Giggling at 42 with Rob Halford and Britney Spears

At 42 years old, I found myself staring at a Britney Spears' team was thrown off by Good Morning American asking a non-scripted question story at 1:11 a.m. on a Wednesday/Thursday night.

What was this question that threw everyone into a sudden tizzy?

"Who was your first kiss?"

Fuck. I don't remember the girl's name. I remember where it was. Exactly. I can take you to the spot in Charlottesville, Virginia. On the corner between two fraternity houses. That's where my first kiss happened.

She was from Richmond. Went to Midlothian High School.

And my roommate Hoon-Na walked in on us when she and I were completely naked in my shitty dorm room bed.

I started laughing almost immediately.

She left.

And she left behind a necklace.

It was cheap. Some kind of black opal on it. I kept it for decades. Threw it away one day in 2008 when I was depressed and feeling bad about myself. A girl -- shock -- had just destroyed my life, or so I thought at the time. One of the reasons, she said at the time, was because I held on the my past.

I have a friend who has pictures of all his exes on his wall in his "man room." He is married. And he sees nothing wrong with that.

When I saw this, and heard (well, read on facebook email) what my ex had to say, I threw away a lot of shit one night.

It felt great that night.

But I do miss my old notebooks,

My friend was right about that one. I'd regret doing it.

I do.

But, I'm much different now. I have a hard time getting motivated to write about things. About life. About the life I wanted to live. About the life I thought I did live. About her. Not the one I was talking about, but the other one.

Which brings me back to my first kiss. I remember it. I was drunk. A couple of college friends, you know, the guys you see when you're drunk and no other time, they were there.

It was cool. It was sweet.

And I don't remember her name. Honestly, don't know if I ever really knew it.

Why I’m thinking about this after looking at a story on Britney Spears, I don’t know.

I have a job. It pays the bills somewhat.

My health the last year has been steadily downhill until the last couple of weeks.

Life threw a lot of curveballs in late ‘ll and all of ’12 and into early ’13.

Now, me and my lover, we’re happy. We don’t see each other enough. She works mornings, I work nights. I rarely get two days off in a row, she works three days a week.

But soon, we’re going to change for the better. I’ve stopped drinking almost completely. I had four beers out with her friends the other night and I was drunk.

I like that.

No more coming home from work, alone, sitting on a couch downloading movies or watching British ESPN on the internet while drinking 12 beers every night and eating a bad of Doritoes.

Nope.

Replaced it with walking the dog every day, looking at the sun and trying to complete the elusive 1987 Fleer autographed set. Nearing card No. 400 out of 653. Not too shabby. Found out today that Wade Boggs and Terry Steinbach sign if you give them a little fee for their charity. Gonna do that pronto.

Brought the doggie around some kids the other day. Testing the waters, as they say. You find out that’s happening right after you get a dog from the pound – part pit bull – and you have to worry.

Not that I think he’s got that in him. But, you gotta find out. So why not use other people’s kids as test subjects. He passed with flying colors.

Irony of all this happening right at this moment makes me giggle a bit.

I wonder if Rob Halford giggles when the need strikes? I’d like to think so. He and Glen Tipton are sitting around in their old flat back in the 1970s giggling while writing songs. That’s a nice image, really.

Then I start to think about how much different things would have been in the 90s and 00s if it had been 10 years later. Cell phones and constant updates and all. Skype to stay close.

The mind, it wonders and wanders too much at times.

Then I look at the empty bag of Cheese Balls from Utz! Sitting on the coffee table, right next to the “Films of Burt Reynolds” book that I put there when I moved in and my angst leaves.

It’s nice to find happiness, even when you find it late.

The struggles have been monumental, but I think it’ll all be worth it.

Rob, Halford

“Does anyone really even like T.Rex?” she said with a shrug.

“I fucking love T. Rex,” I thought to myself sitting there watching this 20-something gal pontificate on the importance of Marc Bolan’s output. While T.Rex certainly deserves some love, I wish someone would take “The Slider” off of repeat in this bar.

“OK, life is too damn short,” she said. “For anyone to be forced to listen to this shit while drinking this shit,” she mockingly points at her empty bottle of Miller Lite.

I could fall in love with this gal. If only I wasn’t already in love with another. I turned away before I either fell too hard, or she saw me staring. And with that short dress of red, who wouldn’t stare?

“Hey kid?” Manny asked. “What do you think of T.Rex?”

“Fucking asshole,” I thought to myself. He knows damn well that I always look at Darby when she’s in there. Always thinking about her legs, her eyes and her damn ability to make me fucking nervous and nuts.

“You know, Manny, I was born to boogie,” was all I could muster.

She laughed. I tipped my bottle of Shiner Bock in her direction and thought I’d instantly regret it. But I didn’t. She looked me up, then down, then turned back to her friend – and my friend – Alexander Rifken.

Yeah, everyone called him Alex, except for me. I used his whole name. One day he got up on a bar stool and proclaimed that his name was no longer Alexander, it was just Alex. But me, Manny and Darby were all grandfathered. We could still call him Alex.

Fucking great guy Alex. Don’t have much use for Alexander.

I didn’t sleep much last night. The kid kept me up. He cries a lot. Hell, I cry a lot. I hope he didn’t get that from watching me. Although we do watch each other a whole bunch. He seems to sleep better when I’m typing. So, my writing, while not improving or really going anywheres, has become prolific.

Last night I wrote a line that seemed so silly, so dumb I had to read it to him. After I was done, he smiled. And I cried. Fucker looks like her. Not that it’s his fault. Hell, he’s lucky he doesn’t look like me. That’s a fucking curse.

Yesterday I got a check in the mail from the government. They keep sending ‘em, so I keep cashing them. My lawyer, well, the guy I met one night at Manny’s who is a lawyer and gives free advice to those who continuously buy him shots of Jager, told me that one day they’d either stop coming or a letter would show up telling me to pay it all back. Well, it’s been sixteen months and neither of those things has happened yet. So, I’m not going to try and fix the glitch. Instead, I’m going to stay gainfully unemployed and write. One day I may actually try to send something to someone who doesn’t think I’m talented or cute or humble or family. Someone who didn’t break my heart so I broke it right back. Anyone who’d keep coming back after I pissed ‘em off for the 100th time. Or the first time. Never the last time.

There are days when the words flow. There are nights when I wish they didn’t.

Today wasn’t one of those days. I tried to put myself back in the place I was before it happened. Before she went away. For good. Those days I went to a job that I hated. A place where I worked for maybe an hour a day, but had to stay there for eight. The people either smelled bad or had given up. A couple tried to pretend they hadn’t yet, but their faces and their bellies told a different story. I guess it happens. It happened to me. That’s why I stayed there so god damned long. Just existing. Waiting for the next thing to happen. And it did. Completely unexpectedly. Completely not on purpose. Excactly the way it should happen. Exactly the way I always tell other love-lorned morons.

If you look for something, you won’t find it.

Eh, bullshit.

If you watch a fucking pot, it will boil. It will take exactly the same amount of time to boil as it did last time.

All that shit, it’s a lie. Just fucking live your life the way you want to. If you want to sit in your room and never come out to say hello to your roommates, fucking do it.

If you want to steal. Rob.

If you want to Rob, fucking Halford.

But god damn it, if you want to write … just stop. The world doesn’t need another one.