Bigger is(nt) always better

I’m so tired of hearing tales of coming news, telling tales of a changing sky. I was laying on my bed when I last heard the lines of my favorite poem being recited to me with the accompaniment of guitars and banjos. From the countless ticket stubs hung up by my “personalized” RainForest Cafe magnet or the framed posters, it is easy to tell how weighty my man-crush is on the Avett Brothers. “Tales of Coming News” makes a collage of life lessons of which I take most too much to heart. Self doubt. A woman’s fury. Confused friendships. “Why do you insult me and my friends? Who are my friends anyway?” is sung with a Bob Dylan influence through the earbuds on my iPhone. This is one of the the very few Avett albums I don’t have as a record. (I don’t know why I buy records. I tell myself it’s because “the sound quality truly is better” *push up glasses at the bridge* *tassel hair* but I don’t believe that bullshit. I have them just so I can show those, who are lucky enough to attend my place, how superior I am to them.) I hear this question three times a week. Minimum. It’s quite a juvenile question.

I grew up with Kolton my whole life. Same elementary. Same high school. Some of my first memories were playing The Match Game with his little sister. Back then, she was still in diapers. I freak out when I hear people talk of how smokin’ hot she is as a soon-to-be high school grad. I freak out a little more when that thought creeps into my own mind. After countless Match Game bouts and now in junior high, we adopted a game where you scored points for flicking another persons ear. We were not (are not) very creative. This game evolved from the classic, Bag-Tag (or as those across the pond call it, Sack Whack). The rules of Bag-Tag were somewhat more complicated. 

1. Never Talk About Bag-Tag
2. NEVER Talk About Bag-Tag
3. No Girls Allowed
4. One Hand-to-Penis contact = One Point
5. Have Fun!

We had to adopt Ear-Flick after our overweight and grossly hairy principal held a conference in the cafeteria for the boys. He stated that there would be no more bag-tagging, sack whacking, coin pursing, and crowbarring. I was prime cannon fodder for both games and tried to never directly participate. I was never a hulking football player. I was a band geek. I was a mean son-of-a-bitch at kickball but kicking was illegal in Bag-Tag and logistically impossible in Ear-Flick. Kolton, the boy I grew up with in the same church, took full advantage of my inferiority. My ears would be pulled constantly throughout the hallways at the hand’s of Kolton and other egomaniacs. I would ask him and others to stop but my words had about as much strength as my biceps at the time. We would wait for the bus outside of school everyday. The public scene of the entire school seemed to fuel his hunger for tugging on my ears. This time, my ear began to ring. “Kolton. Please stop.” I would plead. He laughed and continued; typical for those in his nature. Kolton came to school with a black eye the next day and I with just a sprained wrist.

We’d sit by one another all throughout high school, that is, until he moved to Carroll our senior year. We both played guitar together. Actually I taught him. To this day, we play small gigs side by side. We just went on a half cross-country trip a few months ago. We constantly talk shit about one another to other friends. They encourage the gossip. It’s mostly music related (it's like The Black Keys vs. The White Stripes); at least most conversations get steered back to that subject since we both have great passions yet different ideas about it. When asked about a “best friend,” I’m quick on the draw with Kolton’s name and the stories that come along with it.

In the summer of my freshman-sophomore year of college, Kyle, (not the one from Colorado (this side note is for those of Dr. W’s english 3630 Ohio University course)) Billy, Taylor, and myself were sitting in a nice, cool theatre in Cincinnati. We were waiting for the kinda short, dark, and oddly looking Aziz Ansari to take the stage for his third comedy tour. We were all anxious to hear how R. Kelly was doing and his usual impersonation of Raaaaaaaady. It never crossed our minds that there would be an opening act. A skinny, white, Jewish girl took the stage and I became reminiscent of a Tosh.0 episode. Was this the same girl who made the highly inappropriate banana joke during the Less is More Comedy Corner? Yes! She’s doing it. Chelsea Peretti was the name of the female comedian. She jumped into another bit where she asked the audience if we loved our friends and received shouts of yes and countless Wooo!s. “Way to keep in presh, liars. I hate my friends.” All four of us slapped our knees and gave hearty laughs. This was a sick (in the literal sense) moment for myself and the three men I was with. 
I’ve been in heated arguments with two of the boys on my left; arguments spectacular enough to have both parties outcast me for weeks on end. Cliché enough, both were over ladies. Not is the classic Days of Our Live love-triangle sense. It was a much more indirect approach. Kyle stomped from my car in a senseless rage, slamming doors, yelling curses, grabbing all of his records from my house, after I kept interrupting a call from his girlfriend. They talked for 3 hours a day. I though I was helping a brother out. 

*Disclaimer* Kyle is no longer apart of my life today. He stopped acknowledging my existence. It’s whatever. Indifference is cool. I run into him on a regular basis on campus and his eyes dare not look up from his pigeon toed feet. I look right through him, just hoping for his awkward glance towards me. I hear from third parties that he is more high than not and is chronically depressed. When I want to catch up on how he’s doing, I read the Sylvia Plath anthology he let me borrow. 

Billy ditched a mutual friend’s moving-out shin-dig for the chance of getting laid. This would somewhat be acceptable but Billy is the man who preached the “bros before hoes” mentality like scripture. (Actually I should not use the word acceptable. The female was not of age and there was a four year difference. I’ll leave it up to your imagination to decide how creepy you want to make the situation.) I have given up countless many a few two or three “opportunities” for drunk Mario Kart and bowling. I asked if he’d apologize to the kid who considered him (Billy) as a “best friend.” I was met with a “don’t tell me what to do.” Okay. I would say this is some what DOOL. I wish it was more so The Californians. 

Back to the high school lunch table where Kolton and I ate salisbury steak, rectangle pizza, mashed potatoes and argued over musical direction while friends ignored us and Zach starved himself to make weight by weeks end. Our lunch table was exclusively guys. It had been this way throughout junior high and our entire high school career. We didn’t have time for pretty girls to slow us down. Our reputation was destroyed when Zach brought Steph to our table. Zach was fairly shallow, so I assumed the fact that she was a freshman in a D cup was the reason she was now sitting next to me. They dated for over four years. Zach graduated and packed up to Ohio University along with me. The first night we had moved in to the dorms, we decided to check out the festivities for freshman. By one in the morning, I had convinced Zach to break up with the girlfriend who still had two years of high school. I took pride in the ashes of their relationship. Through four years of dating a good friend of mine, Steph and I become a sort of counter to guys-and-girls-can’t-just-be-friends. We became the best of friends. It was kinda nice to have a sensible woman to give me opinions on certain things like other girls, (bad idea) fashion, and the best place for manicures. 
My break up scheme was a mistake. Since we had a normal friendship, Steph and I would do "normal friend" things; grabbing lunch, going to concerts, the usual stuff. We made mouths whisper naughty secrets back in our hometown. Then she came to Ohio University. Zach grew distant. I hardly talked to him for over six months until we ran into each other at a volleyball game. I sat next to him. He looked uncomfortable. 

“Dude. Are you screwing Steph?” He’s quite the wordsmith.

“Dude. No way dude.” 

“I’ve just heard things”

“Come on man. You’re my main man. I would never do that to you.”

Of course, my mind, usually in an inebriated state, had pondered unflattering, or at least what Zach would see as unflattering, thoughts. When Halloween rolled around and I saw Steph sporting an all-leather CatWoman suit, I’m not going to lie, I wish I was her Bane; muscles on muscles and ready to carry her to back home. Of course I had this same thought with the other 341 Cat Women I ran into, so maybe it wasn’t so Steph specific. Zach and I have never been the same. He only comes around for drunk Mario Kart and when he’s “really, really bored” due to the fact that his new superficial girlfriend is in Pittsburgh.

Zach doesn’t seem as bad as others. Except I now remember why he belongs in my vent of shitty-friends. 

Seth and Caleb, whom are brothers, are always by Zach's side. Partners in crime, if you will. All three seem to suffer from some form ADHD and/or depression.  We all use to hang out until I became the kid who slept with a bro’s ex; I guess rumors are enough these days. So then I became the thirsty bro trying to to get with a bros' ex. No one seems to breathe in my direction when the four of us go on runs. Caleb and Seth both had one night stands with Steph. No shit’s were given.

If you have made it this far in the reading, I apologize. I did not intended for this to be a pure rant on my miserable friendships. I’m not too sure what one is suppose to take away from such a piece and for that, I apologize again. When looking back it can be easily said that I just surround myself with horrendous people. That’s not true. Most of these men I hardly see anymore. It could be said that those closest are those who treat you worst/see you at your worst. But that is not true and a horrendous cliche. My mom is the closest person to me and she would never bag-tag me just because I was weaker than her. I wanted to show that people are just the worst things to grace the universe. I’m writing some of these last sentences on April 15, 2013 which will now be forever known as the Boston Bombings (thanks to the sweet alliteration) and I thought this would help my argument. Looking at this event and your mass-gun-shooting-of-the-week and it seems valid. I then read that those who completed the marathon then continued to run to place to donate blood. And poof goes that argument. Maybe I should hang out with marathon runners for all my O+ blood needs. Who are my friends anyway?