So I fly down to Pittsburgh tomorrow. Well, that’s not accurate. I’ll fly down to Chicago tomorrow and then catch a second plane (doubling my chance of a death via Langoliers) to Pittsburgh where I will arrive the morning of the third.
You ask yourself, “Why Pittsburgh?” Well, I like the Penguins. “Yeah, but what are your feelings on the Steelers? Do you like them, too?” to which I reply, hahaha no. Fuck no. The Steelers suck all of the dicks (sorry, Steelers fans. At least you have the most Super Bowl wins?).
In actuality, I’m flying down to hang out with my friend RJ, affectionately known as Dr. Chuck Toddles, tie connoisseur, dolphin hunter, and doctor of law and figuring shit out by day, crime-fighting Falcon Man by night. There’s a story behind all of that, but it’s dumb, so we’ll move on. See, this is a very special week for my friend. His birthday is on the 4th, inching him ever nearer to 30 and, beyond that, a likely untimely death. Then, on the 8th, he ties the knot. Gets hitched. Buys a ball to hook to a chain to attach to his…ankle? Hoof? I’m bad at this.
My boy is getting married! My (two year elder) child has grown and found the love of his life and has agreed to nuptialize her. Side note: nuptialize is a new verb. Go forth. Use it in your debates with marriage purists.
This is exciting news. Also, I fucking love weddings. I tend to get a little too drunk and a little too slutty at weddings, but seeing as how this is in a strange city I’ve never been in, and ignoring the convenience of the hotel room I have by the airport, I should be fine.
The wedding is made even greater by the congruence of friends from two opposite ends of the continent. Phil has already flown down from Alaska (where our friend Matt and I will also be coming from) and asked his girlfriend to marry him. That rapscallion! That romancer! That Duke of Debonair! She said yes, of course, because love is real. It’s real! And it’s beautiful and a little bit weird, which makes it perfect.
Brolin, meanwhile, is coming from South Carolina. You geography majors might recognize South Carolina as being “not Florida” but a few years back Brolin and I drove from Alaska to Florida in four and a half days so he could move his family down there. It was a stressful ride, during which I crashed into a ditch literally right next to a herd of bison, and one in which we got stranded in a podunk town in Middle of Fuck-All, Montana where we proceeded to get drunk in a bar with no less than thirty stuffed animal heads. So I’m counting South Carolina as Florida. It’s Florida, if Florida was on a gator-free diet, which is Florida enough for me.
I actually have no fucking idea if South Carolina has alligators. I’m going to assume if it does, they’re tourists.
Anyway, I’m excited for this trip. I’m excited to take a week and a half off work, I’m excited to travel somewhere new, and most of all I’m excited to see my friends, especially during such an important, amazing event in RJ’s life.
And let me tell you something about ol’ Falcon Man. I’ve known him for something like 7 years now. We’ve been drinking buddies from jump. I’ve driven across town to split a bottle of whiskey with him regardless of what time I needed to wake up in the morning for work, because he needed it. We looked into moving to Australia just to get the fuck away from Alaska. We packed everything into a shitty car and drove from here to Los Angeles in a move that changed my life in a lot of ways. THAT wasn’t an easy move, either, with the vehicle having no less than three horrible things happen to it IN CANADA. I like Canada and Canadians, but Canada is not God’s country unless God is a moose.
And God might be a moose. I’m not ruling it out.
I will go into my experiences in Los Angeles at a later date, but RJ and I lived in the a shady part of town for five months. He helped support me until I could get a job, and when we separated ways so that he could move to Seattle and I could move elsewhere in the city where I wouldn’t be shot at (again), we had one last breakfast and shook hands before parting.
Almost a year later, RJ gave me a place to live in Seattle after I got fired from my job for embezzlement. We moved to Redmond together. We turned Netflix into DrinkingGameFlix which is something we’ve never actually called it ever in the history of ever, but it seems appropriate, so I’m shoehorning it in here. It’s my blog and I’m mad with power.
We’ve lived together in three states, pounded liquor in four states and a foreign country, and have been there for each other’s tears, insecurities, failures, accomplishments, ambitions, fits of rage and moments of hope and love. Shit, RJ saved my life once. If he hadn’t, I would have never started a blog and where would my beautiful readers be? Bereft of…whatever it is I give you, that’s where.
RJ is family to me. I didn’t hesitate to drop the money to fly down for this. I fought to make sure I’d have the time off to celebrate both wicked birthday and wedding bless. I’m honored to have even received the invite and I’m so stoked to be there for this moment. If you read this, I love you, man, and I’m glad you’ve found your one. Here’s to the future!