the Beekeeper

Thanksgiving approaches, and, as it is wont to do, it comes with the promise slash threat of family. I've exhausted my opinoins of my family here--- and yet not really indulged, how mysterious!-- and in honor of my guilt, I would like to dedicate my post to my psudeo-sister, Dee.

A little backstory. Two days ago, I come home from work, and Dee-light is complaining of pain. Now, this is not the usual pain associated with living with me (heh), but a tooth-pain, in particular. Seems Ms. D's wisdom teeth are growing in as nature intended them: sideways. Same thing happened to me, quote wisdom teeth unquote grow in all funky and jut into one's jaw=major oral sugury is reqired. So Dee had to have some teeth removed, no big, right? Few days offa work, on the couch, whatevs. 'Cept, and as you all know, this week.... is Thanksgiving. And her family... includes me. So, not only does Dee miss out on turkey and pie and my crazy drunk uncle calling me a bitch, but I MISS OUT ON DEE. Protecting me. FROM THE CRAZY.

And because she is lovely, and in pain, I got to thinkin' about my favorite memories of her...

Like when I first moved to the city, and I had no one for company--- literally no one, I had either cut ties with all my friends or my friends had cut ties with me; Mrs. L was the only hold-out, coming to San Fran and visiting my shitty abode and pretending that I had it made. Anyway, once a week, you could set your clock by it, Dee called me up and we would do something. Random movies I would have never seen in my hometown, a few parties, hanging out with her friends who just thought I was weird I'm sure, Dee would make a point of reaching out to lonely little me no matter what. She always had my back, without having to have those lengthy conversations about having my back, it just... was so. She's very much that; she's a person with very little bullshit who doesn't have to wear her lack of bullshit on her sleave. She's comfortable with it and if you're not: Fuck you.

I remember when I broke up with King James II but we were still living together: every day was a fight or icy cold silence. I was packing my things, loudly; it was one of my favorite things to do. Dee calls me, on the phone, and invites me to a movie. And it was such a simple thing, just a movie on a Sunday evening, but it meant so much. Just being able to escape that house: the house that contained my own head, and my doubts, and all the masculine anger and longing. It really saved me in a small and significant way, and made me see that--- yes. There is life after this. This heartache and anger, this longing. There is more after this.

I remember when we were talking about moving in together, and it was just talking, really. Like you do with your girlfriends: Wouldn't it be great if we moved to the south and started a barbeque shack? Wouldn't it be great if we opened our own bar? So we were talking about moving in together, we were at Roxie's, and she said, We Should Really Do This. She gave me this look, this look of earnesty, and I totally believed her. I bought what she was selling. I bought two. And we went out together, and we found an apartment. We went out and furnished it. We went out, and we agreed, silently, to trust each other, to jump off the concept of being that close to someone else and to not actively hate them, we agreed that we would breathe and live and cry and play epic Candy Land games together, smoke endless cigarettes together, and know each other better than anyone else knows us. Together.

I'm sorry you're sick, Dee. I'm sorry you're missing Thanksgiving. But... you know. More pie for me. Sucker!