DISCLAIMER: Upon reading this series of blogs, some of you may wonder, “Why did he think anyone would be interested in reading this stuff?” Well, to be honest, I DIDN’T think about that. I wasn’t worried about the entertainment value. These blogs relate to a major chapter of my life finally coming to an end, and I felt like writing about it here. Yes, I could have written it in a journal at home instead of broadcasting it on the net. In fact I tried, but for some reason it didn’t give me the same sense of catharsis that blogging about it does. So here, for better or worse, is the latest blog.
Well, I have two rest days off from Insanity so I thought I would write about something different this time. It has been on my mind for a while actually, but I’m usually so busy that the only thing I get to write about on here are my workouts. This time, I am going to write about something that DOES relate to Beachbody in a roundabout way. I am going to write about my friend J.
I met J when I was a sophomore in college and he was a junior. We’re talking 1995 or 1996 here. Back then, J seemed to be a pretty knowledgeable guy. He was smart, funny, laid back, and (for the most part) nonjudgmental. We remained good friends for a long time. Even when I was a senior and he was done with college, he would come down once a month (sometimes every other weekend) to hang out.
In the summer of 1998, after I graduated, I lived with some friends in an apartment on 5th Ave. J came to visit. On the way home, his car broke down. I went and picked him up, and for some reason he just wound up staying there. Around this time my memory starts to go hazy on purpose because, if I were to recollect everything clearly, I would suffer from too much embarrassment to even go on living. You name a mistake and I probably made it. Hang out with people who were using me? Check. Spend time chasing women we shouldn’t have bothered with? Check. Waste our energy on pointless, petty shit when it would have been better spent on trying to make something of ourselves? Check. But the most major offense of all…was whining. We whined about every damn thing under the sun: people who had the luck we thought WE deserved, the annoying fact that women would rather date “hot” guys who treated them like crap, so on and so forth.
This is also around the time when I started to notice J’s flaws but, sort of like an abused child, I was unable to admit that he wasn’t the super cool guy I had met in college anymore. First of all were the insults. I couldn’t so much as blow my nose without this guy criticizing the way I did it. Second was the way he would disclose embarrassing secrets about me in front of people we had just met. (His excuse: he was “testing their limits.” Naturally when I asked him why he couldn’t test them with embarrassing secrets about himself, he had no answers.) I think probably my favorite thing he ever did was when he ridiculed me for, of all things, having SEX with my girlfriend. He would say this about his girlfriend at the time: “I won’t have sex with H…I have too much respect for her.” (Of course, years later I found out their usual routine would be to park in the alley behind our apartment building and have sex there.) Despite all this, I still hung on to the guy’s friendship right up until he moved away to Denver at the end of the summer of 1998.
To be continued…