Am I the only who wishes there was some sort of instruction manual on how to deal with life?
Sure, there’s trips to stuff your face at Old Country Buffet, binge-drinking and dancing your flat ass off at Kildare’s Irish Pub next to two girls with toilet paper wrapped around their heads (that really happened) and masturbation just about anywhere you won’t get caught, but sometimes even none of that is enough to march on through the worst days.
Lately, I’ve found myself hoping for some sort of guidance on how to deal with life. In the past month, I’ve had so much loss thrown my way. My dog dropped dead of a heart attack. My father was diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer and given a few years to live. My grandmother died. Everywhere I turned, I was losing some thing, some one.
I stuffed my face at Old Country Buffet. I got drunk at Kildare’s. I masturbated. Nothing was calming my storm.
Instead of dealing with the issues that were bothering me, I started channeling my emotions on little things that I could handle — making bigger deals out of things that I normally wouldn’t have made a big deal about.
When I was supposed to meet one of my best friends, Mr. Always Skips Leg Day, at Cooper’s and he decided to change where we were meeting to Bar Hill, I flipped out. When that same friend invited someone I don’t really care for to tag along at Adult Swim, I flipped out. Mr. Always Skips Leg Day started getting sick of my shit.
Once my behavior was brought to my attention, I was determined to prove that I could properly channel my emotions and not take things out on him.
It was a night out we both needed to secure our friendship.
It was a night out I needed to take my mind off the terrible things going on in my life.
It was a night I learned we all struggle when it comes to figuring out how to deal.
“My sister just turned 21, and I really want to have a drink with her,” Mr. Always Skips Leg Day said. “I’ve never been to the bar with her yet.”
“Let’s go,” I said.
“But Corky is going to be there,” he said. “I don’t want to be around him.”
Corky is his old best friend who did horrible things to him, such as calling the cops and reporting his license plate number, saying he was out driving drunk. Corky was desperate to rekindle their friendship, but Mr. Always Skips Leg Day wanted no part of it. Instead, Corky was now best friends with his little sister. Weird, right?
“Don’t worry. I’ll be there. Corky won’t bother you,” I said. “Let’s just go make an appearance, have one drink and then leave and go somewhere else.”
That was the plan, but that’s not what happened.
One drink turned into staying for the bar’s two-hour free drink special.
Mr. Always Skips Leg Day got so wasted that he was ignoring me and acting like best friends with that crazy Corky kid. Once the free drink special was over, I watched Mr. Always Skips Leg Day sprint out of the bar with Corky and his sister. When I went outside, I saw them driving off. I was stranded in downtown Wilkes-Barre. Not only did one of my “best friends” leave me at a bar with no ride, he went off with someone he hates.
When I finally found where the most random crew I’ve ever spent a night with was — and I got drunk with a midget and sorority girls with no self-esteem — I realized Mr. Always Skips Leg Day was pretty much blacked out.
I took his drink from him and told him he needs to drink some water.
“That’s f—- up,” he said. “Gayle never would have done that.”
“Really?” I said. “Gayle? The ex that cheated on you all the time, never would have hurt you by taking your drink away?”
Drunk and pissed, I decided to remind Mr. Always Skips Legs Day just how often Gayle cheated on him.
“That’s not true,” he screamed.
“He just doesn’t want to hear the truth,” said his little sister, making sure he couldn’t hear.
Then he threw his water at me. Then he called me fat and disgusting and was dragged out of the bar by his little sister.
I went outside to see he was about to enter Corky’s car and leave me stranded for the second time that night. I kicked off my Jordan flip-flops and ran toward him so fast that it looked like I was being chased by a drug dog and had coke up my ass.
I grabbed his arm. He hit me. He ripped my shirt. Then he drove away.
The next day, he said he thought I said that I had sex with his ex. That’s not what I said, but he doesn’t believe me.
Mr. Always Skips Leg Day still isn’t over Gayle. Bringing up how the cheating hurt him deeply. In return, he tried to hurt me. I don’t think it’s because he’s a bad person. I just think it’s because all the hurt from his past relationship is too much to handle.
In that moment, through that pain, he just didn’t know how to deal. Who always does, really? Too bad there isn’t some sort of instruction manual on how to deal with life.
