Old, old wooden ship

So it’s official.

I’m old.

I knew 27 was going to be borderline… I mean, I’m now in my late twenties. It’s funny how that works. 20-23, you are in your early twenties. 24-26 are mid and then starting with 27… you’re in your late twenties. There is no MID about 27. I mean, we might as well just round-up and call ourselves pre-thirty.

To be honest, although I joke that I’m getting old, I hadn’t really given it TOO much thought until the world started throwing it in my face! All of the sudden it’s as if the world is telling me to run inside and get a face lift! I mean, lately I’m hung over no matter what I do. I get tired before 2am. I find myself in pj’s on Saturday nights. I hardly make any reckless decisions… it’s just like “ok world… I see what you’re trying to say!”

But before I go into that, I have to say that there is one un-ignorable ‘clock’ that has been ticking away, louder and louder each year, since about age 24, but I am hoping to quite that down here soon enough. And yet something tells me, even when I do become a mother… I’m not going to feel any younger.

But regardless…

The first time I knew I was officially getting old was back in Texas. I kind of talked about this in my Sept. 11th blog but it bares repeating. When Burny was in tech school in San Angelo, you can imagine that it was flooded with 18-year-old kids, fresh out of high school. Burny and I were in our mid twenties still at that point, so we were the old kids on the block. I mean, it was really a struggle to think of what to do with people who couldn’t go to bars. What did I used to do? I couldn’t think of a single thing!

It was during a conversation with these underage kids that I realized, they were in 6th grade when Sept. 11th happened. They could hardly remember it! I was in college. If that doesn’t make you feel like you are in a whole different generation, I don’t know what will.

A while after we moved home from Texas, I performed in the musical: The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. I was actually asked to join the chorus after casting because they were short on voices so when I went to the first reading, I was painfully aware of that fact that I was going to fall into a weird age bracket.

There were the 15-year-old, high school kids playing Tom Sawyer, and his friends. There were the adults in their 50’s cast to play the parents of said kids… and then there was me. The twenty something who didn’t fit in either group. Too old to be a kid… to young to be old.

I sat down next to a girl who seemed to have found herself in the same predicament. She was quietly sitting on her own and she looked to be about my same age. I was relieved to see that I wouldn’t be the only one feeling out of place.

As we began to read through the script, I struck up a bit of a whispered conversation between myself and the twenty something next to me. We were both chorus so we didn’t have any lines. We were just there for looks basically.

About half way through the reading I realized that the story line in the play was strikingly similar to the movie plot of the 1990’s film: Tom and Huck.

I leaned over to share my findings with my new, twenty something friend. I said, “This play is exactly like the movie ‘Tom and Huck’.”

“What movie?” she asked.

Clearly she just hadn’t heard me. ‘Tom and Huck’ was a pretty well-known movie when I was in jr. high school. Namely because of its leading actor: Jonathan Taylor Thomas.

I leaned back into her and said, “‘Tom and Huck’ with JTT!”

And then she said something that just BRANDED my age so plainly across my forehead that I could feel the burn…

“Who is JTT?”

Say WHAT?

Who is JTT??? Come on! I mean, how do you describe who JTT is without a BOP magazine for evidence. I have to admit that it did occur to me at that point that BOP magazine likely no longer existed, and that didn’t help my cause much.

I said his full name to her in one final hope for recognition but it was clear to me. She wasn’t my age at all. There was just no possible way.

“He was in Home Improvement,” I tried…

Still nothing. Not one ounce of recognition in her face. Not even for ‘Tim the Tool Man Taylor.’

Finally, after a few minutes of consideration she came back and slapped me in the face again…

“I think I’ve seen re-runs of that show. Which one is JTT?”

I just left it alone. I couldn’t explain it. There was no point. I asked her age. 17. Sigh. She looked so mature…

The final blow came just the other night. I mean, there have been several ‘you’re getting old’ moments in my life since turning 25, but this one the other night really sealed the deal. I believe it’s official now and I’m not quite sure what to do with it.

I’m 27 now, obviously. I went to a Halloween party on Friday dressed as a Red Headed Slut. Burny went as Mike’s Hard Lemonade:

I have to tell you that when discussing costumes with my 23-year-old friend she said: “I’m too old to be slutty for Halloween.”

Hmm… perhaps I should have reconsidered my costume at that point, but instead I decided that I looked dang good! Not just for 27 but for any age! I was going to celebrate that! I was going to be slutty! I was going to wear my boots and show cleavage and I was going to rock it out! And that is just what I did.

So, once at the party I quickly realized that married couples must not regularly go out. Everyone was asking me if Burny was my boyfriend…

“You could say that.”

We’ve been married for 2 1/2 years… it’s just not something I’ve been asked in a while. And then the real kicker happened…

I was talking with this girl about make up. I had never met her before and I guessed (correctly this time) that she was probably in her early twenties. She mentioned college and I said something back about ‘when I was in college’ and then she looked at me very strangely…

“How old are you?” She asked appalled. I mean, it wasn’t like she was a young guy I was trying to deceive into thinking I was some hot young thing… it was a girl and we were talking about make up. I wasn’t aware I should have said my age before sitting down.

“I’m 27… can I still sit and chat??”

“Seat’s taken!”

So I answered her: “I’m 27.”

Her eyes widened, she tossed her head back in surprise (and a little bit of disgust I have to admit… like she could catch the late twenties) and she said:

“Wow… you look great! What do you use?”

Really?

I mean… really??

First of all… how old am I supposed to look by now?

What product do I use?

I was really thrown by that one. I didn’t know what to say. I felt like I should have given her the card of my plastic surgeon. It was the weirdest comment. And I can’t say that it felt good… Even though she really meant it as a complement, and I’m glad that I don’t look like I am really the ripe old age of pre-thirty, but still… the idea that I was old enough to have to use product to look this good… it hurt.

Perhaps I am too old to be slutty for Halloween.

Perhaps I’m too old to be going to parties…

But maybe… perhaps not too.

And by the way… if you’re wondering… I use Arbonne of course!

Percocet… the best pain killer

In the case of this blog, Percocet is in fact, a blog name for a good friend of mine. And I feel that it’s very fitting, especially in the context of this blog. I just googled it and this is what came up:

Percocet (Percaset) is used to relieve moderate to moderately severe pain.

I think that works well, actually. My friend, whose blog name shall be known from here on out as Percocet, did relieve my moderate to moderately severe pain. He is one of those very unique and complex friends that, if you are lucky enough to have one, stay with you for a lifetime.

I was driving to Yuba City today, and if you don’t know, most of the drive is a two-way highway. Today, nearly the entire way, I was stuck behind a lifted Toyota Tacoma. There was a FOX sticker on the tailgate, as well as one of those grenade stickers that I’m not sure what it stands for. But I AM sure that it means you are too cool for school.

There was a lot of traffic coming the other way, and I am such a chicken when it comes to passing, so I just drove behind this truck for a long while… wondering about the driver.

In another lifetime, these stickers, this truck… that would have been a sure bet that the driver would be someone I would have had a crush on. And when this truck and I finally approached Yuba City and came to a stop light… I noticed that he was talking on the phone- a law breaker- and he had his hat on backwards.

Again, this would have been love at first sight for me. In another lifetime…

All this immediately made me think of my friend Percocet. And then I laughed out loud in my car. I laughed out loud because I remembered how Percocet used to endlessly tease me about this, back when I lived in this other lifetime.

At the time, it felt like Percocet was the first guy in a long time that had really SEEN me. Really understood me. And not only that, but he was totally willing to call me out on all my faults and stupid ideals. I knew I had a pattern, but he was the first one to point out how stupid of a pattern it was.

It was liberating.

I met Percocet in the same fashion that I met so many other friends; at a party. But this wasn’t just any party… this was a party at Arosa. If this doesn’t immediately set off bells and whistles for you, let me explain further.

Arosa is a legend.

Well, technically, Arosa is a street in San Diego. But on this street, there was a house. And in this house… there were MANY a party. And these parties were epic. These parties were themed, these parties were huge, and these parties were parties even when it was just a few friends gathering in the living room. Arosa was THE place.

Now, during college, the party spot was MY house… but this was post college. Arosa is only known by those few of us who didn’t know what the heck to do after graduation. The few of us who stayed.

So anyway, I digress…

I met Percocet at one of the many parties at Arosa. He was well known, I was well known, but we didn’t know each other. So I introduced myself. Well, that’s hardly true either. He had my sister perched on his lap and so I sat down beside them to talk to her, when he realized that we were, in fact, sisters. This is always a very appealing thing to a drunk man. And so before I could do or say anything about it, Percocet had befriended me.

Now, there were two very unique facts that made our friendship… unique… right from the start.

1) I was about to move in with him.

When Ship and I broke up, I was homeless. I lived on Mac and Raps floor for months and months, but when they moved into a much smaller place… I was once again on my own. It was summertime and EMoney and Dewip were planning to get a place with me in September and so for the summer, I was a wanderer. I slept where I could. And a lot of the time, that was on my mattress- my last possession besides my clothes- on someones living room floor. For the month of July, I rented out a room at Arosa. Consistancy for an entire month!

Sidebar: Arosa usually only housed boys. I believe that LoDown and I are the only two daring girls who have ever dared to call ourselves roommates. This place was disgusting. It was one party on top of the next… and just one bathroom. It was the kind of house you can’t walk around in barefoot. But desperate times call for desperate measures. And so I had no choice but to move in. Perc already lived there… in what would normally be considered the dinning room.

And the second thing was…

2) Perc had just recently found out that he had cancer.

I can’t speak for Perc, but this might have been the hardest thing that he has ever had to go through. And at that time, we hardly knew each other, but I was going to be one of the people he came home from chemo to. It definitely started our relationship off on an interesting note.

When I met Perc at that party for the first time, you would have never guessed in a million years that he was sick. Not at all. Drunk, yes, but sick… not a chance. He was lively. He looked healthy. He had a ton of dark hair and a full beard. He had my sister on his lap and not a care in the world… or so it would seem.

This is Percocet. This is how he does it…

By the time I moved in, maybe a month later, a few things had changed. From the waste up, he looked perfectly normal, but from the waist down… well, that was a different story. I’m 96% sure that it was lymphoma, but Perc just called it ‘Bob’. To this day, I think I’ve only ever heard him say ‘cancer’ maybe 4 times.

So by the time I moved in, Bob had already started wreaking havoc on Perc’s leg. It had only been a month and the tumor had gotten huge. He wore jeans all the time, but it was painfully obvious that one of his legs was literally 3 times the size of the other. The tumor had started to prevent the fluids in his leg from escaping… and so they were just building up. He could hardly move it. It was difficult to walk. Difficult to shower, get dressed… everything. But it wasn’t difficult for Perc to laugh about it…

I hadn’t lived there more than a day when he lifted up his jeans, poked his leg and joked as the indent from his finger stayed in his leg.

This is how Perc does it.

Maybe four nights into my living at Arosa, Perc and I found ourselves alone in the house. The other roommates were gone and he and I had no plans for the evening, and so we figured what better way to break bread and get to know each other than over a few Red Stripes?

Hooray Beer!

Perc and I sat out on the back patio, the site of our first official conversation maybe a month before, and we got to know each other. To be honest with you, I can’t even remember what all we talked about but I can tell you this: Perc KNEW me. In an instant. He just knew who I was. It was so surreal and unnerving, but SOOO welcomed at the same time.

Like I said, at the time, I had been separated from Ship for maybe 9 months and yet, things still felt so fresh. I had so totally lost myself in that relationship that I hadn’t even really begun to put myself back on any sort of a track yet. I mean, I was still sleeping in people’s living rooms for crying out loud. The dust hadn’t settled. At least not for me. And Perc just SAW that. Maybe it was his having cancer that allowed him to see the cancer in me.

And it was just that simple. Without meaning to, Perc had totally put things into perspective for me. Next to Bob… Ship was nothing. He was insignificant. If Perc could nickname his cancer… couldn’t I find a way to move on in my life?

Talking to Perc that night relived my moderate to moderately severe pain. The kind of pain that I didn’t even really realize I was still feeling. And I think that maybe, just maybe… I helped do that for Perc as well. Everything seems less scary when you have someone on your team.

During a break in the conversation, we decided to move our bonding indoors. It was getting late. I used the restroom and went into the living room to talk some more, but Perc wasn’t in there. He was standing in the doorway, looking down at his pants. They were wet.

“I either peed my pants or my leg is leaking.”

Interesting.

Perc went into the bathroom to investigate further. While he was gone, I cursed myself for being drunk! I was supposed to be the responsible roommate who was going to be able to safely and calmly react and assist in any Bob related needs! SHIT! Was I really going to fail as a friend on night one?? He had just given me a bandaid for my stupid problems, and now he was going to die in our living room because I was too DRUNK to help!!

Perc came out and reported that the site of his biopsy was, in fact, leaking. Hmmm. We kind of looked at each other, both drunk, and contemplated what exactly to do about that. It wasn’t blood… it was clear. Water? Vodka??

I voted to call 911.

He called his doctor. It was almost 3am, but his doctor answered. Perc gave the doc the info and together they decided that it would be best if I could drive him to the hospital first thing in the morning. I was clearly much more concerned about the leaking leg than Perc was. He thought it was quite the incident! And I assure you, it has been the subject of many jokes since.

In the morning, Perc woke me up early and I drove him to the hospital.

I waited, and wiated.

It turned out to be nothing.

Nothing, but the start of a very strong friendship. I mean, how can you not be bff with the person who helps you with your leaking leg??

On July 4th weekend, Perc drove himself home to Northern California. Half way there, he called me to report that he had stopped at a grocery store to use the restroom. On the way to the bathroom, he slipped on a grape and fell all the way to the ground. It looked like he peed himself. It was just his leaking leg.

This is how Perc does it…

After he started chemo, I came home one day from work and Perc called me into the living room. He stood up and said:

“Guess what happened today?”

I wasn’t really into guessing games…

Perc reached up, grabbed a hand full of his dark hair and pulled it out. It came out easily, in one big chunk. I swallowed hard, preparing myself to be the caring friend…

“It’s time for a Mohawk!”

I video taped as our other roommate shaved Perc’s hair into a Mohawk.

This is how Perc does it…

Finally it all started to come out and we had to shave it all the way off. We didn’t video that time. But Perc made jokes the whole time. The whole way through…

He went through several rounds of chemo, and then one extra one just to ensure that Bob would never come back. And although he transformed before my eyes from a guy who didn’t have a care in the world… to a guy who had lost all his hair, his eye brows, his health… He never went a day without smiling. Without laughing. Without making ME laugh.

His hair grew back. His palness dissappeared- well, mostly. Perc made a full recovery. And you know what? So did I. And it started that night with the Red Stripe. Something about that summer has stayed with me. I moved into that house in the middle of MY chemo. I was still trying to flush the cancers out. I hadn’t turned the corner yet. I still felt sick. And when I left… my hair was growing back in. I was on the mend. And I really, truly feel that I have Percocet to thank for that. I think I was meant to be his roommate that summer. We needed to help each other.

In so many ways, his cancer saved me.

I’m thankful to say that even to this day, despite the distance, the changes, the passing time… Perc and I are still good friends. And I feel very lucky for that. There are very few relationships in this life that are like this one; People that we meet that we instantly click with. We instantly know them. And we are instantly able to tell them the truths about themselves that they aren’t always willing to admit.

And sometimes… that’s all we really need.

Perc and I still exchange inside jokes. I still think of him as a dear friends. And I know I always will…

Afterall… he’s my percocet.