My friend Philip called me yesterday evening. He’s having girl problems.
Philip works offshore on an oil rig. Throughout the summer he was working in the north Atlantic off the coast of Nova Scotia. He was working three weeks on, three weeks off. Now he’s working off the coast of Louisiana in the Gulf of Mexico . I’m fairly certain that his current career choice has been a factor in his relationship.
His [ex?] girlfriend told him that she was thinking about moving out and living in a house with a friend. She and Philip moved to Austin together and shared a one bedroom apartment.
She moved out this last time that Philip was offshore.
She’s young – one year out of high school young. I think she needs to sow those wild oats.
Philip said he feels lost right now. I feel for him. He told me that he found out the hard way that he has no toiletries. I can relate. I think men take advantage of loofah scrubbers, vanilla-mint shampoo and rosemary-kiwi body soaps when they magically appear in the shower.
Philip was the kid who took a while to develop in the ways of the pubescent. I actually used to pick on him during our freshman year in high school. Since that time, he’s become one of my best friends. He’s drilled for water. He’s worked on an oil rig. He’s owned a Chevelle. He’s owned a Trans-Am. He drives a pickup. He rides a sport bike. He glued devil horns on his motorcycle helmet. He’s Australian. He can fix stuff. He has a rare, 1965 Marilyn Monroe pinup calendar. He has one of those cool knives that you can flip open with your thumb. He’s your Marlboro Man.
It’s just weird seeing him upset about a girl. I feel bad for him. It’s nice to know that he’s comfortable confiding in me. I wish I could do something for him other than just being sympathetic ear. I told him that this will all pass with time.