Little Things

If anyone asked me what I thought about Dennis, there’s only one obvious thing for me to say: Dennis is easily the nicest guy I know.

We’ve been friends for more than a year now, and I’ve been witness to the great lengths that he’s willing to go to for his friends. He knows his limitations, and he lays them down, but he always does what he can.

I once told Dennis I can count in one hand the times that he ever made me feel bad. I’ve kidded him since that they have become countless. The truth, however, is that there have always been only three instances, to be exact, that Dennis said or did anything that hurt me, and I remember each one of them quite vividly. And they’re pretty mundane, too. But because I’ve been so used to Dennis being all nice, the littlest things that wouldn’t have mattered sort of stand out.

Most of our female friends, and some of the guys, too, agree that Dennis is husband material. I’m certain Dennis is lucky with Lizette, too, but I know Dennis enough to be able to say that he’s going to be a good husband and great dad.

We don’t go out often anymore, but I know I can always count on Dennis. He’s one of the few people who I am comfortable being totally honest with.

Dennis, Dens, Densyo, Yappie, Mr. Yap — he can go by any of these names. Whatever he’s called, though, to me, Dennis will always be one thing: GREAT FRIEND.

Happy birthday, Dennis!

You say ‘thank you’ like it absolves you of any responsibility to keep the whole thing afloat. I realize that’s not very difficult for you to do. The ship only had one passenger all along.

But you don’t need no absolution. How could you not see that? You insist on seeing things like a barterer. You fail to see that the best things in life — the little things — are free. You owe me nothing. If I asked for restitution for all the things I threw away for this sh*t, returning them ten-fold, coupled with your ‘thank you’ (f*ck that), wouldn’t have been enough.

I’m sorry to disappoint you, you miserable me-show creature. Some people, unlike you, have the capacity for unconditional love.

When you feel miserable, and you have to go to work on Saturday night after seeing Kingdom of Heaven (only to prove that it’s not that good, just like the reviews said it’s not), and the now-defunct Savage Garden’s To The Moon and Back is blasting from your headphones and you have no energy to switch windows to click on Next to move on to a better song, you know it’s a dead weekend. You spend the next day sleeping, you wake up dazed, and the weekend is deader than ever.

That first call had all the signs in it and I should have read them. All other events after that only made things more dreadful. But I refused to concede. I thought I still had things in control.

Ah, but I lost even before the battle began. As Jewel puts it, "Heads you win; tails I’m lost." There’s no way I could have won, or at least put up a good fight.

Not even that rare silent hello, which on an ordinary day would lift me to cloud nine, could make me feel better. India.Arie just came on my media player, singing Ready For Love (which I love for its honesty), and still things are not any better. Oh, this is hopeless.

Only one thing could save me from this hell of a day. And every minute that passes is a mile farther away from it ever coming.

(Two friggin’ entries and not one is decent! I could almost see Paulie snickering.)

Okay… I have to get this right, or Paulie‘d die laughing at me… He’s been picking on some blogs and been laughing at how some people would try so hard, but fail, to avoid being picked on. That’s really wicked, I know.

Not that it matters. I’m not a fabulous writer myself. As if anybody would read my blog. As if anybody reads other people’s blogs, for that matter. I honestly think that the greatest reader of most people’s blog is none other than the author. People would write, taking for inspiration the thought that other people would be reading. But cut the crap. Nobody friggin’ cares.

Unless you’re a celebrity, in which case people may care about the dumbest, most nonsense thing about you. Or else you’re Conrado DeQuiros, in which case people may care about the worthwhile things you have to say.

I am neither. But this is cool. I can put into words my thoughts and fantasize that somewhere out there in the virtual world somebody would actually care to read it.

So here’s my sorry attempt at an online journal. Friendster is a lame choice, but if there’s a bandwagon to hop into right now, this is it. I was hesitant at first because I was thinking that starting a blog, and especially at Friendster, is too much of a pop culture. But eluding pop culture is pop culture these days, so to hell…

It took me a while to pick a title for my blog. LITTLE THINGS pertain to the things that really matter in this life. When I picked this title, I was thinking of amazing India.Arie singing of phone calls, cute shoes, good news, and peace of mind.

If only people cared more about the little things…