Friendly Faces?

You know that line in Something’s Gotta Give about versions of the truth?  Jack’s character says, “I have always told you some version of the truth,” to which Diane’s character wryly responds, “The truth doesn’t have versions.”

She’s right. But it seems there are different versions of friends because, let’s face it, an awful lot of people have no idea what it means to be a real friend. 

Now, I understand friendships sometimes drift apart over the years due to distance, marriage, and/or children. Those things happen.  And I know people aren’t perfect—even true friends can make mistakes or say things they don’t mean. Again, those things happen. I’m not talking about changes in circumstances getting in the way of friendships; I’m talking about people who were never really your friend to begin with.  

I used to think friends meant being there in good and bad times, being supportive when they’re weak, helping them rise when they fall, and celebrating when they succeed.  I used to always think there was only one kind of friend.  Boy, was I as naïve as a little lamb trusting a slightly bigger lamb with unusually big fangs, gray pointy ears, and poorly fitted wool. 

It seems like the friend thing is getting worse. I hear it all the time: “She just stopped being my friend when I got a boyfriend;” “She says really cruel things to me, then turns around and brags about something in her life;” “He says he values my friendship, but only calls to flirt, then disappears for weeks.”

So, I’ve put together a short list of “friends” to avoid:  

1. Fair weather friend: These “friends” wear their masks very well. They give every indication of being a real friend until the bottom drops out, things get rough, and then they zippity-do-da right on outta there.  Ultimate Friend Fail: No better than a fair weather football fan—not loyal, unreliable. 

2. Foul weather friend: Polar opposite of fair weather.  When something makes you happy or fate hands you a golden egg, this “friend” goes M.I.A.  They are unconditional friends so long as your life, in their view, is less than stellar, but when your life finally decides to get good, they split.  Ultimate Friend Fail: They rejoice in your sorrow or failure; can’t be happy for you; total evil queen or king in manner of Maleficent.

3. Footstool friend: Like bacteria in human form, these charming sorts will be true as tar until you unwittingly help them reach a premeditated goal, at which point they will dump you and move to the next.  You are a means to their ends. You are only friend material if you know people, have something they want, or can get them to a particular place in life, whether professional or personal.  Ultimate Fried Fail: It’s all about them, the materialistic-Cruella de Vil-mongers.

4. Fire-stoking friend: The one who likes to stir up trouble.  This friend seems to cause strife between you and your other friends, family, and sometimes your boyfriend or significant other. Ultimate Friend Fail: The Siamese cats from Lady & the Tramp. ’Nuff said.

5. Fur-stroking friend: These types are in desperate need of an ego boost. Whether it’s a guy needing a little flirt after being rejected elsewhere or a girl wanting to show off about this or that, these friends keep you on speed dial for a quick “I am so great and wonderful” moment.  Ultimate Friend Fail: You are simply their mirror, mirror on the wall. 

Conclusion: If confronted by any of the above...run. True, real friends are hard to find, but when they do come along, it's special--they're almost a once in a lifetime kind-of-thing. 

Um, one more conclusion: People just kind-of suck sometimes.

Oh, So THAT'S Why I'm Different...

Gobsmacked girl: "You've seriously never done that?"

Me: "Seriously, I never have."

Startled girl: "Every girl has done it."

Me: "Maybe not every girl."

Startled girl: "Clearly."

Gobsmacked girl: "So, you have NEVER screamed and fawned over a celebrity? Seriously? Never? Not even when you were little or a preteen or a teenager?"

Me: "No, never, not even when I was little, preteen, or teen."

Gobsmacked girl & Startled girl: "That's so weird. Every girl has gone ape over a celebrity or an athlete."

A guy I used to know told me about a girl (over 25 years of age) he dated who went gaga over Bon Jovi--like date-ruining gaga. 

Here's the deal: Celebrities are people, just like you and me. They go to the bathroom, get gas, get colds & snotty noses, puke, pop zits, and every other embarrassing HUMAN thing. 

Little story: Went to see Whitney Houston in concert back when she could still sing (before the erratic behavior).  We had orchestra seats--we were so close, I could see if she had white powder around her nose (she didn't).  Her opening act was a group called 112.  When they started singing Anywhere, these scantily clad girls next to me started screaming, throwing their hands in the air, and jumping up and down. I was nearly knocked out by a flailing boob. 

While dodging wild arms and narrowly escaping the flying breasts, I subtly grooved to the music, when one of the leads walked across stage, pointed to me, and started singing some, um, suggestive lyrics (the part about she's calling me...that's all I can remember, aside from blushing intensely).  An odd lack of screams caught my attention: the previously attention-seeking girls next to me looked like they were going to crush me; the look in their eyes was borderline mad. I was fairly alarmed.

Moral of the story: Maybe the band member saw me because I was actually listening to the music and appreciating it, rather than screaming my fool head off, trying to get the guys on stage to show me attention.  Maybe, just maybe, some celebrities actually prefer being treated like human beings, rather than fish in a tank that people point and gawk at...just saying. 

Apparently, my lacking need to scream and fawn over celebrities makes me different. Fine by me. Now, that's not to say I wouldn't blush a little or have some sort of hormonal reaction if I ever met Johnny Depp...but those are purely biological reactions to rather effective stimulation. 

Push-Pull, Pull-Push

There should be a warning sign for impending stupidity, particularly when it is about to occur in front of people (translation: men).  My recent trip down I'm An A** Ave. should not have been a surprise; after all, I have the uncanny ability to unwittingly succumb to fate's farts at the most unfortunate times.

While leaving a store I have left numerous times, I encountered....wait for it...a door. Shock. Anyway, the label on the door said PUSH.  I pushed; it didn't budge. I pushed a second time; again, it didn't move. Okay, is there some trick to pushing the thing, I wondered. I carefully pointed to each letter and spelled the word: P-U-S-H.  I weakly tried again. Nuthin'.  Son of a b.  Determined to beat said stubborn door, I stood in a lunge-like stance, stuck my butt out, placed both hands on the bar, leaned into it, and shoved with all my might.

Nothing. Not even an inch.

Utterly perplexed, my brain inexplicably decided I shouldn't trust the PUSH label: Hmm, maybe I should pull.  As I reached to "pull," a man behind me said, "Maybe it's locked." Huh, never thought of that. I mean, the other door is for incoming traffic, right?

It was locked--would explain why it wasn't moving. In my defense, I hadn't slept and trusted the PUSH sign.  I mean, if it says PUSH, should it not PUSH? 

The man opened the other door, laughing.

"Thanks," I said, giggling at myself. I mean, I just had to laugh--the whole scene must have been hilarious.

I heard someone mutter the word "cute," which was little consolation considering I felt like I had Dumb A** plastered in neon on my forehead.

I have my moments.

Date Dung Don't's

From the minds of girls comes: Date Dung Don't's. Date Dung Don't's are those things a guy does that can turn a date into dung really quickly.

1.  Please don't tell me I'm nothing like the girls you usually date. Why? Because I automatically figure you are just “testing the waters” with me. Right or wrong, it's the impression we get.

Example:  “I told my friend you are nothing like the girls I usually go for. She said maybe that's a good thing.” He should have stopped talking here.  He didn't.  “I mean, you're not a bleach-blonde, you have a brain, you're educated, you don't have fake boobs, and you don't look like a slut.”

Me, somewhat dumbfounded: “Have you EVER dated anyone outside of your...type?”

Him: “No, you would be the first. No pressure!”

Believe me, there was zero pressure.

2.  Please don't tell me you are a bust with women; that you can sometimes feel angry towards women. Why? Because I figure you might have some deep-seeded anger management issues.

Example: “Women just seem to leave me. I fall really easily, and somehow they use me and run. Pisses me off. I have to hit a pillow.  I don't think you're like that, though.”

Me, thinking: Where's the nearest escape exit. Seriously.  "I would never use someone.”

Him: “I knew it. We can tell our kids about how mommy was the only one to hold daddy's heart and not break it.”

Me: Yeah, I'm running.

3.  Please don't ask what I'd like to do on our first date, then do the complete opposite. Why? Because it shows me that you either: a. don't listen or b. don't care.

Example: “I'd love to introduce you to my friends.”

Me, thinking: This is our first date, we just met...I hardly know him and now he wants to surround me with all the people he's comfortable with!? I'm cool with hanging with his friends, but not when I don't even know him very well. “You know, since we just met, and I hardly know you...I just think it might be a little...

Him, finishing my thought: “...uncomfortable. Of course, I should have realized that. We need to know each other first.”

Me, relieved: “Exactly. I'd love to meet your friends, just not...”

Him, again finishing my thought: “...on the first date. I totally understand.”

After dinner, he nervously suggested we go around the corner. I was perplexed by his suggestion because we had plans to go across town. He was really persistent, so I just caved and went with him. After five minutes, I realized why he brought me there: all of his friends rounded the corner. I was completely blindsided. It was a weird experience. My date would go off with his friends, presumably to get their opinions, leaving me with their girlfriends, who, though very nice, talked about things I couldn't possibly contribute to, considering they clearly all know each other very well. On the plus side, his friends were nice and gave me a “thumbs up.” Much appreciated.

Dating.

Five Ways To Ruin A Date

1.  The Spit Up: Your date takes a bite of a delicious-looking pork dish, makes a retching sound, then proceeds to cough it up on the table.  Wishing to gag at the half-chewed piece of pork sitting lifeless on the table, you stare at your date...Dear God...he has his hand in the air, waving at the waiter. Are we in school?

"I have a tricky palette," he says, as if spitting his food on the table is perfectly acceptable.  

2.  Finger Snaps: I hate when people disrespect waiters and waitresses. It's just rude. Snapping fingers is a no-no. To start snapping your fingers to get your date's attention? Bad. Very bad.

Snap! Snap! "Your food isn't going anywhere. Are you hearing me? I like to know your paying attention."

Yeah, because a woman is incapable of doing two things at once. Rude.

3.  Drink Robber: It's quite a shock when your date reaches over, grabs your drink, and starts guzzling it. 

"That sauce was way too hot, and I don't like water."

4.  Bad Tipper: Kind-of goes with the snapping thing...tipping your waiter a quarter is unacceptable.  Your waiter had to deal with chewed up pork, a waving hand, snapping, serious complaining, and you want to leave him a quarter?

"Poor attitude, poor tip," he says, plopping it down.

Let's just say you would never leave your table without making sure your waiter is well-tipped. No exceptions. Tip rectified on the sly.  

5.  "Between My Teeth": Time for the goodnight kiss...and you're not really into it. He smiles, and has a massive bit of something green in between his two front teeth.

"Um, you have something between your teeth," you say gently. After everything, you feel the need to point it out.

"Yeah, you," he says arrogantly.

"Beg your pardon?"  Uh, what?

"I've got you between my teeth."

"Oh-uh, um, well that's sweet...and kinda creepy...a little cannibalistic, but..."

"No, no," he laughs, "you don't get it, isn't that cute!" Tapping your date's head as if it's empty is also a big no-no.  "I'm referring to that song...I've got you between my teeth."

"I'm pretty sure it's 'I've got you under my skin.'"  

The inability to carry a tune isn't a date-killer...getting the lyrics wrong to an absolute classic is surprising, but still not a date-killer.  Sarcastically tapping your date's head and pinching your date's cheeks, while singing the wrong lyrics in the wrong key with a giant green thing in between your teeth, after spitting up your food, snapping at your waiter and your date, and expecting your waiter to clean up your chewy-spit-up-meat, yet not leave a proper tip, is kind-of a date killer.

Result: No kiss, no second date.

And We Deteriorate Even Further...

Just saw a new commercial for The Bachelor Pad on ABC.

The first tag line: "Where they'll play for love...and money."

The new tag line: "...where [they'll] lie, cheat, and deal."

Fabulous. So, now we're supposed to play for love, while competing for money, and we're going to lie, cheat, and deal to do it.  Fantastic.

I get that it's just a show, blah blah blah...but, it's not exactly sending the ideal message. Things that make me shake my head.

Forgive Me, Fate

I flipped you off.  I told you where you could stick it.  I called you a bitch...and, admittedly, I am still unsure as to your true intent with us mortals...so, I still kinda think you might be a bit of a bitch. I'll work on it.  The ticker tape running across my mind's eye featured two words most of the day: one rhymes with luck.  Not one to swear, really...except during football season...I have a really tough time during football season, though I do try. Don't be offended by my swearing...it's typically so unexpected that people usually find it cute.

It took me most of the day to realize, in the end, you helped me. Had I not moved away, had certain events not taken place for this reason or that, it is very possible I would have foolishly fallen for the wrong one...and I may not be who I am now.  And you knew that, didn't you, fate? You knew. You just might have saved me, in more ways than one.

I've been trying to figure out whether or not my place in life is due to a curse or an accidental enchantment. Strangely, this recent turn of events leads me to believe in the enchantment. I'm a dreamer. I know that. Stupid? Maybe. Necessary in this world? I'm thinkin' yes. I may have my doubts. I may question.  And there are sure to be cloudy days, but I'll keep going.

P.S. The radio is playing the theme to Titanic.  Funny, very funny.  Even I can laugh at this one. 

Out with the raincoat...(if there's a commercial before the Kelly Sweet video--I am sorry, it's short).

NFL News: Sam Bradford Gets $78 mill., $50 mill. guaranteed!

Seriously? Now, I love my football--actually, I'm a heart-pulsing, passionate, sweat dripping, hand wringing, voice losing, die-hard kind of fan--but this just seems absurd for a rookie who has thrown zero passes in the NFL.

The former OU quarterback reportedly agreed to an astonishing six-year, $78 million dollar contract with the St. Louis Rams.  According to reports, Bradford becomes the first player in league history to make at least $50 million in guarantees. 

For Bradford, the time has come to start living up to the hype. Good luck with that.

Read all about the insanity here: ESPN: Rams-Bradford Agree to Terms

The Unfortunate Fortune Cookie

I discovered I loved Chinese food when I was 20.  For years, this little southern girl stayed with what she knew--her mama's southern cooking, her daddy's BBQ, and, of course, Tex Mex.  In order to lure me into a Chinese restaurant, my family and friends dangled the fortune cookie carrot in front of my face, knowing I fall for anything related to fate or serendipity. 

Not only did I love the food (pork-fried rice, anyone?), but I loved cracking open those little fortune cookies at the end of a meal.  I actually still have some of my favorite fortunes from years past. Yesterday's fortune cookie is not a keeper.

After my meal, I ripped into the wrapping, cracked open the cookie, and anxiously looked for my fortune.  Um, yeah, where's my dang fortune? Looking in each cookie half, I spotted a piece of paper in each. Oh! I got two fortunes?! No, idiot, you didn't get two fortunes; you got one...that is ripped in two. Pulling out each half, I pieced them together to read my quasi-fortune.

"Your true love awaits your arrival." 

Seriously? Um, okay. Would have been cool if it hadn't been torn smack dab down the middle. I've had empty fortune cookies--they suck. Never have I had one split in two. Yeah, and I've never had a fortune related to love. This can't be good. 

Seriously, Karma?

Are the cosmic powers trying to do me in? Do the fates hate me that much? Is my personal karma suffering from PMS? Maybe the universe is trying to send me a message.  Hmm.  I'm not sure I care for the rather obvious meaning of said message.

Let's review the facts, shall we?

* First, we have the cold shower phenomenon. Coincidence? I'm thinking probably not, given recent developments.

* Last night, I had a disturbing dream.  In the dream-nightmare, someone I know is marrying a woman with one heck of a m.o.  Think BIG time gold digger.  And, yes, these people exist in reality.  Note: to date, they are not engaged; they are, however, together, and it seems all but the poor guy can see her true self.

* Finally, we have a string of songs that, to my utter disdain, seem to reek of sardonic irony.

Like A Virgin (Madonna). 
Roll eyes, change the station.
All By Myself (original version).
Oh, hell no. IMMEDIATELY change the station.
My Heart Will Go On (Celine Dion; yeah, the Titanic theme song).
Where's the rope? I mean, seriously?

My interpretation of karma's message, taking all events into account: I apparently need the cold shower because I'll always be a virgin, I'll always be alone, and the men of the world only go for shady women with less than honorable intentions, OR I will find and make love, only to see him drown in an icy cold ocean...or, you know, some equivalent.

Hmm. So, I'm not liking either interpretation.  Maybe I'll just chalk it all up to fate needing a good laugh at my expense.  Fabulous.  Hope it was a hearty, side-splitting laugh...heartless karma bitch.

Cold Shower Sunday

Firstly, no, I don't mean that kind of cold shower. No, I'm talking about the kind that happens when your practically brand new hot water heater stops working.

While doing the dishes last night, I noticed the "hot" water wasn't so hot...and it was quickly getting colder. Trundling down to the basement, I ran through all the basic checks: timer, breakers, any leaks. All looked fine...or so I thought.

Believing I had at least 30 minutes of hot water remaining, I hopped in the shower. Very.  Big.  Mistake.  The water was ice cold. Have you ever tried shaving in ice cold water? I don't recommend it.

Sore, shivering, and rather grumpy, I had unwittingly just put to test the age old philosophy of whether or not a cold shower helps to quiet one's raging hormones. Quiet my foot....it bloody well annihilates them.  I suppose that means a cold shower really does work...and it is one method I will never try again. 

UPDATE: Turns out two heater elements burned out...AT THE SAME TIME.  The very nice plumber-repair-man said, and I quote, "I don't think I've ever seen this before." Fabulous.