The beginning of Mr. Misadventure (Copyright Frank Hardy Jr.)

Chapter One

"Never Again, Again"

"I guess my position as building manager has been compromised." With fresh vodka and
Mountain Dew in my I Love My Dog coffee mug, I looked to Coty as he ascended the stairs as
he did every Friday evening at 7:30. I knew he'd been drinking with my father and his protege,
as this was a weekly tradition. What I didn't know was whether he'd take the time to stop and
have a drink with his favorite mistake before his early bedtime.
"What are you talking about?" he asked, only half interested due to the loud music and
obvious party going on in the courtyard. "You not able to do something about that noise?"
Coty couldn't help it; he was an enigma. Acidulous one minute, and loveable gentleman
a moment later. I wondered if living with me and dealing with my antics for nearly four years had
possibly added to his disdain for all things fun. Who was I kidding? Of course it was. For a long
stretch, our apartment was party central, and all of the tenants, regarding me as nothing short of
the greatest landlord on the planet, would gather together, and we would relish in our young
stupidity, and drown the reality of our situation with cheap booze and stale cigarettes.
I could see where adults running amok as if unsupervised children would become
irritating after a while. This is probably why, during most of my auspicious evenings, Coty was
usually hiding in the back bedroom, watching programs about history and playing video games
alone. I guess one would see that as a cry for attention, but I was far too drunk to notice if he
was hurting. This is why, since our break-up, I've been, for the most part, practically cotton
candy around him. Even when he gave me that look of annoyance he should have had
copywritten.
"Oh, I can do something about the noise," I reassured him, with my in control mask
tightly concealing my true identity. "I can call the cops. Those fuckers down there sure aren't
listening to me."
Punching in the code that unlocked his apartment, which was conveniently or
incoveniently depending on how you look at it, right down stairs from mine, Coty let the door
swing open with zero enthusiasm. We shared a common area outside of our doors, whereas we
once shared our lives together. It was a little depressing, but I was happy he was still in my life,
even if it was just for a drink or a blowjob every now and again. "Call them," he said quietly,
looking quite exhausted. Indeed, we were comfortable strangers, he and I, and I reflected on
that as I heard the familiar thuds of Steven clambering up the stairs to join in the conversation.
"You can use my phone," he said, as if he'd been eavesdropping from the open door of
his downstairs studio apartment. "Or I'll call them? You want me to?" Steven's eagerness was
staggering, but he was a sucker for a good episode of Cops, so I didn't make to much of a fuss
over his boner-inducing love of flashing lights and sirens.
"I'll call them. Liz is on her way over anyway."
"You guys drinking tonight?"
"No, Steven. We're going out to the club with Britney and Mariah. They have a drink
special if you show up with two whorish pop stars."
Steven laughed, as if conditioned to do so. And if I hadn't done the conditioning myself,
I might have minded. Truth was, even though he was far from limited, he didn't seem to get a lot
of my analogies, making him sort of the Rose Nylund to our group. He believed the literal
meaning of every phrase unless it was a fart joke or something he'd come up with himself.
"That means yes. When is he not drinking?" Coty, who'd entered his apartment only to
toss his work shirt onto the kitchen table, returned with a beer himself. "He's can't have any
blood getting into his alcohol system."
Coty loved his corny jokes so much, he repeated them often. A trait he shared with my
father, who just happened to be one of his best friends. Despite their thirty three year age
difference, they were quite the pair, and yes, I was furiously jealous at first. Over time, it had
gotten easier to deal with, and eventually I came to laud their friendship, partly because it could
be attributed to me. If Coty hadn't moved here from western New York to live with me, those
two would have never met. Seems selfish to say, but that's how I rationalized and dealt with
their relationship. It was all about me. And as pathetic as that sounds, oh, reader, it truly was.
Steven handed me his phone, and I hesitated. "What's wrong?" he asked, chewing on a
hang nail, his red, unwashed John Cena shirt barely masking his swollen and hairy belly.
"Do you think I'd be a hypocrite for calling?"
"How's that?"
Coty was quick to interject. "Because he just had the cops called on him last week.
Remember? They had to cart his drunk ass back to his apartment after passing out in the
courtyard."
"Hey, I didn't get arrested. That counts for something, right?"
Steven nodded, and Coty took a swig of his beer and rolled his eyes. I never wanted
him more than when he made it obvious he didn't want me. I guess that's a conundrum most
people who are involved in long term relationships encounter. When the sparks die down, and
the fire is out, we look for new ways to become aroused and engaged in the pleasures of the
bedroom. Not that sex with me was strictly designated for the bedrooom in my eyes. Trust me,
no bathroom, U-Haul truck, or schoolhouse roof was safe from my imagination. I had a lust for
the dangerous, and it was pretty obvious. My reputation oftentimes preceded my actions, and I
was pigeon-holed as being somewhat of a slutty self-righteous twat. But hey, whatever. That
was just fine by me.
"You probably blew one of the officers." Coty and his little quips. How I did often enjoy
them. He'd never let me live down the fact that I'd been unfaithful to him on numerouos
occasions, but he had to realize there were somethings I had in common with my father after all.
I had his eyes....those beautiful blue wandering eyes.
"Eh, shut up before I come over there and kiss you."
"No." His features were twisted and stern, but his features were lying. I knew better
than anyone he'd throw me down and fuck the hell out of me the very first chance he had. And
he had chances...and had taken them. He wasn't quite putty in my hand, but I could still get
whatever I wanted from him. I'd like to say I never used this to my advantage, but shit, a bitch
has to get cigarettes and liquor somehow.
He wasn't numb to that detail; he was an intelligent guy who, despite his tall, thin, waifish
exterior, was quite strong physically, as has been proven over the years of our oftentimes violent
love story. I think that's where the forced sternness came from. He wanted to fuck me. I knew
he loved me, but at the same time, I was certain he hated me just as much.
"You know you want it," I teased, pretending to gingerly massage my ass.
"Like a fucking heart attack. You don't know when to stop, do you?"
"Nope. The battery just won't die. Guess you'll just have to deal."
Steven, who'd been around for most of my relationship with Coty always said we'd end
up back together some day. He was always pulling for us, and usually in our corner, but right
now, he was a little preoccupied to segue into the Coty and Frankie Story. "Are we going to
call the cops on the assholes downstairs or not?"
"Forget it," was my official decree, as I noticed the party seemed to be breaking up.
"They're leaving, which is good, 'cos you know we have to live around these people. Bad blood
lasts a while."
Coty was sitting on the stoop outside his door tossing back the Bud Light like he
needed it to withstand his present company, and I seated myself beside him, much to his
chagrin. "How was work?" I asked him, hoping to ease a little of the tension and cut through the
old school Motown songs blaring from Lionel's apartment. "You look like you had a rough
day."
"Wasn't rough, just busy." Another long gulge from the bud light savior followed. For
him it was medicinal. For me, it was habitual.
We sat there in silence for a few moments before a disappointed Steven noted that, "Liz
is here," and my dog, Milo, a white Maltese poodle mix, who was too smart for his own good,
awarded her arrival with a clarion call of warning barks. "Hi, Mom!" Liz beamed as she met us
on the second floor, bags of liquor and soda chasers in hand. "What am you doing?"
Liz and I had a funny way of communicating. We were both very good writers and
boasted quite extensive vocabularities, though we purposely spoke to each other with improper
grammar. We found it hilarious, though others who weren't priviledged enough to know us, may
have found us to be a bit daft. We didn't care. It was our thing. That's just the way it had always
been. As far as why she called me mom, that's an inside joke to be revealed at a later time.
"Just decided not to call the cops on the loud ass tenants," I revealed. "You know, just
another Friday at Ragamuffin Manor."
"You ready to do some partying?"
"Did we just meet?"
"You're right," she giggled, clutching her bargain vodka. "Stupid question."
I knew I wouldn't last long that night, for truth be told, I was prescribed valium for my
panic attacks, which I took every day. Pharmacists discourage mixing the medicine with alcohol,
and considering I'd just taken a pill at five thirty, I knew I'd end up blackout drunk, accosting
people on Facebook for naked photos. It was just a little something I did.
 I tried to wean myself off the valium, which oddly enough is prescribed to help alcholics with
their withdraws, but my own were far too great. I just couldn't hack it. So, I did what anyone in
my situation would do. Not a damn thing. I was so far gone, I didn't care, or didn't chose to
care, rather, that I'd become a full-fledged addict.
The four of us, after Liz, Steven, and I begged Coty to join us, all settled into my
bedroom, which reeked of cat piss. I had five of those little bastards, and of course, being the
shit machines they are, and me being the Helen Keller of housekeeping, the apartment was in a
bit of disarray. I decided that we should hook up the Nintendo Wii and play a friendly game of
bowling, despite the failing efforts of Steven's Hawaiian Breeze air freshener.

New Track List for TTOTW.

I've been writing like a mofo, swimming in melodies, lyrics, harmonies, and instrumentals for the past few months, and it looks like things are finally starting to come together. Of course, I'm not even going to get into the recording, mixing and mastering crap right now, cos, between the album and the book and sifting through 15 years of writing, I'm sapped....lol. In any case, behold the updated track list below. I'm sure there will be more to add, as this will undoubtedly be a 35 track double LP.




01 From the Back
02 Pacific Bliss
03 Trailer Girl
04 Saturday (Lights Out)
05 Unlucky Me
06 Like You Like Me
07 Bare Feet
08 Soda Pop
09 Menz and Friendz
10) Honeysuckle
11) That's All
12) Carnival Ride
13) My Place on the Floor
14) ORGASM
15) Schoolboy Rock
16) Peep Me
17) Goodbye, Angel (Glitter on the Stage)
18) The Sound A Broken Heart Makes
19) Pillow Cases
20) All My Life
21) Comets and Rockets
22) Here's Your Revolution
23) Eight Years
24) Josephine Jay (Always in all Ways)
25) Seventeen
26) Them Boys
27) Yesterday Was Better
28) Blue Eyes Green
29) War Tonight
30) The Talk of the Town
31) My Sky Tonight
32) Absolutely Powerless
33) ?
34) ?
35) ?

Forever in our Hearts--Josephine Jay Bagent 1924-2010

Josie's Eulogy

Below is the eulogy i delivered at my great-grandmother's funeral last April. I thought it was pertinent, and so, I'm sharing...





“For Mum”


When I look back at the many seasons of my life, the sunsets, the summers, and the years of lessons and trials, I look back as if I’m opening an old photo album. And in that album, taped firmly into place are the memories, the happenings I’ve held onto. The events and the people that have made me who I am today. 
It’s curious to me, as I remember my transition from adolescence into adulthood, how the simplest of gestures, the unintentional love of another can transform someone. Can mold them and shape them, their actions weighing heavy on a heart. I think, these are the things most commonly forgotten. These are the things that daily life can sometimes steal away from us. 
We go about our days, so wrapped up in our routines that we forget to stop and thank our lucky stars. We forget to remember why and how we’re here. That is why, today, I’d like to take the time to have everyone stop for a moment. To sit back and help me remember. A woman. A friend. And the brilliant legacy she’s left behind. 
I could stand here for the rest of my life describing our beloved “Mum,” but somehow, I feel, that all the kind words in the world wouldn’t be enough. There’s only so much any one of us could say about what Mum delivered to our lives. She’s certainly touched mine with her compassion and generosity of heart. She is undoubtedly, the greatest influence I’ll ever know. 
Her life reads like the pages of an unpublished novel, and in this story of life and love, Mum’s chapters have always been the most interesting, and by far, the most compelling. 
We’ve all been fortunate enough to add color to Mum’s story. We’ve all run to her for advice, for schooling, and for guidance. I remember many times as a child, staying with her on the weekends and listening delightedly as she talked for hours to my grandmother, Linda and my mother, Diane. I’d be pretending to play, I’m sure, but all the while I was taken aback by Mum’s capacity to listen. Her eagerness to help. And from then on, it was obvious to me, how important the notion of family was to her. How, without fail, for the duration of her life, she’d be there for the family.
And family, is an ideal that we as parents, as children and grandchildren put on the backburner sometimes. We forget to call. We forget to write. But not mum. I can’t recall a single instance where she was too busy to call or too busy to care. She was always right there when I needed her most, and whatever problem I had, whatever ordeal or issue I’d struggle with, she’d make it right. Her sage wisdom and country girl charm were just a few of the reasons I looked up to her so much. 
Everything about her was endearing, and honest, and she had no problem telling it like it was. A strong-willed and brave woman, she endured many ups and downs throughout her life, but never seemed to lose her shine. I remember her fondly for her warm ways and cheerful disposition. I remember so very much about her.
From the time I was a young boy, I spent as much time down Jefferson Orchard Road as I possibly could. I used to beg my parents to drop me off at Mums on the weekends and during breaks from school, for it was the one place I felt consistently loved as a child. Truth be told, my parents always did their best to show me how much they cared for me, but Mum. Mum let me get away with so much more. And for a seven year old, the freedom I felt at her house and in her life, was empowering and alluring. Some of the sweetest photographs I hold in my memory were taken out there in Kearneysville. If I close my eyes now, I can still see a smaller version of me, lugging around that little red wagon. My first little red wagon. The one Mum and Granddaddy Vernon bought for me. I can smell the sweet smells of pie and buckwheat pancakes wafting across the breeze brought inside through the open screen door. I can see a familiar car pulling up to take the two of us to town. Usually it was Trudy with Justin. Or Pete. And the conversation. How I loved listening to the conversations as a little man. 
For those of you who’ve had your lives touched by my great grandmother, it should be easy for you to understand why I wanted to spend so much time with her. It wasn’t just that Mum allowed me to be mischievous. On the contrary, she was firm when she needed to be, but I never felt restricted by her. I never felt fenced in or controlled. Being with her, I was my freest, and where I first learned to cook. Where I first learned to sew. And where I first learned of love. 
And that love, I saw displayed in the countless albums and scrapbooks Mum had collected over the years. I used to flip through them in amazement, for they seemed to be a portal, a doorway to the past, and in those pages, proudly she’d displayed pictures and newspaper articles, all of which honored the family she cared so much for. 
But pictures were not the only keepsakes Mum surrounded herself with. In an old curio cabinet in the living room, one that showed its age, were a group of varied items. Items that had been given to Mum over the years. Predominantly, it was full of trinkets and souvenirs that Aunt Nan would bring back from Myrtle Beach each year, but there were Home Interior candles she’d ordered from Sharon, my Happy Meal toys, and even a washcloth Easter Bunny I’d fashioned in first or second grade. 
This is how vital the idea of family was to Mum. She was a sentimental person, who believed the same thing I’ve come to know. Those you surround yourself with are the ones that affect you the most. Those you care for and cherish, are your gateway to the past, as well as the gateway to your future. 
And with that in mind, I have to applaud her for her loyalty and stance on unconditional love, because regardless of one’s choices or mistakes, Mum’s adoration did not wane or taper off. She is still the only person I ever knew who was able to love with her entire heart. 


Mum is probably the first person I ever knew who made me feel that who I was as a person was totally acceptable. She’s the one who never let me falter, and was steadfast in her efforts to make sure I had the support I needed. She was also the first person I ever shared my writing with. Always interested in my creative side, Mum did her best to encourage me to aim for the stars. And whenever I doubted myself, or lost the will to soldier something out, she would repeat these words to me over and over. “You won’t be little forever.” 
At the time, I have to admit, I didn’t think too much of these words, as they seemed small didn’t directly remedy my problems. But now, as an adult, I have to say, that sentence is one of the most profound things anyone’s ever said to me. Mum was right. I didn’t stay small. I saw the actualization of many of my dreams. I’ve moved on and gotten stronger with age, and it’s amazing to me, almost ironic, now that I think about it. How five little words could have changed my life. That is what I strive for now as a writer, more than anything else. To use the power of words to change the lives of others. I wouldn’t have ever had the desire, if it wouldn’t have been for this woman, lying before us today. 
The greatest thing I could ever hope to achieve with my gift, a gift my great-grandmother helped me hone, is pay tribute to her on this day we send her up to meet our savior. I firmly believe, that regardless of beliefs, life choices, and mistakes, we are all cut from the same cloth, and we all deserve the same respect. This is something else taught to me by our beloved Mum. 
Her influence on all of us has been incalculable, and without her presence, none of us would be sitting here today. Now, I’m not speaking solely about our physical existences. I’m referring to so much more. We have all been shaped, either genetically, or through the process of behavior we’ve learned from Mum, and that is why, I’m not here mourn. I’m here to celebrate the life of a very special lady, and relish in the fact that, because so much of her personality and heart have been divided up amongst everyone in this room, Josephine Bagent is never really gone. She is very much alive and lives on through the pieces she’s left behind. Pieces and fragments of time and memory, that are pieces of us as well. And together, we must remember. We weren’t just born of mum or influenced by her. In reality, even in the smallest measure, we ARE Mum.
This is why I’m sure today would be the ultimate comfort to her now, as she is finally at peace: looking down upon the ones she taught, and cherished, and loved and realizing that her time in this world, a long and wonderful 86 years, was certainly not wasted. God gave Mum a mission in 1924, and since that time, she has helped to make us all better than we ever thought we could be. So for that, we should all be grateful. For her contributions to our lives and the fact that she always served a greater good, for the fact that she lived her days an everyday angel, let us remember together. The strawberry fields. The Charlie Pride songs. The homemade baked goods. The advice. The love. And the heart of a woman, who’s heart was filled with us. 

Bow Out

You say that I can’t move,
Well what about the circles
That I dance around you?
Did you forget that on your high horse
Did you forget all that you’ve done
Mercy, mercy father
If it’s a battle that you want
I’d like to see you try 
Just for two seconds to speak
And speak the fucking truth.
Can you do that for me, sweetheart?
Can you manage that?
Or are you so goddamn backwards
That you can justify your lack


Lack of compassion
Commitment, virtue, lack of brains
All the time I’m dealing with you
I’m harboring my pain


But it’s out, it’s out
Motherfucker, yes it’s out
Tell me, will you suck it in
Or will you spit it out?
Time out, time out
Little boy, I said time out
Go on, choke the words
Go on, now, bow out.




What is there to lose?
Cos all that time I’ve wasted
I’ve wasted it on you.
Did you love me for real ever?
Or was that all shards of game?
That makes you think you dictate
Your charade and your parade
I was hoping that you’d see
The fake ass fool you really are
And what you say you be
Can you be a man now sweetheart
Can you level with me please
Or did I invest my dreams in you
Just to see them dashed and deceived.


All talk and no action
Little boy, with big problems
All I’ve ever wanted 
Was for you to fucking solve them




Chorus




You can’t finish what you got started
And I owe you nothing now
Your lies, they are a joke
Like your promises and your vows
So go on, sit  there, 
Say nothing to me at all
I’ll leave but I’ll take the time
To help you find your balls.


Chorus


I’m out, I’m out
Motherfucker I’m out
I’m tired of sitting here,
Waiting for you to spit it out
You’re wrong, you’re wrong
Little man, I said you’re wrong
All this time I wanted you
But now, I’m fucking gone.

Ideas

L.O.V.E.
Once Upon a Guy




He parts the ocean when he walks, and he's heading toward me now
With amethyst fists, I'll give you kiss


Trailer Girl
Silence Danced
The Last Time I Talked to Jesus
The Lives of Our Wives
He Hits Me
Freeze It Lock It

                                                                                                                                                                      

Nostalgia and its Onslaught

     So, I'm lying in bed, trying to get to sleep, when visions of yesteryear bombard me with their rockets and their missals and their visual grenades, and all the while I'm wondering where the resurgence of emotions is coming from. I thought I put these feelings to bed eons ago. I was sure I'd moved past the broken glass of my past and lassoed a future free from the restraints of the woulda, the coulda, and the shoulda. 
     I don't mean to sound dissatisfied with my life, for the antithesis is true. Now that I'm teaching, I feel more fulfilled than I ever remember. I feel dignified. I feel important. I feel as if my life has purpose. In fact, I never thought I'd ever know what is was to be able to leave something behind. To touch or change someone else's life in a magnanimous way. But I have. And I'm doing the damn thing. So why the sudden craving to turn back the hands of time?
     As much as I'd hate to admit it, I find myself longing for Pennsylvania summers, truck rides to nowhere, and the reassurance of someone who, despite their matrimonial circumstances truly loved and cared for me. I miss the Thursdays at the Pub. The closeness Liz and I had while we were bonding over Schoolboy Rock. I miss it all, and I want it back.
     It may sound childish to say, but fantasy is not enough to sustain me, and I'm doing something about it. I'm not folding my arms and huffing and puffing. I'm not going to sit back and lot about the things which never were, and the things that will never be again. I'm going to "ride that train, I'm going to hop on board it."