23 Years...

To put you into the right mood and time frame, click the above and loop it till you cringe. It was THE song of 1997

 

Warren RI to me at one time was just a dump to drive through to get to Christie's Landing wharf in Newport to day drink in the summer. You could people watch those who were from all over the country there, plus eye the girls in their summer dress. There were a few times driving home from there I should've been arrested. Drinking vodka in the summer sun creates a very definite, sillier high that doesn't lend itself for driving in a straight line across the Mt Hope bridge. But this was just before MADD went on their crusade against young partiers like me then...and you too if you fessed up.

On either side of 114, the main road through Warren, I saw timeworn homes, businesses that looked like they needed to have closed up in the early 70's because their 50's decor was deteriorating fast and flaking onto the sidewalk. The people on the sidewalks looked less appealing still. Old hags and devious looking blue collar workers littered the area.

Once you crossed into Bristol, things looked up! You could roll down your windows again.

That...until I took a job on Main st in Warren in the mid 90's. At first, I thought it a step down from what I was doing but I needed the money. A good chunk of my job demanded that I learn the town intimately as the clients I worked with lived there. I was a sort of ASL translator/Dad/Cop/Negotiator/Chauffeur/All-Around-Shell-Answer Man. (Kudos if you get the Shell reference, if not, your way too young!).

What I came to find out was that Warren wasn't the shitheap I thought it was. Once you get into the side streets you learn that half the houses have placards on their sides stating they were built in the 1700's. Mostly built then by seafarer captains and the such who made enough money to give up the trade and become land lubbers. Add to that, a ton of little restaurants you'd never know were there unless you lived there. And bars, pubs and plenty of each. Aiden's comes to mind. Aiden's. The only disgusting place I think was the Blount clam processing plant right on the water. But even then, if you have ever lived near the ocean, the salty semi-stench just reminds you of clam flats that dissipates from your nose in time. What emancipates Blount's stink, was the fact that Blount also built ships and pleasure craft next door to the clam place. So there was an air of old money and respectability there. You could watch them build them as their main garage door, that was half the building, was open to the street. To know these things, you'd have to walk down Water street and I did many times then.

Warren is also pretty much surrounded by the Narragansett bay with many inlets and sandbars which made great blue fishing when they were chasing the menhaden. From the second bridge that crosses over into Warren by the American Tourister place, the old sandbar I found, and use to fish from, is still there. There were plenty of flounder and tautog there at the right times too.

**

I was in Warren earlier today and ran into a few of those who I worked with all those years ago. I hadn't seen them since 1997. I swear, after 23 years it was amazing how they remembered me as if it was yesterday and I them. Of course, we all look older, fatter and slower. The reunion was fun and we traded old stories. What I surprised to find out was that some of very clients I worked with were still there. Albeit they were more blind and/or deaf than before.

Driving home I was hit with many thoughts. I was a younger man then at 30. Then, I had a few dreams, hopes and a hell of a lot more energy. I couldn't help but compare that time with where I am today. Then, there was no way in hell I'd be able to predict where I'd be today. I think back then, I thought I'd have moved from Rhode Island, perhaps to Denver, San Diego or the such, making my life out there as I wanted change. That didn't happen. It didn't have to because many of the influences of my life then changed for the better and in a damned hurry. In short, I was relieved of caring for a sick relative I had cared for for years. Also back then, I thought I'd meet that someone who would save me (Ha! All guys I knew then thought this...it barely succeeds!). When I was in Warren, I was chasing this really pretty girl who kept me at arm's length. She had broken up with her boyfriend and seemed so available. Oh...how I tried! What changed was that she went back to him and eventually married him and his career with ARAMCO (A Saudi oil conglomerate. He became well to do, probably a good decision on her part). Well, finding that girl didn't happen but I had some fun along the way with some pretty interesting women in the 90's. IE: Roberta who I spoke of here before. She was far wealthier than I was and realized in time I was turning into a “kept boy.” But so what, it was fun for what it was.

I made mention of the fact to one of the ones I talked with today in Warren that I...we, have all changed but didn't. What I mean by that is that our core personalities are still the same. The differences are on the edges of that core.

So who am I today vs. that salt and pepper haired guy I was at 30 and who could fit into a size 34 jeans?

Driving home I knew, just knew that I had a hundred tons more confidence than I did then. Why? After 23 years of living life, a lot of it repeating itself, you file those experiences away for easy reference. Now I am bolder, more direct (perhaps insultingly so, but w/o malice) and that much more astute. That leads to increased self esteem as well. I know what I am capable of because I've had to “go through it” and pull it off. This isn't the loud, bragging pride so many guys I knew in my 20's. That kind of confidence was a “fake it till you make it” show. What's funny, those young blowhards I knew then learned, rather roughly, that life kicking them in the teeth time after time, that they had better sober up their inebriated and boisterous egos. “Glad you came back and put both feet on the ground! The Earth was always down here!”

A dignity that's based on solid rock and experience usually weathers the world a bit better than bluster.

There's a solidness at this age I didn't have then. I suppose you can't have it then. It's impossible. You haven't lived long enough to have acquired that. To get to this point requires baking for decades until you're “done.” 

The price of this is you have to get older, much older. Do I miss the youth I had in 1997? Of course, I'd be lying if I didn't admit that.  But the fact is this, then or now, here or there, you experience life pretty much the same at each point. Not a whole hell of a lot changes to that degree. People are people wherever you find them.   When I was 30 I was bitching and lamenting that "I didn't have this or that." At 56, I still can do the same. I see young 20 Somethings do this daily and they have youth and all the time in the world. Women, do this from the age of 3 till they're 99. Nothing seems "quite good enough."

This is natural. We all do it. The difference I find now is that you temper this complaint by trading ambitious impatience with acknowledging you're married to the World. To make that marriage work, you have to make compromises with this mate. It's not all about YOU. 

Gold Digging B...

I once described my generosity, on a scale, to a good friend like this:

“You want a cigarette from me? OK, no problem...here ya go.”

“You need a ride home? Wellll....OK, get in.” (Though I am quietly thinking how far out of the way it is for me)

“You need a kidney? Wow, I'll have to really think on this one.” Though if you're close to me, in dire straits and work on my idea of a 'helping' morality....I'll probably do it.

And finally if someone asks me.

“Can I have $20?” I'll say...

“Go FUCK YOUR SELF!!!!”

I suppose being raised by a CPA/Comptroller/Loan Officer/Child of the Depression parent did this to me.

Which is why gold diggers never did have too much success with me. Which is funny because I went with three of them in my lifetime. (All failed relationships, of course. I turned out to be a dry well and they left)

The trick to being a Gold Digger is to be very subtle, you NEVER ask for money. You especially don't ask for a new car outright either. Then get mad and throw a TV remote at the boyfriend when he says “No.” You act as if money isn't really of consequence but you condition the sucker, I mean boyfriend, by humbly accepting all gifts and freebies that you never asked for. Never turn them down and leave that moment hanging w/o any real reciprocity. You leave it open with the possible future payback. AKA: “Keeping the gate open.”

Any reciprocation will never be with American dollars but with a different currency, the on her back variety, to which, in her mind, isn't really much of a liability or loss anyways. (Definition? She's been through so many guys it no longer seems to matter now anymore. Emotionally and sexually cynical and burnt out)

It's delicate act to pull off for any length of time but there are a few who are artists at it.

The Two Hannahs.

I went with two girls named Hannah, both separated by decades but were both always looking for that free ride.

I should've been aware of Hannah #1 back then because she had come from a failed relationship after dating a millionaire real estate developer for about three years. I had known, and saw it all basically happen as she was a neighbor and I'd hear the stories. She was 18 and he was about to turn 40 when they first met. His treasure came from flipping commercial real estate and had a penchant for women way younger than he. Hannah found him out and tried to tie her Little Red Wagon to him. This, for her, became three years worth of free cocaine, free trips to the Caribbean and moving into his nice house in Rehoboth. I once overheard her talking to a girl friend of hers that, “Oh, I'll do it all, in my face, on my back...with another girl so he can watch...as long as I'm #1 one in his life..”

That's pretty mercenary for a 21 year old girl and a bit young to be that aware.

Well, near the end of three years there was nothing but arguments, visits by the Rehoboth police and finally her being kicked out of his life. Within one week a new girl had replaced her, which means this new girl was in the picture for a while, secretly of course.

Hannah #1 was 21 at the time and from what I could tell, had become too “old” in his eyes and was replaced by a 19 year old. This would turn out to be the case for all others in this guy's life.

So Hannah1 is now free. I really did like her because she was very spontaneous, lively and a real hellion. I liked hellions because I was the opposite. For me, life is meant to be tread carefully because of all those landmines, ruts, gopher holes and razor ribbon can snag you. If you've ever had your life upended for a few years by stepping on one of life's mines...you tend to be careful where you step from that point on.

A few hellions I've found, tend to escape without so much as a scratch when they blow up their own lives. It's gotta be luck or some very odd skill I can't locate in them. Hannah could to that and I liked the roller coaster ride she provided.

But...

Hannah liked her money, well, other people's money to be exact and as we hung out, I noticed that the restaurants she wanted to go to tended to get pricier and pricier. My radar one day came “on” when we were in Filene's in Emerald Square mall where she was looking at some pendant, ooing and ahhing over it. I suppose it was pretty. What do I know of jewelry except that pendant weighed about $300 in gold. After the girl had put it back in it's display case and we walked on, I saw Hannah's face pouting like a little girl denied her ice cream. She hadn't outright asked me to get it but was expecting me to “get the message” that she liked it so much that I'd pick it up for her.

Nope. Fuck that. My CV joints in my Dodge 400 convertible wanted money too and it had first dibs. I didn't have inexhaustible resources like her previous beau.

Summer romances end in September for some reason. Playtime is over as the beaches close up and the days shorten. Hannah1 did the same with me, I was put away. In a month's time she had found her true love finally. An owner a medical supply/oxygen rental business. She fell in love with his assets, sorry, I mean him and dated him for about a year when that blew up as well. He was older and from what I saw, a little weary of life and got tired of dealing with her over hellion ways. She could be hard to handle at times because of her immaturity. How often do you want the police at your business because everyone can hear the screamfest and possible domestic violence?

Today? She's just turned 50 and out of the dating game. She can't snag anymore Rhett Butler's because any college age girl can out compete her in an instant. She never did bag the rich guy for the happily ever after dream princess life. She's been enslaved to the work a day life and sipping wine a bit too much.

Hannah # 2

Hannah2 was dirt poor, no real occupational skills with dreams of being well off. But that didn't include putting the effort into getting job skills. She was 30 when I met her and had spent her life working at pet shops and veterinarians as an assistant. She was also damned cute looking and she too had that black streak I liked, unpredictability. With the right amount of cinnamon schnapps, she was up for anything.

Since she was dirt poor, she drove a shitbox that was rusting slowly away and would break down from time to time. She was tired of having to fix it and wanted a newer car by the time I had met her. The repairs the car needed weren't wallet busting but just a common event that kept cropping up.

One night at her apartment in Riverside, she was hinting heavily about getting a new car, that year's model. I mean hinting in that I should pay for it. I was sitting on the couch, inwardly rolling my eyes in my head while I heard this and finally stood up and told her, “No, I'm not spending $15,000+ on you.”

I walked towards her kitchen when I hear a faint “fuck you” and I turned around and felt something smack my mouth. I didn't know what hit me but I saw a TV remote on the floor that wasn't there a half a second ago. Then I felt that funny warm watery feeling dripping down my chin. I swiped my chin with my hand and saw the blood.

She was so pissed with my denial she had whipped the remote at me. It was great timing as I was turning around and it nailed my lower lip. It was split open!

By then she was standing up, yelling, “YOU'VE go the money! You can buy it!”

I stood there in shock. “What major balls!” I thought.

“No way would I spend thousands on a whore!” I said. I said that in that I wouldn't spend huge sums of money on a whore, a newish girlfriend (her) or possibly even my own damn Mother had she needed a new car. But because I don't think sometimes when I open my mouth and everyone misinterprets what I say, she says...

“I'm a whore??!!”

Lucky I didn't answer that but my silence just set her off further.

“Answer me! You calling me a whore?”

Do you know how I wanted to say she was one? To confirm it for her so she'd hit the roof? Really toss gas on the fire and watch her implode?

I made the smarter decision and left.

Two days later I'm at work, a place called PV. Everyone noticed the healing slit on my lip. If you work with the same people for years upon years, they tend to easily notice if you have a new, tiny freckle forming on your left ear. So I have to explain the cut lip.

Later in the office I'm telling the same story to D, who spins around in his chair and speaks his final and one-word opinion of her.

“Whore...” he says.

So it wasn't just me!

Hannah2 left eventually and now I hear she's semi-happy with a divorced guy in Taunton who does something with the seafood markets out on the Cape. She drives a newer version of a shitbox now and doesn't work at any vet's office. Well, she got half of what she wanted.

Last one and it's just a vignette.

I use my kitchen table as a workbench, desk, shelf and whatever. It also means I keep bills, financial statements and a lot of other shit there in the open. I like having that stuff easily available.

A “Not Hannah at All,” a girl I knew a few years ago, was sitting at it with me and we were talking. I then noticed she was putting some exertion in looking at a sheet of paper on the other side of the table. I could tell she was straining to read it, people show everything on their face you know. She was straining to read it because it was upside down to her. It was my IRA statement from T Rowe Price.

She was trying to find that final line: Total Shares/Total NAV for the month.

In my head I nearly screamed, “Jesus H Christ, how OBVIOUS can you be!”

Look, I know anyone would read that if it was left out in the open, I would too, but most wouldn't be so blatant about it either. Most would wait for a moment when no one would see them look. “Not Hannah #3” was pretty shameless about it though.

So, kudos to you women who make your own way!