now, I know some people hate their family, or really don\'t think about them in any context other than them being the people they had to spend the first 18 years of their life with. But even though my family isn\'t void of immaturity or drama, I was close to them all the same. Actually, now that I think about it, I think I\'m close with them because of the immaturity and drama, as it\'s the one common bond we all have. But I digress....
College came, and with it a new batch of friends. Amazing friends, in fact. Friends that would not only take a bullet for me, but friends that may very well fire a bullet at someone else for me. (I might cash in on that someday.) Since I no longer had my old hometown friends (who proved not to be that great in the long run, anyway) or family by my side, I decided to make my own family in Ohio.
We got together nearly every day, either to make a meal or watch a movie or get drunk or play video games. Whatever. It didn\'t matter what we were doing, so long as we were doing it together. And looking back on it, that was when the \"best times\" of my life actually started. And, to date, they haven\'t stopped.
During those nine years I spent in Ohio, I had more good times and great memories than most people have in their entire lives. Whenever I would make it back home for a holiday or birthday, I always had a story to tell or a video to show or photographs to pass around. Just like when a proud parent shows pictures to coworkers or old college buddies to show how quickly the kids are growing, or how much fun they had on their family vacation to wherever. My real family would want to know how my faux family was doing. And I always took pride in telling the stories:
\"You should have seen it! Jocco drank an entire bottle of gin and juice, and then barfed into a plastic garbage can!\"
\"So, Cosby and I are in full drag, and I drop the keys down the elevator shaft. So we have to go down in this dirty, dingy elevator shaft wearing dresses and wigs to look for the keys.\"
\"While we were out looking for a Christmas tree to steal, Latta\'s truck got stuck across the road, and we all had to push him out.\"
\"Marla clogged up the toilet... again!\"
\"So, at our Christmas party, we made a birthday cake for Jesus, and Milan threw it into the ceiling fan while it was on.\"
The stories are legend. Or at least they are to me.
It was obvious to me while in Ohio that I was surrounded by an extremely talented and caring group of people. But I really didn\'t grasp how close we all were until I decided to move tastes like chicken 500 miles out of the state of Ohio in July of 2003.
Eleven friends of mine came along for the adventure. Most of them left other friends. Some of them left their families. Others left their jobs (no good jobs, but still, jobs). That summer showed me just how much I cared about all of them, and vice versa.
When we first moved to Milwaukee, people joked to me about the situation: \"How did you get eleven other people to move to Milwaukee, Wisconsin?\"
But I really didn\'t have an answer. Still don\'t. We just did. And that was that.
It used to be that when I would come home it would be expected that I was bringing someone else with me. And it usually wasn\'t just one other person; more often than not, I would bring three or more people home with me. And it wasn\'t just during vacation times. My friends would come home with me for holidays and family celebrations. My friends were just as much a part of my family\'s lives as I was. And it remains that way to this day. Just this past Thanksgiving, four of my friends were invited to dinner when they decided to not go home to their real families. (And sometimes I think my family likes them more than they like me. They let Jocco take home three bottles of wine, and I didn\'t get shit! And my Uncle Kevin got Milan ripped, while I remained unwillingly sober! They\'re taking over my spot in my own family!)
My point is, whenever I go anywhere at anytime, the first thing out of everyone\'s mouth is, \"Who you bringing?\"
It\'s just common knowledge.
Yet, as I write this little piece that may or may not find its way into the Pen & Think section, I am sitting alone on an Amtrak train somewhere between Chicago and... I don\'t know where. It\'s pitch black outside. If I had to guess, I\'d say we\'re probably in Missouri somewhere. I have to be in L.A. next week for some meetings, and planned this trip to get the ball rolling on a few projects I\'m hoping will go through.
And, unfortunately, I didn\'t bring anyone with me this time around. It\'s just me on this dark and stinky train full of crazy fucking people and rude assholes. I\'ve only been on the train for five hours; only 38 more to go. And that\'s not even including the return trip.
I don\'t want to imply that my friends left me high and dry for the first time in, well, ever. They were either too broke or too busy or too both to make the trip. And I understand. Still, I wish someone were here to share the following experiences with me:
- The insane and gigantic black woman who hyperventilates just from walking up the stairs. She also accused all the \"dirty Hispanics and Mexicans\" of stealing her train ticket, to which she asked for Jesus\' help to punish them. (As a fun side note, she just fell down the stairs as I wrote the paragraph above. She once again cursed all the Hispanics, but added \"homosexuals\" into the mix as she lay on her fat fucking ass on the ground. I have been wrong this whole time. There is a God.)
- The woman from London and Johnny Redneck who tried to explain all the intricacies and plot lines of the film The Bourne Supremacy to another woman. Give me a break! Like The Bourne Supremacy is some convoluted and cryptic art house film that needs to be explained and analyzed?!? \"Okay, so, there is a good guy, and he\'s running away from bad guys, right? Okay, good. Got confused there for a second. Glad you both were here to explain it to me.\"
- The cunt (and yes, I mean every letter of that word) that thought it would be hilarious to burp... for two fucking hours straight!
- The smell of piss and shit that permeates the top floor every time someone goes downstairs to use the shitter. I know I won\'t be able to make it to L.A. without taking a dump, but I\'m gonna try so fucking hard. It\'s times like these that I wish I had a colostomy bag.
- The boiled dildo-esque hot dog I paid $3.50 for. Funny thing is, I don\'t even like hot dogs. In fact, I told myself almost a year ago that I\'d never have another one again because the thought of them freaks me out, and I find their taste to be putrid. But, hey, it was a dollar cheaper than a brat and a buck and a half cheaper than their \"flame-broiled\" (microwaved) cheeseburger.
Yes, this trip is fun so far, to say the least. I just wish I had someone to share it with. It would have been nice to have had an answer other than \"no one\" when asked who was going with me to L.A. I guess I never really thought about how much I take for granted the fact that I\'m surrounded by people that care about me. But at least I have those people waiting for me at home when I get back.
So, let me just say to Marla, Milan, Erik, Latta, Jocco, Steve, Carl, and Karen, I miss you all and wish you could have joined me on this adventure. Maybe next time, huh?
Oh, and if this fat religious bitch happens to find out I wrote Heaven, LLC and kills me in the name of God, you can all split up my shit and keep it. Yes, even my stereo.
artid
2917
Old Image
7_5_whobringing.jpg
issue
vol 7 - issue 05 (jan 2005)
section
pen_think