The Friendship Game, Part I - The Girls

This afternoon, my friend and most faithful reader Lizzie, sent me a text asking what happened to a blog I wrote a long time ago about the different types of friends. As some of you know, my previous site collapsed and I lost quite a bit of work. I got to thinking that today was a good day to take action and see if I could find versions of these stashed away somewhere. So with the fire finally lit under my ass, I was able to lay hands on a few not completely shitty blogs. The following is not something I consider great work. This is being published at Lizzie's request and as she was, after all, the inspiration for the very last category, I could not deny her. (Lizzie, forgive me for divulging that.) This is a reprint from April 11, 2008:

The Friendship Game Part I – The Girls

Let me say right up front that I’m not good at this one. Oh, I get the friendship part; it’s the “game” bits that confuse me. Well, that and some of the players. By definition, friendship is something one begins voluntarily. One would think that one remains out of some sense of, I dunno, connectivity maybe? Loyalty? Yes. No. I mean, yes… right up until you feel the sting of a sharp knife between the shoulder blades. This, this is where my confusion usually begins. In an effort to sort out what I just don’t understand about girls and friendship, I’ve decided to categorize.

The Best Friend
She’s the one who will tell you ALL about yourself in a good dressing down for no reason other than someone has to be brave enough to tell you the truth… or because you’re embarrassing her in public. There’s no malice or personal gain involved. It’s as painful for her as it is for you… so she’s sure to have both a tissue and a cocktail at the ready. No other friend can do this.

The Sweet Girl
People are inexplicably drawn to her. She’s sweet, and she’s pretty, and she’s ever so wholesome. She usually possesses an underlying sense of sadness that drives a need to make her laugh. While that distracts you, know that she’s primarily interested in getting what she wants…. and it’s usually a Boy. She’s your friend as long as you have something she needs. Sadly, this is the most difficult type of friend to sort out, and once you get the read, it’s too late. She’s off with the Boy. Not to worry though. She’ll be back. She always is. He’s all she has.

The Pretty Girl
Admittedly, she’s a great chick to have around when you’re single because she’s sure to reel in a bevy of dateable boys. Unfortunately, no one ever told her that eventually her looks will fade and she’s going to HAVE to have something to say other than “how may I direct your call?” She doesn’t follow politics, the news, the weather or any current event that doesn’t occur on Facebook. She’s sweet and needy and you want to take care of her even though she can’t hold your attention for more than a few moments at a time. Be careful of her vacuous ways… It’s not unusual for The Pretty Girl to actually be The Master Manipulator in disguise.

The Master Manipulator
It’s sometimes hard to tell if she possesses an IQ of 82 or 160. She cries when it suits her ultimate goal. She watches and she waits. She seeks out the weak underbelly of her “friends.” It is singularly important that she always has the upper hand – in her own mind anyway – so that she can manage her own damage control just prior to her antics being revealed for all to witness and ridicule. She is incredibly insecure; hence, her need to be the center of everyone’s Universe… or the bar. Men forgive her because they think she’s just kinda dumb; harmless until she takes what she wants and leaves them in emotional or financial ruin.

The “I Love You” Girl
She says it to everyone… Everyone. People whose last name she doesn’t even know. She NEEDS people to love her – all people. She feels generally unworthy. It’s hard not to take her in; to help her; to tell her she really IS good enough. Caution is advised. She doesn’t love in actuality because she doesn’t know how. She only loves the feeling of love and will follow it down any dark path. The good news is, she’s basically harmless except to herself.

The Competitor
She wants your life and you can’t imagine why. She slides in under the guise of The Sweet Girl or The Pretty Girl… sometimes even the I Love You Girl, but that’s a hybrid. The Competitor has many, many faces. Unfortunately, it’s easy to miss the imaginary competition she brings to the inner circle in the beginning – easy to mistake it for enthusiasm or gratefulness. This girl is very dangerous because she’s not happy unless she’s “winning”… and she’s playing a game no one else knows about. Much like The Master Manipulator, she will pit friend against friend if she feels left out or overlooked. She doesn’t care who she hurts or whose relationships suffer. She just wants to wear the sash and the crown. Someone should tell her that the walk is done alone… But then, she’d need a Best Friend for that.

The *Shrug – Eyeroll* Girl
She is my absolute favorite! She truly, honestly, wholly, and completely could not possibly care any less about all y’all’s drama and life crap. I know three of these women. They make me laugh harder than anyone in the world, and wish I were heartless, too. Don’t misinterpret that. Underneath she’s soft and sensitive – but you’ll never find that out unless she decides she wants you to. She can keep a secret. She never reveals your personal conversations. This is partly because she doesn’t really care, and partly because in her heart she knows that it’s not her story to tell. She’ll happily sport a trench coat and Fedora to go on a recon mission with a 6-pack just because. She is the most trustworthy of friends. She doesn’t say “I love you” to anyone – until she does.

I’m sure every girl sees a bit of herself in a couple of these. Fortunately, some girls are simply 100% of one or another which is great material for me. I know each of these girls… These girls are my “friends.” Lucky me…! Next up: The Friendship Game Part II – The Boys

NOTE: Though it’s been a year since I wrote this and much has changed, I find it interesting that every one of these women still exist in my life. Some of the faces are new; some are not. Odd really, how well these held up. And in case you’re wondering, I still only know three *Shrug – Eyeroll* Girls… the same three… and that makes me very lucky indeed! And no, I never did write Part II.

Silence

I’ve spent the entire day ignoring this blank page. It has antagonized me from the bottom of my screen as if to say, “see! I told you. You can’t really do this after all.”

Yes. I’m painfully well aware that paper can’t talk, but lately I’ve been expected to interpret silence at every turn and in every aspect of my life: work, friends(?), my personal relationship. I told someone the other day that I’m much better at interpretive dance than interpretive silence.

I’m a words person. Silence is completely meaningless to me… a blank, much like this page was… until my second cocktail of course!

Cocktail #2.
Yep. Pretty sure I’m beginning to understand. With a bit of the edge off, silence feels a little like the Universe is participating in a game of CYA (that’s cover your ass for those who live outside the world of the perpetual acronym). Okay, Universe… what have you done? What are you hiding? Do you think if you sit quietly maybe I won’t divulge what I already know? Ba! Best of luck with that! You’re not that clever, and hiding behind a curtain of “look how harmless I am” isn’t going to prevent me from sending out the hounds.

Cocktail #3:
So what if I AM drinking alone? Whose business is that? I also happen to be working out while I enjoy my adult beverage. The panting and gulping satisfactorily camouflages the fact that the silence is getting really loud.

*turns up music* “Hey, I put some new shoes on and suddenly everything’s right. I said hey, I put some new shoes on, and everybody’s smiling, it’s so inviting!” I can’t hear you, silence! I got my New Shoes song on!

Cocktail #4:
Now what? It’s probably dinnertime. I dunno… I stopped watching the clock shortly after 5AM on Saturday last weekend. What does time really mean when you’re not actually working? Feels a little like I have nowhere to be and all night to get there.

*listens for something outside of buzzing head… nope… nothing*

Well, I do enjoy consistency. I like being able to count on things. It makes me comfortable in an otherwise very uncomfortable world. It reminds me of the same discomfort you get from a beautiful pair of shoes you really really want to buy, but somehow have the inkling you’ll never wear because, ultimately, either you or they just don’t belong.

*sings* “One of these things is not like the others! One of these things just doesn't belong!”

Cocktail #5:
Maybe I’ll go to bed. The silence isn’t so noticeable while unconscious. I’ll read 20 more pages only of Midnight Sun in hopes of lovely, colorful dreams; tuck in the puppies; then let the silence envelope me. I can rage against it again tomorrow!

Don't Judge...

I believe in romance.
I believe in romance and magic and dreams and dreamers and possibilities and the wonder of the way your heart feels and your head reels when you know you’re with the person you’re most meant to be with.

There.
I said it.

Yes, I’m painfully well aware of the fact that this goes against the grain of the way I’m generally perceived – an illusion I’ve cultivated since the first time I let romance ruin me. Nonetheless, I still believe. I have only one question…

Where are the Grand Gestures? Those beautifully executed crescendos that are the stuff old movies are made of? It’s not naïve or childish to believe these still exist. I know they do. I remember them. And not from movies, but from a very real time earlier in my life. Admittedly, when we’re somewhat less experienced in love, it’s easier to interpret even the smallest gesture as something more grand than intended. Still though, I remember. And from memory comes the desire to recapture that giddy wonder and excitement of being fully in a moment of romance.

We’re never more aware of ourselves than when someone else is willingly involved in us – in our moment. I suppose the key here is in the “willingly” part - the willingness to create a moment of romance. The Grand Gesture isn’t expensive nor is it pedestrian. The romance comes from the idea and the planning. It is not romantic if someone else has to tell you how to do it! Grand doesn’t necessarily mean large in this instance. It refers only to the underlying depth of importance.

Now, I’m not saying that huge and public and over-the-top doesn’t constitute the Grand Gesture. I’m only saying that doesn’t make it one, and it’s just not a prerequisite to one. Romance isn’t dead. I refuse to believe that there isn’t still breath and a heartbeat.

I think maybe I’ll go looking for it. You comin'?

Footprints

Do you ever think about your footprint? Not the one you leave in the sand, or the kind left behind from walking through wet grass. No, more the kind that you leave at the end of your life. Some will do it by meaningful career; many by children; a legacy of some sort. But what if you won’t leave those impressions? What is the long-term relevance of living a life that serves no obvious purpose?

Introspective examination. Not really something I subscribe to or recommend. But at some point one must find that purpose – that direction – that turns all of the struggle and challenge into events not solely for survival, but events which create a life of personal satisfaction.

We all want to make our mark before we move on to the next thing. To do or be something or someone that leaves a lasting resonance. Something noble. Someone purposeful. When we look behind at our life’s walk, what will we see? What will you see?

There is no nobility or purpose in spending too much time scrutinizing this idea. We know, instinctively, whether or not we will leave a footprint of impact. For those who have never contemplated this, it’s obvious that it’s not an actual question. For those of us for whom the answer is less clear, it’s a matter of whether or not this abstract concern is, in reality, a concern at all.

Life is not kind to those who wallow in the injustice of late-coming self-realization. Life becomes the thing that we do; not the thing that we live. There are too many dependencies; too many responsibilities; too little time; too few resources, and eventually, too little strength.

I’ve said before that my own life has too many nouns which require too many verbs to spend much time trying to squeeze in a few adjectives. It's sophistry to believe that if I were to focus on adjectives I could somehow also situate the horror of the nouns.

I have no idea what path my footprints were supposed to take. When I look back, I see no method to the madness. It almost looks like dancing. Interesting… I’d like to know what you see… That said, I’ve decided to listen to my good friend Jenn and stop with all the boring crap I’ve been posting and “get back to the funny good stuff like your old blog when you make fun of yourself and your life.” Okay. Done and done. Go with what you know!

Cha Cha Changes

Another repeated entry just because it seems relevant now.

"She talks kinda lazy, people say she's crazy, and her life's a mystery."

Where have life's mysteries gone? We talk about, watch, and participate in just about every conceivable thing. People's private whatnots are everywhere. It's like a rummage sale out there. But why? Where did this voyeuristic sense of entitlement into the lives of others come from? Am I alone, or do you think we've reached the verge of epidemic societal mental illness?

Personally, I'm not trying to have any part of it. I make an effort not to put my life out on the line for the neighbors to gaze upon and gossip about (though some do as their lives are small and empty). Some would say that's hiding - or lying by omission; I would say that not participating in this free spillage of personal business is just good sense.

Though, if you're willing to ask, I'm surely willing to tell.

Just be specific.
And succinct.
Know your boundaries and mind your manners.
If your grandmother would be embarrassed that you asked, don't. Don't ask me. Don't ask anyone.

Remember when we didn't know that our heroes were only human... when relationships weren't passing fancies or "hook ups", and privacy was sacred from the inside out? I'm not naive enough to think that the disintegration of mores is new - but now we're talking about it. And talking about it leads to acceptance. Do we really want to live in a world where "I love you" equates to "see you soon!" or "I'll be there" translates into "if I have time"?

"It's nice to know that there's someone I can turn to who's always there.... who'll always care..."

I know this is all very disconnected. I'm just woefully baffled by the lack of principle tied to people's actions. What about consequence? What about repercussion? What about basic common decency and manners and discipline? The world is running amok while part of the population is watching and another just stands there pointing. I don't suppose my silence is any better... But then speaking up requires entering into someone else's personal business, doesn't it...

Toe the Line

The Line (n): a place where everyone involved is on equal footing. Where everyone is pulling their own weight and managing their own responsibility – all the while looking out for the greater good of the unit. It’s the only place where honest communication can take place because all parts involved have the same amount to gain – and more importantly – to lose. We’re not really equal until the weight is equally distributed.

Ugh! All that reminds me, interestingly enough, of something a friend of mine told me once. He said he only cheated on his wife with married women – it keeps things fair and infinitely more safe given that they would both get equally screwed if they got caught.

[sidebar: I wonder why we were friends… obviously more poor judgment on my part – a common phenomenon.]

RANDOM RHETORICAL QUESTION: what’s with the common thread of poor judgment that weaves it’s way through my entire life? I assume my entire life in any case, given the amount of time I’ve spent too fucked up to notice my environs.

OK. Back to the Line.
I feel like I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time ensuring my toes were squarely on the Line. For this I blame my father.

Oddly, I often find myself surrounded by people with absolutely no knowledge of said Line. And I'm baffled. When and where did this overt sense of self-righteous “deserve-ism” begin? Which chromosome, specifically, is the one that allows a person to never see themselves through the eyes of others – only through their own rose-colored glasses? I blame their mothers.

I suspect the reason so few people are willing to even acknowledge the Line, let alone toe it, is fear. Fear of failure; fear of commitment; fear of not being able to just laze around watching television; fear of missing something else infinitely more fun. But ultimately, fear of creating something for which they are responsible – in whole or in part – which circles back to fear of failure; fear of commitment.

Now. Fear. Fear I get. But the few cannot carry the many just to ensure the few maintain their sense of self-esteem by never failing. I fail every day. Every. Single. Day. I hate it and I wish I had some help. Unfortunately, there are many, many things we have to do alone. I’m considering stepping off the Line. I know, it seems an unlikely possibility but since everything else in my life is in flux, why not really shake things up? I’m thinking that since change is coming anyway, why not make those changes Band-aid style? Rip off the old and check for improvement. I could use a solid scab about now…

Just ANYTHING on Paper...

Sitting. Alone. Thinking. Waiting. Watching. Wondering… wondering when… … she’ll be found … she’ll find the right path … she’ll make it all more right … she’ll stop just remembering … she’ll start moving forward … she’ll find hope … she’ll see the better … she’ll become impervious to the wrong … she’ll get out of her own head … she’ll stop sitting. Alone. Thinking. Waiting. Watching. And wondering when. She is me, is her, is him, is you.