Baby, and a short history of a friendship

I am newly a father. I suppose logically, that would be where to go with this post. All the wonders and joys of new parenthood. Knowing I would take a bullet for my daughter. So on and so forth. And don't get me wrong: that's all there. But I know you've heard it all before. Yes, it changes my life, but I knew it would. Yes, I will gaze into her tiny eyes and get lost. Yes, I think she's the best thing in the world, and I have to hold myself back from hitting people who claim otherwise.  But I'm pretty sure that's less interesting to hear about. Here is a picture though, because I am full of Parental Joy:

Cute, right?

Anyway, I'm gushing. I know, my tone may read as dismissive, but I'm pretty terrible at communicating my emotions well on purpose.

Now for the reason I'm writing this blog.  I have a friend. Let's call her "Orange" (the color, not the fruit). We met when she was rooming with a girl I was desperately trying to date for reasons I cannot fully explain. The first time I remember seeing her was when I had found this girl's (the Crush, I mean) Student ID and called her room to return it. This was one of many ill-fated attempts I made at getting an actual conversation going with the Crush so I could work up the nerve to ask her out. I'm pretty sure I eventually did. Needless to say, I did not end up marrying her, and she is not the mother of my little bundle of joy (the Cuteness you see above).

Anyway, when we first met, I thought Orange hated me. Apparently, she used to get that a lot, which is a shame, because she's a lovely human being. If I hadn't already been obsessed with the Crush at the time, I would probably have been taken with her. Anyway, I doubt I seemed my usual charming self either, since I had intended that ID card to be my ticket to relationship bliss and instead I got to talk to the roommate.

Fast forward two years: I'm a senior in college. It's become clear the Crush isn't interested in me, but we still hang out from time to time. Orange and I have begun chatting.  It amazes her how down to earth I am. It amazes me how I could have overlooked her brilliance under the shadow of the Crush. No, music does not swell, our eyes do not meet, and there is no grand romance brewing. But we find a mutual respect for one another that lasts to this day. Ultimately, we are very much alike we two. Both want to write. Both would enjoy a job in publishing, but neither of us seem on track to get one. Both think in similar ways. We have similar vices, similar interests: all the makings of a friendship.

Fast forward again, I've graduated and moved. Not just home, but to New York (the state, not the city). Having met my now-wife, I was pretty much rooted down here. Orange and I are now farther from each other in terms of geography, but closer in terms of friendship. We send one another scripts we've written. Bounce ideas off of each other. Not overly frequently, but it's a nice equilibrium we've established.

You know, I had intended this post to go a different direction, but the prologue feels a complete story unto itself. I think I'll leave it for now.

(For the record, "The Crush" is a term contingent on what time I'm talking about, from this moment on, "Orange" and "The Cuteness" will refer to my friend and daughter, respectively.)

Life

You know what's strange?

Life.

Last time I posted, I was in a completely different place, both literally and figuratively.

I lived in Ohio. Now I live in New York. I was single. Now I'm in a relationship. I was unemployed. On Monday, I start my new job.

Life isn't easy. It's not always fun. But you know what?

I love being alive.

Twenty Three Years of Madness

So, yesterday was my twenty-third birthday. It was somewhat interesting. I don't like this blog to be about my life so much as it is about my thoughts, but birthdays tend to make people think about their lives, so I'll call this post a toss-up.

Two days ago, I took my guitar out of its case for the first time in months and decided to genuinely practice. (For those who don't know, I don't ever claim to play the guitar — I practice. I'll call it playing when I can goof off and still not sound like crap.) I spent a while working, but then I remembered that my fingers were no longer calloused and decided to stop. With luck, I'll stay with it this time and end up actually playing the guitar.

Also recently, I started telling a "Choose Your Own Adventure" story on my facebook, run by popular vote. My hope is that this will motivate me to keep up with writing more (and possibly increase my audience, and provide me with feedback — lots of pluses to this plan).

I could go on, but I honestly feel this is better left short and sweet. I feel like I'm being more productive and responsible. Now if only I could find a job...