Remember When I Was Captain And You Were First Mate?

Oh man… I just came across this photo. Ewww. Not like that, sicko.

But those were some good times and good days, weren’t they? *See photo reference at bottom of post.

I’m not sure if I’ve ever told the story of how BN and JH’s lives crossed paths, but in case I hadn’t, here it is now. And if I have, well here it is again told differently. And you may need to cut me some slack if so. I’m a wise old 34 years ripe now. I’m bound to start repeating stories…

So where was I?

Oh yes…

Creak-Creak in my rocking chair. “It all started….

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OK I’m not black, nor Uncle Remus, but play along…

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I had just returned back to San Diego to finish up my last year of grad school. 4 and Kram had moved back east…east being EAST to the…well, East Coast (capitalized?)…east coast….that seems more likely to be correct….so I was left w/ out my boys to keep myself sane.

I moved back into these at one time excellent apartments that JP (http://www.earclops.com/blog/jp-and-i-last-week-in-santa-cruz/) and I used to live in back in 1998 a million lifetimes ago. At the time JP was living there rent free for his job and had me surfing it on his couch between waves, I must say much to the excitement of his then girlfriend who would periodically screech, “I’M NOT DRESSED!” as I dumbly barged in to use the shared bathroom for the hundredth time. (Well his bedroom linked to the bathroom. I was opening that door. I wasn’t totally insane.)

Those were fun times in itself. For me and JP at least. Days surfing. Days playing tennis. Me planning to embark to England after a few months of saved money to try and play in some local soccer…er futbol clubs.

Once again, you got to love youth.

Those plans of course were immediately thrown in jeopardy when JP all of the sudden had to relocate due to his job and I was days away from homelessness. That is until I ran into my sister’s best friend in a coffee shop who offered to bail me out of my predicament for a “few weeks” while I figured out my next step.

My next step…which would not end up involving frothy pitchers of ale in grass stained knickers, but two years spent living with this wonderful woman; falling and sharing in love.

Crazy how life works.

But back in 2005 I returned to that same apartment complex. A complex under new management. An apartment complex that clearly had not been washed or tended to since the days of ’98.

This time I was a handful of years older. Arguably as immature, but a little shell shocked to say the least from the Paxil poisoning.

SH from my cruise ship days. I’ve alluded to this guy before. He is an Englishman but is anything but proper. Together we tend to get out of control in all the best ways.

SH was shipping himself out from England to spend the next year as my roommate, that is until his VISA got all fucked up at the last minute and I was left with a $1100 studio and no roommate. Financially it was a brutal blow. I was locked into a lease and what was I supposed to do? Find a random roommate to share a studio?

I was screwed. As far as situations like this can screw you.

And “studio” by the way doesn’t do it justice. It’s a frickin shoe box. Which is fine. Would have been fine for SH and I since we shared a Sucrets Box on the cruise ship, but how possibly could two strangers co-exist in a no-bedroom, no-bed studio?

So I was fucked, I readily assessed.

Regardless I placed an ad on craigslist.org

I don’t remember how I worded it, but it was almost entirely humor based. Basically saying that:

“I know none of you will respond because this is absolutely absurd, but in case you want to pretend you are in a well fashioned prison for the next nine months, then hit me back”. Something like that. I do remember that I mentioned something about a pet alligator or something, but I can’t recount the details of my own randomness.

Much to my own shock, I quickly received a handful of replies:

“Ooh this sounds perfect.” “Ooh I have an alligator too. We can have play dates”. Just random shit, you know.

And of course the more sketching sounding ones filtered in as well.

“I read ad. I live in Mexico…” etc. etc. etc.

Or the “I just broke up with my stalking, violent, possessive ex-boyfriend….”

Yep.

Finally though, amidst it all, I got a phone call from a normal sounding guy (not JH). He sounded safe. He sounded easy. He sounded a little boring. But fuck it, he sounded like my financial savior.

We were all set to go to have an informal meeting to make sure he wasn’t the jealous ex-boyfriend ready to slit my throat, but ten minutes before his arrival, I got a call from this JH character.

All I remember is that on the other line was this full energy that bordered on fully absurd.

I tell this JH guy that I am now showing the “studio” and he tells me that he is now on his way.

Hmmm…

The first guy shows up. He’s predictably nice. He seems fine. He mopes his head around the tiny room while nodding.

“This will work.”

This will work. This will be fine. Thank God.

Knock knock.

I open the door. JH pours in w/ sister in tow, energy cranked up to ten. A stronger personality I have run into in my life? Probably not.

JH is just laughing and steamrolling the whole scene. Moper is clinging behind me like a four year old to his mother’s dress at a cocktail party.

I’m laughing along w/ the whirlwind that just walked in thinking, a) he might be a total and complete asshole and there will be bloodshed if he moves in. Or b) I just found another one of my lunatics.

I basically felt that those were the only two ways in which it could go. And that it was probably leaning more towards the former.

But, whether it was a foolish decision or not, I took the gamble and went with the force that is JH.

And you know the rest of the story…

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Creak-creak. A puff of tobacco smoke from my pipe.

“So there you go kids. The story of BN and JH. Now run along now. Best go clean up for supper.”

Creak…creak. Puff of smoke.

BN

*Photo reference. This was shortly after JH moved in. Since there were no room for beds in our “studio” we resorted to using inflatable rubber twin beds we called our rafts. Simply having these two rafts blown up made it nearly impossible to navigate around the apartment. It was that small. Made even more ridiculous with the acoustics of the rafts. Every time we shifted…. “squueeeeeeeeeeeek” which would have us erupting in fits of laughter til no earlier than 3am every night. To say we were sleep deprived doesn’t do it justice. And further laughter brought on by imagining the first girl who would be taken back to this apartment to find no bed and two rafts. And even further laughter imagining the girl who would actually be able to follow through with that. Oh man….

So back to the photo…Based on how ridiculously small our room was and how ridiculously packed in we were with surfboards, bikes, and rafts, we thought it amusing to, as a joke obviously, post for another roommate on craigslist. So this is one of the photos. The two of us posting for another to join or crew.

The responses were plenty and would keep us entertained as we would read them on our equally sized balcony after work and school.

Not to mention this wonderful balcony where 50 yards away in the facing apartment, there was this girl who I figured was from some Middle Eastern descent. I based this on two things. One, she had a dark complexion and dark, long, curly hair. And second, every time I would go out on the balcony to play some guitar, and sing off-key, like a snake to snake charmer, she would walk to her bedroom with the large fully exposed bay window and take off all her clothes. All of her clothes. I kid you not.

Good days they were JH. Good days.