“What the Fuck Were We Thinking?” – Part 896

As i careened into the concrete wall, adjacent to the carpeted area at the local skating rink on a Wednesday night, i looked at Studley* and asked “What the fuck were we thinking?  Seriously?”

He sat on the bench, stretching out his calves, and shins, and arches, and feet, and thighs and said “I have no fucking idea”.

We stood up, and launched our middle-aged carcasses back out onto the hard wood floor for another few counter-clockwise circuits.  Dodging the little kids.  Being swooped by the douchebags more skilled skate-dancers.

On our next rest break…

daisyfae: Is it worth it?  Really?  Is this the stupidest thing we’ve ever done?

Studley [deep in thought]:  …

daisyfae:  We’re going to die!  Is this the worst one yet?

Studley: We’ve said this before.  I’m trying to remember when…

We went back after it.  Around and around.  Stiff of lips, and stiff of legs.  All in – at least for tonight.  Until we had to take another break, because the DJ had just turned down the ambient lights, and cranked up the moving disco lights, which had an unexpected effect on our stability and balance.

pic found here

“Do or do not.  There is no try.”

Fuck you, Yoda.  Now, how about using that Jedi-mind-trick-thingie to take down that dancing, skater, douchebucket who just buzzed past me?”


* For new readers, Studley McRocklegs is the call sign of my Statistically Significant Other, S.S.O.  My dive buddy, adventure buddy, and fellow “making up for lost time” mid-life crisis partner.

And now for something completely different…

As if attempting to learn to ski, ride horseback, motorcycle and SCUBA dive in my late 40’s weren’t enough, the early 50’s beckon…

Those are indeed roller skates on my feet.  In my kitchen.  Attempting to pour a vodka tonic while navigating around 100 pounds of deeply confused dog meat.

Like Roller Girl from Boogie Nights, i believe the way to master this particular feat is to keep them ON my feet for as many hours as possible each day.

It will not be an option at the office.  At least not until i get my wheels more solidly underneath my crazed – and soon to be very bruised – ass.

Stay tuned, folks.  Film at 11…


Eat. Dive. Dive. Eat. Nap. Dive. Screw*. Eat. Drink. Screw*. Sleep.

Repeat as necessary.

What is it?  Wednesday or something?  We’ve got two days of diving left, plus a good bit of time to fart around on the island.

Pondering questions no more important than “Will we get that yummy conch chowder again for lunch?” and “Why do flying fish fly?”

Spotted my first hammerhead shark today.  Sucked 200 psi of air out of my tank yelling “HAMMERHEAD” into my regulator before realizing no one could hear me…  Also succeeded in not soiling my diveskin in the process.  Score.

The degree of focus required to do this, combined with the gorgeous, isolated locale, is therapeutic.  Exhausting and satisfying.

Watching a reef shark inhale a wounded lion fish and then disappear into the deep blue within seconds.  A damn good reminder of how lucky i am to be able to do the things i do…

For now…

* This particular part of the therapy becomes optional as the week progresses, due to extreme physical, and physiological, fatigue.


How do you move on after such a massive disturbance in the force?

i have no fucking idea.  But i can tell you some of the things i’ve found myself doing over the past few days…

Therapeutic Vandalism:  Dropping a bottle opener into the casket at the visitation. Because he was never very good at removing the twist-off caps…

Blasphemy:  As a militant atheist, he would have been unhappy about the full Catholic mass funeral.  But it wasn’t for our benefit, and certainly wasn’t for his, so we sat in the back and tried to contain the snark as best we could.  i made quiet hissing noises as the priest splashed drops of holy water on the box at the front of the church.  When the priest said “He loved animals…” Studley muttered “… but he was acquitted!” under his breath.  Mouthing the words to the “Gilligan’s Island Theme Song” as the congregation sang “Amazing Grace”.  There were no lightning bolts.  THAT was amazing.

Bipolarity:  Smiling and crying simultaneously while seeing old photos of my dead friend.  Pictures of him as a young boy shown at the memorial service.  Pictures of him as a graduate engineering student.  A goatee?  Facial hair?  Really?  Whoa…

Doing puzzles:  Not the cardboard variety, but fact puzzles.  Locating bits of information. Sorting out what is true, versus speculation.  Without stepping on the grief of others, this is a delicate operation – and patience is required.  For each nugget of truth unraveled, we answer one question, but uncover five more questions.  This is a losing proposition, but we can’t help it.  Why, why, WHY the fuck did he do this?

“Eastwooding”*:  i had a rather extensive conversation with an empty chair on my deck yesterday afternoon.  Called that chair a Dumbass.  Asked that chair “why?” and “how did we miss the depth of your despair?”  Eventually told that chair i was really sorry he’d suffered so much.  The chair remained defiantly silent.  i decided i should go inside.  Put some clothes on, too…

OCD-Zombie:  Spent today excavating The Girl’s bedroom**, to make it habitable for The Boy when he returns between work assignments on the road.  “Clear the shelves on the bookcase in the theater room.  Haul the books from the bedroom to the theater room.  Arrange books on shelves, tallest to shortest.  Repeat.  Stare at dog.  Start a load of laundry.  Move more books.  Haul trash to dumpster.  Return to laundry room to put detergent into washing machine, after cycle is nearly complete.  Stare at cat…”

Get out:  Studley and i both needed to get out yesterday.  Went to a local Reggae festival.  Danced half-heartedly.  Mostly hung on each other.  Got rained on.  Barely noticed.

Use your passport:  Preparing for a vacation with my best friend, dive buddy and lover***.  Remote island in the Caribbean.  Diving.  Reef sharks, rays, technicolor fish.  Private beach.  Drinking ourselves into a benign, mind-numbed stupor. And crawl inside our heads a little bit…

* In case you missed it, Clint Eastwood was the surprise speaker at the Republican National Convention last week.  An improvised monologue with an empty chair – an implied conversation with the President.  Link to the video is here if you need help staying awake at night… This is some creepy shit.

** Nothing depressing about THAT, is there?  She was in town for three weeks before returning to her home in Turkey.  Loved having her with me, and miss her now that she’s gone.  Won’t see her again until… our next Skype date.

*** No.  Only one person – not three different people.  Although that would be a helluva vacation, wouldn’t it?

There Are No Answers – Again…

Well… i guess i’m not quite done with this blog thing quite yet. Seems i still have a few things i need to say. And tonight’s message?

Don’t kill yourself, ok? Seriously. Don’t do this.

This is like walking out during the first five minutes of a shit movie. You know it won’t last. There’s always the slightest glimmer of hope that it might get better.  Or at least you’ll be able to entertain your friends by telling them about the shittiest movie you’ve ever seen….

There are no answers when a young man decides to check out.  Whether he’s 16 or 37.  The common thread, at least from my point of view on this particular night, is the herd of numb, bewildered and heartbroken humans… Shocked.  Angry.  Confused.  Comforting each other as best they can…

Scotch and kleenex.

i am an extrovert, and have an extensive collection of friends and acquaintances.  i never meet a stranger.  Truth is, i have very few close friends.  Last week, i would have put that number at seven.

Today?  Six.