If anyone reads this kind of stuff, read this and let me know what you think. I've had a series of events that occured in my past running over and over through my head lately, making me very aware that they, altogether, pissed me off. Allow me to educate you.

(BTW, all names have been changed to protect the "innocent" but if anyone who knows me and my various friends will know exactly who/what I'm talking about, which is why I'm posting this here instead of my MySpace page, hehe.)

I have this friend that I've known since we were five years old, and have see many the odd good or bad time with said friend, so it is quite easy for me to refer to him as my best friend. Let's call him Bob. Bob's a seemingly upwardly-mobile guy, doing what he thinks will move him forward in life, or something. In order to be able to afford to go to college, Bob enlists in the Armed Forces. He goes off on various war related campaigns or whatever they call them these days, and returns occasionally for a couple weeks only to go back to war. Previous to this time, I had returned from my journeys in Florida and was reacquainting myself with my old friends and hanging out with them alot, Bob included. Needless to say we all got caught up on each others comings and goings.

During one of Bob's returns to the States, I hear from his little brother, which we'll call Hank, with whom I am also friends, that Bob is getting married while he's in... and that I am apparently not invited. "It's only just for the family," I am told; however, later on in this drama, I see pictures from the wedding and see various friends of both the bride and the groom were present at the wedding. Let me sum it up so far. Bob got married to some random girl no one ever told me about, that I didn't even know that he was dating, and I, his friend for over 20 years, was not invited. Ohhh-kaaayy.

Flash forward a little bit, Bob is off to war again, and Hank and I have decided to seek employment opportunites in the town in which Bob's wife (we'll call her Darla) resides. Hank has planned that to maximize our potential use of the town, we'll be spending the night at Darla's apartment. So I'll finally get to meet, for the first time, my best friends wife. She's friendly enough, if maybe a little uncomfortable, but that's understandable having someone you just met spend the night sleeping on your floor. Hank totally vouched for me above and beyond, and she seemed overall genuinely cool with it though. I tried to make it quite clear that were it not, I could split in a heartbeat, but I was told it was ok, stay, it's cool. We each put out oodles of applications, say our goodbyes and head home as planned.

Hit the ol' FF button again and Bob has returned to their apartment supposedly permanently, and I am working in the town at a job I had gotten from the aforementioned hunt. So it was no problem for me to swing by the apartment for a quick pop-in to say hi, welcome back, etc. before heading home. I show up and knock, like I always do anywhere because I was raised like that, and Bob greets me at the door. I say "Hi" and he steps outside closing the door behind him. We exchange a few pleasatries and chat for a few minutes, then he asks, "Remember when you and Hank spent the night here a while back?" I say, "Sure, is that a problem?" At first he's all, "No, it's no biggie, I hear you got a job out of it, that's cool," and the he segues into, "Darla found some fleas in the apartment after you guys left, we know you have a cat, so she says you're not allowed back inside her apartment anymore." Ever read about those moments some people have where they receive some news or information and they feel as though they had been hit by a brick or a ton of bricks or some other such cliche? Well, that was my such moment right there. I was so stunned by that statement that I still can't truly comprehend the absurdity of it. First, the entire premise is sheer foolishness - just because there were a few fleas in there, how does that make them mine? And if they were, how is it my fault? Did I purposely bring the fleas with me, picking them off my cats and saving them in a jar until I got there so I could sully her 10X10 palace? No, I'm crazy, but that's frikkin' retarded. Second, the heaviest blow, my best friend basically betrays me over a few tiny bugs and a piece of ass. So much for that "bros before hos" crap.

There's more to this drama that apparently only I can see, like how since they've moved from that apartment, there's been a very subtle but definite movement to make sure I don't know exactly where they now live. Little things said or done here and there, little looks whenever I would meet up with them again, things like that. There is a little ray of hope, though, that Bob is maybe still himself. On a few occasions, he managed to get a night out to himself and catch up with me and we'd hang out like old times. We'd sit and talk about BS, and I would just get this sense that he's not happy with how it all turned out. So it's kinda hard to tell really where he stands in it all.

Either way, though, I have other friends, so it's not that big of a loss in that sense, but it is definitely a huge wedge in an old and tried friendship. The more I think about the entire series of events the more it pisses me off. And I seem to be thinking about it a lot lately. Hopefully, by putting this out there, it'll help alleviate the issue from my mind and I won't get angry so much about it. Just another bout of douchebaggery I've had to contend with. Thanks for reading.