Differing Similarities.

Whew! What a weekend! Did you miss me? Of course you missed me; if you’d hit me, I’d be in the hospital, maybe worse. Most people like to back up and try again.

If you’re gonna bother doing it at all, do it right the first time.

That’s what my mom always said about cleaning house. That’s why I don’t clean the house at all. It creates an “organic” appeal, a secret hideout for the dust-bunny revolutionary army. For a hermitage, that’s important. It’s authentic.

That’s not what the pirate queen likes.

What the pirate queen likes is important to me, on so many levels. So I spent most last week cleaning my house. See, the Pirate queen is looking to move her hideout, and my harbor is on the secret cove short list.

Yo ho ho!

No, she’s not thinking of moving in. She’s a babysteping peg-legger—just moving near. About a year ago, she moved cross-country to be closer, and yet still keep enough distance to man the cannons and scuttle the ship should something go wrong. For her, that’s about 20 minutes from work and at least an hour from me. I told you: babysteps.

Now, she’s considering a place closer to my house, and that takes her further from her work. She’s spending this week at my house. Can she take the commute? For this experiment to work out correctly, I needed to eliminate any external contaminants and that meant Rob had to clean.

“I’m sorry bunnies, you need to hide somewhere else this week.”

The Pirate Queen isn’t the only reason I cleaned my house. I cleaned my house because a good friend of mine came to town too. My friend Dan and I hadn’t seen each other in eight years. Yup, that’s why we’re still good friends.

Good distances make good relationships.

I tried the “good fences” thing but ran into the same problem the border patrol did: friends still kept getting in. It’s just easier if you pack up your borders and move them out of reach. I learned that from Mom and the cookie jar.

If you’re gonna bother doing it at all, do it right the first time.

Yeah, sorry ‘bout the cookie jar mom. I did it right the first time too.

The point is, my best friends live states away—and now two people I care about are coming to town—at the same time.

I’m flummoxed and fluxomed at the same time, and only one of those is a real word!

Still, I’m noting if not prepared. I’m starting with a clean house. Then the Pirate Queen helps me clean again. Not because she needs it, but because she knows my friend Dan is coming, and she wants things to be perfect too.

Perfect for her means cleaning at six AM. OK, I’m exaggerating, but only a little. It’s six AM when she begins bouncing on the bed.

“Are you awake yet?”

“No, but I’ve crushed the dust-bunny rebellion. Can we go back to sleep?”

It’s six-thirty when she rolls my fat butt to the floor.

I’m not a morning person. For me, the sun also rises, but that doesn’t happen until noon. Today, morning has broken, and I’m expected to fix it.

“Why are you friends?” The Queen asks. She’s not being mean, she’s just trying to understand our relationship. While I lint-roll the cat hair from my chair (my friend is allergic to cats. This won’t cure things, but it will ease the pain), I explain, “We’ve known each other forever.”

“But you don’t sound anything alike.” The Queen stares at my baseboards, shaking her head, “You don’t do these, do you?”

“We’re not—and do what?”

She then explains the rocket science of baseboard cleansing while I blink uncontrollably. I got nuthin’. I always thought the darker color contrasting white wall paint was a favorable thing.

Contrast and compare that to my relationship with Dan all you want. On the surface it’s hard to explain. He’s a motorhead, I’m a blogger. He likes bands like Van Stevenson (“Modern Day Delilah” if you’re playing along) and Sly Fox (“Let’s Go All The Way”). I like—wait a minute, he likes what?

On the other hand we spent our twenties hanging out. We were roommates. We dated girls, quit entry-level jobs, and drank—lots. That’s a bond. He was my best man at wedding. When MyEx spoke of an old married couple, she was speaking of Dan and I.

“…more like Jack Nasty.”

No, this isn’t a brokeback story, let me tell ya. PQ was glad to hear that. “Should I go home while he’s here?”

No there are some bonds that defy explanation. Although, our differences probably explain why it’s been eight years. He hasn’t had a divorce. He’s got two boys. I’ve got a cat.

“I love my life.” I explain over a couple of beers.

“Me too.” He says staring at the ceiling. “We’ve come a long way from being kids, haven’t we?”

“A long way.” I lie, drawing the bottle to my lips. He’ll find out later: I’ve short sheeted his bed.

Dan and I catch up over pizza as the Pirate Queen takes notes. She’s learning more about me than I’m comfortable with. She’s learning that even though she might move along way from work, I haven’t moved a long way from when Dan knew me.

“He still does that!”

Yeah, great. It is great though. I’m sitting with two people I share the most with: a lot of differences, a lot in common, One my past, the other my future.

“Tomorrow I’m going to a car show, wanna come?” Dan asks.

“Sure.” I say, “But can we start later than six?”

“You can sleep in, if you want. I’ve got to kick this army of dust bunnies out of my car. I don’t know where they came from.” Dan looks to the Pirate Queen, “You want to come with us?”

“I can’t,” says the Pirate Queen smiling at me. “I need to find an apartment.”