Two unpleasant occurrences this afternoon. A) Justin had invited me to cross the park w/him + Trish – an invitation I accepted readily even tho it meant forgoing my prefered routine of sitting here, like I am, and writing… I thought it would be nice to walk in company for once. I like Justin, tho he is a tight wire in so many ways, he has a tremendous ego, and he’s fickle beyond belief committing himself to various lifestyles w/passionate allegiance, only to turncoat a second later: Trish 1st and foremost, cigars, not using minoxidil, then using it every day religiously, then not again, simply because it was too expensive. The hair care product is trivial but an excellent illustration of his character. I told him, last winter, about PPs new formula of crushed rogaine mixed w/minoxidil, the paste applied directly to scalp. While clearly intrigued, Justin ultimately scoffed. “I guess I’ll be the last bald man,” he said. “The question is how long do you want to spend each day in the bathroom? I mean, come on. Are we men…?” I applauded his stance wholeheartedly and left w/new allegiance to our brotherhood of bald men who live life outdoors, or at least outside the bathroom. Not two weeks later, however, Justin is extrapolating on his own system of minoxidil application – not at all simple, and involving tinfoil(!) wrapped around his forehead, and a wet washcloth to catch renegade rivulets. I called him on his hypocrisy, but he justified it with: “I want to hang on to my hair.” A few weeks later I queried as to whether he was maintaining the rigorous regimen. “No,” he said, no trace of apology or embarrassment. “Too expensive, I couldn’t afford it.” “But what about all that ‘are we not men?’ stuff?” “Oh yeah. That too.”

And the same went on a less complex scale, with cigars. For awhile he couldn’t pass on an opportunity to light one up or at least pontificate on the joys of cigar smoke. He brought me to a  special store where they sold special makes and models… repeatedly offered to indulge me w/a gift. Then he stopped. “But WHY?” I asked. “You enjoyed them so much.”

“They’re toxic,” he replied. “I was contaminating my body.”

And now Trish. Back and forth he goes. Some days providing an absolute litany of horrible habits she practices, hygiene the least of them – her underlying motivations to use him for money, for a cheap apartment… he speaks as tho she’s vile, evil. He cheated on her and justified it by listing all her negative traits A to Z – that she was using him and dissing him repeatedly, until I lost all sympathy for her and asked what the hell he was getting from the relationship.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Hopefully some good sex, at least?” I tried.

“You think I want to stick my dick in that?”

Two days later I ask him how the relationship is going. “You’re not going to believe this…” he giggled, slightly embarrassed finally by his own inability to define. “We had one of the best nights ever. We’re getting along really well. I think she was menstruating before which made her bitchy.”

“Unreal!” I laughed with him remembering his paranoia about her using him for his apartment. “And you constructed some intricate conspiracy theory.”

He looked at me like I had stabbed him. “Fuck you,” he said, turning away.

What he doesn’t realize is that it’s not her, it’s him that keeps shifting, altering. And this, I’m proposing, due to deep insecurity; the fear that he doesn’t know, that he’ll make a ‘bad’ decision. Another example of all this came just this afternoon in the locker room. Talk evolved to mention of security cameras and how some establishments installed them in the locker room. Pacho – thick carribean accent – told in broken english that he worked at Prudential and they had cameras in the locker room and that he, for one, preferred it. “No matter what you leave, you leave your stuff right on the floor, nobody take it. It be there when you return.”

“But Pacho, then you can’t have a Heineken, you know?” said Justin. (Heineken being the pilfered beverage of preference by most support personnel in the restaurant and often consumed, in quantity, in the locker room.

“I don’t want no Heineken,” he laughed.

“What about loss of privacy.”

Anyway, it’s better. Believe me.”

Pacho was heading for the door. “So, Justin, there’s your counterpoint,” I said. “Any rebuttal?”

“That’s fucking stupid!” Was his rebuttal, so loud and vehement that I thought he was joking. “You’re responsible for your own fucking stuff. You leave it lying around, you deserve to lose it. You leave it lying around you’re a fucking moron!” All this at high volume and directed almost as a challenge at the departing Pacho who didn’t pause, laughing goodnaturedly: “Okay, okay, see you later.”

But the point was that Justin was not capable of stating his opinion calmly but had to make his opinion sovereign, dammit, and if anyone suggested otherwise they would have to answer, perhaps physically.

So then Trish came, toward the end of  service and I heard them kissing their hellos and Justin mentioned my companionship through the park. Then I turned to Bjanca and heard no more. Two seconds later, Justin says, “Well, Jay, it looks like Trish doesn’t want to see you. No, I guess I shouldn’t say that, that’s mean.”

“Really?”

“I don’t know, but you’ll come anyway, right?”

“Not likely. I don’t want to infringe on anyone’s experience.”

Justin was clearly perturbed by the direction his plans had taken. “That’s what I hate about her!” he went on. “Any time we spend together has to be just us together or else it doesn’t qualify.” He suggested again that I come anyway, even tho she had made it clear she preferred him alone. “No dice,” I said. “I walk through the park daily. Don’t worry about me.”

“But you’re going anyway, right? We work together. Of course we’re going to go together.”

“Why would I want to?”

“It’s the principle of the matter.”

Well the principle of the matter is that Justin did not have the guts to stand up for his decision. What he should have done is either told her: “Look, I already invited him, he’s coming. Deal w/it.” Or, to me: “Trish really wanted some time alone w/me. Dig?” Which of course i would, no question. Instead he tried to straddle the line and sidestep and leave the discomfort between me and Trish.

This will backfire. He will become increasingly resentful of her having forced her preference on him, he will blame her, she will blame him for not being clear, etc etc and around it goes.

The second thing that happened? I’m glad you asked – B) the dog that came bounding down the slope at me in full ferocious growl-attacking mode and it was pulled back just as I registered and responded w/adrenal heart palpitations and severe gonad shrinkage. The owner called the dog back as though it happened all the time. Called out, “Sorry.” Went back to his book.

I don’t need it. My day is fraught enough without heart attacks and/or fang scars.