July 18, 1996

From Gerald R. Lucas

Dude and I just lunched at Basil’s. He has been a good friend lately: we rollerblade, go to movies, drink, and talk. He is a compassionate and thoughtful human being who can empathize with my current situation. We have shared many experiences and enthusiasms over Cabernet and chicken wings; we are both connoisseurs.

I met Dude when I first started working for Joffrey’s. That was the summer of 1994. While I found him witty and shrewd, he and I never socialized outside of work, at first. He, with an air of disdainful superiority, would quietly segregate himself from our group. Surely, Tori had something to do with that unsociable behavior.

It really wasn’t until I moved to Tampa to begin my teaching assistantship that he and I began to get close. I think that this marks the time that he and Ms. Neurotic began to have serious problems. They had dated for as long as I have known Dude, yet their relationship always seemed to be marked by some noire moodiness, tempestuous outbursts, and days of awkward silence that I could neither understand nor tolerate. Yes, the were in love — at least the Dude was.

Probably the most unusual episode in their relationship came when Tori started a coquettish liaison with some chap from New England (Rhode Island, I think). I had heard about it through rumor central, but the gossip had not been confirmed until Tori, ostensibly on some hormone-induced caprice, announced to me that she would soon be marrying this guy she had known for a short week. She seemed delighted as a child sucking at teat, so what could I say but “congratulations”? Certainly an interrogative like “what about the Dude?” would have been in poor taste, harshing her buzz.

Well, as quickly as Prince Penis had come, he left. Tori was devastated (so I’m told) and ran right back to the Dude — ol’ forgiving, whipped Dude. That was one of those two fuck-fests that Tori had slipped into since I’ve know them. Yet the Dude still goes back to her. I hope he uses protection — who knows what kind of diseases that tramp has.

The Dude has gone back to Tori — if I had any doubts before tonight, they have now been allayed. He ditched me to go over to her house to “help her unpack some stuff.” I’ve heard many excuses, but this one is unique in that it sucks majorly. How should that make me feel? To be selected over a woman that has dicked him over at least twice really does wonders for my self esteem.

Granted, her tits are better than mine, and she has that moist pleasure box, but I still don’t think that those two physical features should outweigh my dependable friendship. No matter what else I am or am not, I can at least say — with ninety-nine percent accuracy — that I have never put pussy over my pals. Wow! that my be my one redeeming virtue, or my most pathetic trait. All the guys that made the ditching of their friends for chicks a practiced, ritualistic MO, still have a woman, while I do not.

Still, I’m upset, and still I believe that I am correct . . . and still . . . here I sit alone.

Well, I’m not entirely alone — my family began arriving for my brother’s suicide — er, wedding. I spent the afternoon with Bart, and the evening with Dad and Step-ma. They are all doing well and have not changed a bit. The only aspect of this evening’s discussion that I am able to readily recall is when I was talking about my thesis. Like most people, I am somewhat egocentric (evidenced by this sentence), but I do listen and actually care what my friends, colleagues, and family have to say — unlike most people.

Step-ma talked briefly about her ailing, invalid mother, and Dad and I had our usual conversation about exercise and running with an aside about Stan Kenton. While I maintain a certain filial obligation toward my parents, I can only stand them in small doses — well, dad much longer than Mom. I had several beers tonight which augmented my tolerance level. Dad talked about weddings, etc., while Step-ma and I listened and occasionally nodded our agreement. One learns quickly to be as amenable as possible around dad so as not to arouse his displeasure and disappointment — two states infinitely worse than his wrath.

The evening ended with Anna purring for loving attention. Dharma calls, gentlemen.