It's long and I probably shouldn't post it, but I have zero craps left to give.

Warning.  This post is long.  But it gets better towards the end!

So, this is me sitting down to write the blog that's been swirling around in my mind for a very long time.  I'll be very honest.  I've had a little too much to drink tonight, which seems to be the recurring theme for the last month.  In fact, it feels a little like that scene in The Social Network when Jesse Eisenberg is swilling beer and just casually inventing Facebook.  Only instead of ending up with a multi billion dollar website, I'll just wind up with an angsty blog.

Stay tuned to the end, though, or at least scroll down past the other stuff.  I promised some funny stories about my brother and I won't leave anyone hanging.

Anyway, I wanted to talk a little bit about friendship, a topic which has been on my mind for...oh...maybe a year and a half?  Ever since my very best friends all inexplicably stopped talking to me.

When I was in high school (and most of the time in college,) I thought I had the very best friends in the world.  I'm one of those weird people who had so much more fun in high school than I did in college.  Normal people hate high school and love college.  I'm the opposite.  In high school, I was lucky enough to find my niche in forensics and a huge group of friends who were always fun to be around, including a small circle of very very close friends.  We had such a blast.

We went to Starbucks or QuikTrip for drinks almost everyday after school, just so we could hang out and do nothing.

We were together almost every weekend at forensics tournaments or in various other settings.

We messed around with each other and said horrible things about each other because that's just how friendship worked back then.

We knew the ins and outs of each other's lives.  We dated each other and broke up and dated again and even one time started a pool regarding how long a relationship between two of our friends would last before it inevitably blew up, Taylor Swift style, in a glorious, fiery explosion and someone took home a few hundred bucks.

Nothing was more important to me than those friends, but there were...three or four of them who were even more important than the rest.  And when we went to college, most of us were split up by great distances, and I spent the next 4+ years of my life trying desperately to keep those friendships alive.

Okay, so I'm starting to think maybe the alcohol was necessary for me to get all this garbage out of my system.  Like I said, it's been weighing heavily on my mind for years.

Back to college Becky, though.

For a long time, it was okay.  We were able to hold it all together.  It wasn't perfect, but I felt it was worth it.  My very best friend from high school and I prided ourselves on being able to stay very best friends even though there was half a country separating us.  Even though we didn't talk every single day, we found ways to show how much we cared about each other from far apart.  After all, we'd been BFFs for so long that all our friends habitually associated us with each other.  We had inside jokes that went back more than four years.  We talked about being maids of honor in each other's weddings.

Another friend, though I'd been close with in high school, we ended up becoming the best of friends in college.  He was someone I admired more than anyone I'd ever met, the person who never failed to make me laugh so hard I thought I'd pee myself, and by far the most valuable thing I took from my time at KU.  I adored just about everything about him.  I saw no reason why we wouldn't be best friends forever.

Stuff happened, as it has a tendency to do.  Distance kept me and my high school best friend apart, but we did the best we could to stay close via Facebook, texting, and phone calls.  For a while, anyway.  My college best friend was still in town, so he and I remained close, making an effort to see each other once a week when we could.  At some point that started to dwindle as well.

Time passed, and though I would do my best to keep things going on my end, eventually I stopped getting responses.

My high school best friend started ignoring my text messages, eventually never even letting me know when she was coming into town.  Previously, we'd try to get together as much as we could on the rare occasions she flew home, but suddenly that stopped.  I saw Facebook pictures of her hanging with other high school friends and once texted her (jokingly, but secretly hurting as well, saying) So you come into town and don't even let me know? Lol.  And I received nothing but silence in return.

My college best friend stopped talking to me in a fashion that was a little less abrupt.  His girlfriend and I had become very close friends as well, at first due to circumstance, but later because I just really really liked her.  And at some point I noticed that I was the one always trying to make plans with them, and that if I never took the initiative to text them first, we just wouldn't talk.  Period.

I did a little experiment on my own, and decided I'd just stop texting entirely.  I'd wait and see how long it took before they noticed and contacted me instead.  We were best friends, all three of us.  We talked constantly.  We had more inside jokes than I could count.  We saw each other all the time.  If I suddenly stopped texting, they'd notice, right?

Wrong.  Months passed.

People are busy.  I get that.  People get wrapped up in their own lives.  I get that too.  But is that a reason to let good, important friendships die?

Whatever the case, by the time college ended, I was beginning to realize that I was the friend people obviously didn't want to be around, and that hurt.

I don't have a lot of respect for myself, but I had enough to realize I didn't like how it felt to be the one practically begging to make plans.  We don't have to talk every single day.  We don't have get tattoos that say "best friends forever," but I think I deserve friends who want me in their life just as much as I want them in my life.  And that obviously wasn't the case.

So I simply stopped trying.  I had tried for so long and felt foolish for so long that I simply couldn't do it anymore.  Back in high school, my best friend and I were simply inseparable.  In college, my best friend and I didn't often go a day without talking to each other.  But I didn't want to be the desperate loser any longer, so I just stopped.  And no one ever seemed to notice, much less care.

My high school best friend got married without inviting me, never mind asking me to be her maid of honor.

My college best friend became a stranger I'd see only on special occasions when other members of the old crew would get together.

It sucked.  I'm not going to lie.  It still sucks.

In fact, yesterday I came across old videos of my high school best friend, from back in the day when she had her own car and I had my own camcorder and we would film our exploits, which mostly consisted of driving around, singing along to show tunes, and talking about how we were best friends.  That was hard to watch, because I realized I miss the feeling of having a best friend.

And on the rare, rare occasions when I see my college best friend, I inevitably end up drinking too much and typing out a heartfelt text to him about how much I miss him, which my sister then advises me not to send.  And I don't, because...what's the point?  Even if I do, we'll just wind up in the same place we're at now: me ready to do anything it takes just to keep him in my life and him, casually oblivious to how much he means to me and too wrapped up in his own life to notice.

Not that I blame him.  People grow up.  People grow apart, I understand.

I know it sounds like I'm really bitter.  In some ways I probably am, but I swear the point of this blog was not to call anybody out, put anyone on the spot, or try to guilt anyone into being friends with me.  God knows that wouldn't make things any better.  I don't even want to hear it.

I'm just saying that sometimes life has a way of making things really really clear for you.

The first time I heard from my high school best friend in...God...a really long time, was when she emailed me to express her condolences after my brother died.  (Which was very nice of her, don't get me wrong!)  And my college best friend was the first person I texted that night I was standing outside Mike's apartment where the police lights were flashing.  I needed to tell someone and I didn't know who to tell, so I texted him.

Weird, huh?  I guess life is weird.  It's nobody's fault -- not then, not now.  I guess I just wish that at a time like this, I still had my best friends.

The point I'm trying to make with this exceedingly long post is that...grief makes things clear that once were kind of cloudy.  What has become clear to me is that I think --or at least hope that I can do better.  I don't want friends who only feel like getting in touch with me when my brother dies.  And no matter how much I might miss him, I deserve better than friends who forget about me for months or years at a time.  It's not good for my self esteem and it's not good for me, period.  I'm sorry if that offends anyone or makes them feel awkward, but I've been ruminating on this for quite some time and I think it's the truth.

If that means I don't have very many friends outside of my parents, my sister, my cousins, my aunts, my uncles, and a very small handful of great friends I met while working at Indian Woods, so be it.

I guess the point I'm trying to make is that stuff like your brother up and killing himself makes some things glaringly, unavoidably obvious.  And I have to try and find some positivity in this situation where I can.

Anyway, we'll find out if this stuff sees the light of day once I'm sober.

(Continued the next day whilst polishing off last night's pitcher of margaritas...)

So, I promised some stories about my brother and lord knows I need to change the subject and get off this train of self pity and Xanga-esque angst.  So, enjoy!

If I had to use one word to describe Michael's personality, it would be "troll."  It doesn't matter if you knew Mike your whole life or if you just met him, he was addicted to taking the piss on people, which is British slang for saying "messing with."  And that's no lie.  My cousin Derek was just a kid when this happened, but even he has memories of my brother referring to him as a "field fairy" for choosing to play soccer instead of my brother's sport, lacrosse.

Mike's trolling ways began very early.  I have my own memories of being in the car with him when I was maybe four or five and he couldn't have been more than six.  We kids were waiting in the car while mom made her way out from the house to go somewhere and Michael loved nothing more than hearing me scream and cry and panic like I did whenever he climbed up into the front seat and pretended like he was going to drive away.  Not that he had the keys to the car, or that he could even reach the pedals.  He loved scaring me, and in that way, he was a very typical brother.

When we moved from New York to Kansas, my parents decided to hold Mike back a year and have him repeat 2nd grade because the birthday cut-offs were somewhat different and they didn't want Mike to be the oldest kid in his grade.  As a result, we ended up in the same grade, all the way from 2nd grade until we graduated high school, which resulted in many many awkward conversations where we would have to inform friends, classmates and teachers that no, we were not twins.  I remember my parents always requested in Hebrew school that they didn't stick us in the same class.  I'm sure plenty of siblings can handle being in a class together with their brother, but for some reason, it was just weird for us.  Freshman year of high school, we both got placed in the same algebra class together and I had to go to the counselor's office to change my schedule.

I'm not entirely sure why we couldn't handle being in class together.  Being teenagers, sometimes we just didn't get along.  And at that point in his life, I'm sure Mike felt he was "too cool" to associate with either of his younger sisters, especially in public.  I didn't like being in class with him either, hence why I switched.  I do remember one time in Hebrew school we wound up sitting across the table in some class, maybe arts and crafts, and I spent the entire hour biting my cheek to stop myself from laughing.  He kept looking at me and mouthing the word "boobs" because it almost always made me burst out in hysterical laughter.  That was a trick of his that he carried on for the next several years, sometimes just whispering "boobs" to me so I could embarrass myself by exploding in laughter.

He liked to make fun of the way I laughed too, which only made me laugh harder.  Sometimes when I first start laughing, I guess you could say that my laugh sort of revs up.  It starts low and then travels up and up in pitch like a slide whistle until I'm giggling hysterically.  Other times, I try to hold my laughter in so long that end up puffing out my cheeks like a blowfish and then suddenly bursting like a balloon with a big "poof" noise.  Mike was extremely adept at imitating both of those styles, and when he did, it only sent me off further.

All three of us used to get in trouble with our parents on the occasions when we would get the giggles during dinner or (heaven help us) in the middle of synagogue.  We couldn't help it though.  Sometimes something set us off, but other times we were just slap happy and we could not stop laughing no matter how many times Mom said "that's enough" or how many times we honestly tried to quiet down.  We would still get slap happy in adulthood.  Prior to the time when our relationship with my brother dissolved, you could rest assured that anytime Mike, Becky, and Sarah got together, we'd wind up laughing like a couple of mental patients, eventually pulling our mom and dad into the hysteria.  A simple game of Monopoly would end in furious giggles and with the birth of half a dozen new inside jokes.  We had so many inside jokes.  For example, all Mike had to do was look at me with a totally straight face and say "underpants," I'd laugh like a goddamn five-year-old.

I could make Mike laugh, but I was never as good at it as he was.  In particular when he first got Ace, I developed the habit of randomly serenading Ace in a very bad singing voice while enthusiastically declaring that whatever I was singing was his favorite song, its lyrics carefully manipulated to suit a dog.  This would send Mike into hysterical laughter, watching me hug Ace around the neck while singing "Now you're just a puppy that I used to know," or "We found love in a hopeless Ace."

Most of the time I made Mike laugh, it was just because of the stupid things I'd say in my naiveté.  A few years ago when I had to pay my own taxes due to the fact that I was freelancing, he almost peed his pants when, in a moment of exasperation, I put my head on the table and whined, "Why won't the IRS just leave me alone?"  I knew -- I still know -- absolutely nothing about finances, accounting, taxes, loans, banking, and all that garbage whereas that was Mike's specialty.  So he got a lot of amusement out of my inane questions.  I could just ask something, totally innocently, and he would burst out laughing.

Are you starting to get a picture of my brother now?  I hope you're starting to understand why I always refer to him as a troll.

Because of the fact that he and I were in the same grade, Mike and I had some clashes of friendships.  He was friends with some people in middle school who ended up being my close friends once we reached high school.  And some of my girlfriends would ask me about him or come over to hang out and then obviously and desperately try to get a glimpse of my brother.  It was an awkward time.  I know for a fact I had crushes on some of his friends too.  I mean, he was on the lacrosse team from 8th grade and on.  Lacrosse players aren't usually a bad looking group.

I adored going to watch my brother play lacrosse.  Maybe some of this is just bias or remembering things with rose colored glasses, but my brother was a very good player.  Like, really good.  He wasn't the fastest runner, but he practiced his shooting, passing, and ball-handling (snicker) every single day.  We had our own lacrosse goal in our backyard.  He and his friends would "shoot around" almost everyday after school.  When the weather didn't cooperate, or when Mike was on his own, he'd throw the lacrosse ball in our basement, bouncing it off the cement wall until the entire wall was covered with back scuffs.  One time he tried to teach me how to cradle the ball, and then made several attempts to pass to me to see if I could catch the ball.  I couldn't.  He laughed himself silly.

He was so good, though.  And liked that he was good, which meant that he took such pride in his lacrosse-playing and (I think) had a blast with it too.  My parents, sister and I would go to his games almost every weekend during the spring.  And once he started playing and later coaching lacrosse for KU, my dad and I would drive to wherever the games were: K-State, Purdue, Nebraska.  Even when he wasn't playing, Mike's pride in his coaching was very apparent.  He dressed the part of a coach, in slacks and a collared shirt with a KU sweater on top.  It made for a funny picture, him dressed up, shooting on the goalie to help him warm up before a game.  My brother was an amazing shot.  He scored many many hat tricks during his time playing lacrosse.

One game that sticks out in my mind is when Dad and I drove up to Nebraska to watch a game that Mike and Mattie were coaching.  It was a blowout.  Mattie recently informed me that KU ended up winning 24-5.  I didn't remember the final score, but I remembered the fact that it was a total clinic.  And I absolutely remember this: after one of the many goals, my dad caught Mike's eye and said, "That was a nice goal," to which Mike swiftly replied, "We're about to get another one right now."  Sure enough, next play, KU scored again and Mike shared a cocky grin with us.  My dad was so tickled by that.  It was pretty brilliant.

I promise we're getting to the end here.  If you're still reading...good on you.

Anyone who knew Mike in recent years knew that he loved his dog Ace more than life itself.  My parents supported him in his decision to get a dog because they knew he was pretty lonely, going to school and living out in Topeka where he didn't really know anyone.  Mike knew immediately that he wanted a boxer and found an ad in the Kansas City Star about a litter of puppies in Lenexa.  We went to take a look.

I was there the very first time Mike laid eyes on Ace.  This family's two boxers had had a litter of 12 -- yes, TWELVE puppies.  When we came to see them, all the puppies came spilling out the front door.  It was basically my wildest dream come true.  Surrounded by adorable puppies, barely three weeks old, tripping over themselves and scampering all around the front yard.  Mike was pretty sure he wanted a flashy fawn boxer, meaning white and brown around the face.  There were three flashy fawns in the litter, I think, but the first dog that came stumbling up to Mike was the one with the little brown dot on his forehead (which we would start calling his yarmulke.)  Ace chose Mike.  He walked right up to him.  Mike picked him up, and the rest was history.

Ace kept Mike sane.  He kept him on this earth a few years longer than I think he would have been without him.  We all fell in love with the puppy, which meant lots of Facetiming with Mike (and Ace) from our house in Overland Park to their apartment in Topeka.  We adored Ace, but no one more so than Mike.  If there was anyone who could Make might stay, it was Ace, and he did for three years.  I am so thankful that we all had Ace to make life that much better.  And I continue to be thankful that Ace is okay and here with us now.  I think we need him more than he needs us.

I'm going to wrap it up now because I'm starting to get sad, but I hope you got a kick out of reading these stories about Mike.  Someone mentioned that I should write a book about my brother and I know I totally have enough material to get through a book.  Writing it would take a hell of a lot out of me, and I just don't know if it's worth it, knowing that it's nigh impossible to get a book published these days.  I'm not sure if I have it in me to put in all the work and emotion without getting any satisfaction from it.

We'll see, though.

Everyone always asks how we're holding up, and I know we all appreciate it.  We're holding up pretty well.  I'm extremely stressed out right now with all this crap in my personal life at the exact same time I find myself making no money and looking to change careers.  It's like that saying "when it rains, it pours."  It's so true.  But on the flip side, losing Mike has inspired a rather freeing change in perspective for me.  I still worry about literally everything, but I also find myself thinking that whatever happens couldn't possibly be as bad as my brother killing himself.  And since that's already happened...what is there to fear?

Everything.  But I'm going to keep riding this wave of "I don't give a crap, worries" for as long as I can.  I'm doing okay, I really am.  I appreciate all your kind comments and all of you reading my increasingly convoluted blog.

I'm going to post this now before I sober up and regain my common sense.

Love you all.  Mean it.