Good times, bad times, you know I've had my share.

Yesterday, the best friend and I dragged our girlfriends (best friends in their own right) out to see Frank Caliendo at a comedy club here in town. Good time, all around, lots of laughs, no tension, no arguments before or after. A stark contrast, really, to the last time the Remix and I went down this road.

You see, when I was a kid, from the second half of high school through my first four years of college, I had friends. Good friends, the kind who would step in front of a truck to save you, without a second thought. Bad friends, the kind who complain about your girlfriend when she dares to keep you from them, no matter how infrequently. Unfortunately for me, and for the relationship I once had with the girl I still (again?) love, I didn't really get the second part, at least not when it was important.

"The Guys," as we collectively called ourselves, were a tight group. I don't regret the friendships, the laughs, the good times. Like any past relationship, I prefer to think of the times we were good together, and not dwell on the way I grew up, out, and away from their influence.

We're still friends, sort of. The best friend was one of the gang, and he's like a second brother. I still see the others, off and on, at weddings and superbowl parties, and it's still fun. For a while. For your benefit, and my nostalgia, let's profile the gang...

Yo was a good guy, with a heart of gold and a liver of asbestos. We were good friends, roommates in our college dorm, our girlfriends similarly situated in a dorm across campus. He's still a good guy--when he's sober, and therefore rarely. By the time he drank himself out of college, there wasn't much to say to each other, really. When Yo and I are together now, it's still too tense, something too big has changed between us, mostly my own fault. It's not just my mistake, though. I judge, without meaning to. I can't drink until sunrise anymore--and my unwillingness is a sharp enough contrast to shame him, even when I don't mean to. I'll always remember him, though, talking softly and without the self-righteousness I was always too guilty of, while I lay crying in my bed, depressed and lost after the Remix and I cashed it in the first time. A lot of friends, a lot of places, would have still been good people without being so kind, but he was anyway, and with no selfishness.

The J-Dog is the one I talk to the most, the most grown-up, married to his high school sweetheart, the girl we used to tease endlessly for anything and everything she could say or do. When he married her, I think it caught up to us all. We mocked him because he had what we didn't, what we couldn't--someone who loved him anyway, even when he was trying to light pop cans on fire, or saving gay hardcore porn as someone's desktop when they had the poor judgment to go to a class. She still loves him, more than we did, and rightfully so. We used to think that each other would be all we'd ever need. The J-Dog proved us wrong, so much so that he doesn't need us anymore. And still, when the mood is right and enough empty beers are on the table, we can still laugh, still remember what it was like watching American Ninja with tears rolling down our faces because we were laughing so hard.

The Dragon is still the baby of the group, the youngest both in years and maturity. When we were chasing girls, he was doing jigsaw puzzles in his bedroom. When we were getting married, he was flirting via emoticon with freshmen on AIM. He still doesn't have a real job, a girlfriend. We've joked for years that he might be gay, but I hope for his sake that he isn't. Not because I don't approve, but because if he is, the last 25 years must have been torture, stifling himself to save some face. He was a sidekick, though, the best kind. Never had a bad word for anyone, never one to ask you the tough questions, The Dragon is the one who would never ask you to act like a grown-up. Want to do a J at nine in the morning? He's in. Want to get drunk two hours before your Spanish final? You know who's buying the first round. My good memories of the Dragon are too numerous to count, but they're all about the same. Sitting back on a couch, with a good buzz, laughing and planning. The Dragon used to talk about hitting the lotto and buying us all houses in the same cul-de-sac, with a bar in the middle. We laughed and agreed, and then slowly everyone moved on to their own idea of the perfect house, none of which involved spending the rest of our lives together.

Zorba the Greek was the sweet, dumb one. Smart as a bag of hammers, but always prosperous, making the kind of money at 18 that I didn't see until three years of post-college work. Now he's the rich one, the club kid, sleeping with 20 year olds every night until he settles down to marry a sweet and silent virgin with Greek parents. Racist and misogynistic, homophobic and cruel, somehow we all overlooked it, all the time, and he was one of us. We used to play poker at Zorba's house, with his dad and uncles, and I believe that's where I really learned the game. Staying up all night, when we'd wake his mom up at 3 she'd wander bleary-eyed into the kitchen to whip up a snack....usually four or five courses, with dessert. We had fun, then, but like everyone else, we have little to talk about anymore. He's my realtor, for what that's worth, but he's not much more, not these days.

I don't miss these guys, exactly. They're still largely the same, and if I wanted to spend a weekend drunk off my rocker, reminsicing about high school football and arguing about movies, they're all still there. Back then, I blew it with the Remix because I couldn't give that up, I didn't want to, and I certainly wouldn't let her take it from me. Now, I'm happier sitting at home with the Remix, talking about whatever strikes our mood, cuddling on the couch and reveling in each other's company. I used to feel like I didn't know who I was, separate from my friends. Now, I don't know who I am when I'm with them. I can see the ghosts, lurking in the shadows of my brain, occasionally leaping forward for a belly laugh or a round of shots, but the rest of the time I'm on the outside looking in, remembering how good it used to be but painfully aware of how bad it always was.