A Lovely Lunch

“She could have died,” was all I could think while I had lunch with my friend today. I’ve know Cranium since high school and she’s one of, if not the, oldest friend I have.

I got a text from her just before Christmas time letting me know that she was going on stress leave. I thought that was weird because she’s the only person I know that loves her job. She works with kids and I know she applied to do a master’s in early childhood education. She’s always talked about having kids, loves working with them, and often I go to her for parenting advice.

To make a long story short, she helped get a supervisor demoted, and 6 months later, that woman was given back the supervisory positon and now had an ax to grind with my friend. They had a meeting where she nitpicked a thousand little things that my friend was doing wrong. A few days later, the woman sent a pretty nasty email that ended with Cranium having an epic anxiety attack that she was hospitalized for. Blue lips, numb fingers, the works. The doctor told her she shouldn’t go back to work for a while and prescribed her an anti-depressant and anti-anxiety medication. I guess the supervisor woman felt bad, because she kept emailing Cranium, trying to provide a better or alternate arrangement. Cranium finally had to tell her to leave her alone because she actually has an anxiety disorder and doesn’t want to be stressed off while she’s on leave. When she told me this part, I wanted to go and smack  whoever put this woman back in charge of being Cranium’s supervisor. Holy conflict of interest!

Fast forward a couple of weeks. Cranium had been doing some research and decided to go to the gym to get some exercise to alleviate the depression with endorphins. She went to a spinning class and said all was well until right after the class ended, and she got hit with what they call a thunderclap headache. She told me on a scale of 1-10, 1 being no pain and 10 being the worst, she was sitting at a 25. They checked her out at the gym and told her that if the headache persists longer than an hour she should go see a doctor.

What does she do?

Goes home to bed. When she woke up the next morning, she still had the headache. She called the hospital and they told her the wait would be 8-10 hours, so she went to the walk-in clinic. The doctor took one look in her eye and told her she should have had a CT scan 12 hours ago. He told her to take a cab to the hospital. She told him she would take the bus, and he told her she could take the cab or he would call the ambulance.

At the hospital they did a bunch of tests on her and it turns out she had a really small hemorrhage in the middle of her brain. (She told me the technical name for what it was, but I’ll be damned if I can remember.) They also transferred her to a different hospital that had better neurological equipment. They told her the doctor at the clinic  probably saved her life.

I actually got a little weepy at the table while she was telling me this story. This is a girl I’ve known since high school, who is absolutely insane for Backstreet Boys, who is vivacious and outgoing and introduced me to the best veggie lasagna I’ve ever eaten. She took me to a Tragically Hip concert because she won tickets and didn’t know anyone else who would want to go. We sat there, drinking beer and I said, “so this is a real concert.”

“Yeah, I’ve never been to a concert that wasn’t Backstreet Boys. It’s weird not to see thousands of screaming girls.”

I almost choked on my beer.

“This is your first real concert? I’m so happy that I’m the one you chose to go with!”

We’ve seen each other through a lot of tough times and mostly a lot of really great times, and I kept having flashes of the great times we’ve had together while she was telling me her story, and how I don’t know what I’d do if I lost her. What would her boyfriend do? I introduced them and I’ve known him since grade school. What would any of us do if she was gone? I hoped she wouldn’t notice my eyes welling up, and just kept sniffling to hide the fact that I would be devastated if I lost her. That potentially, I almost did lose her.

There was a hint of paranoia today, after I dropped her off at the mall. I had texted her and she didn’t respond right away and that tiny little voice in my head was whispering, “you overtired her by taking her back to mom’s place, and now she’s probably unconscious on the floor of the mall surrounded by strangers who have no idea that her brain exploded.”

I’m not going to lie, when I got her text I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

This might sound selfish of me, going on about what I would do without her, considering we don’t see each as often as we probably could, but she’s always been there. I can always text her, call her, facebook her, whatever. She’s there. We talk, we pick up where we left off the last time. She asks about the kids, exclaims that she still can’t believe that I have 3 kids. I ask about her boyfriend (soon to be husband), sometimes we talk about sex, sometimes we keep it civil. Sometimes we’re catty, sometimes we reminisce. She gets me, and never fails to let me know when I’m out of line, but she’s always respectful. She’s an amazing person and I love her dearly. It nearly broke my heart to think that she almost died. That she possibly still might.

She’s on ridiculously expensive medication to prevent her brain from spasming, (it spasms to try and get the blood off the brain) that she has to take ever 4 hours.

Before I let myself carried away though, I know I need to relax and not stress about it. She’s alive and for the most part she’s well. We talked about hanging out next week and I hope we both follow through. I think I might invite her for dinner. Anyway, being with her reminded me of how much I missed her and since she’s off, we should definitely spend some time together.

We finished up the day driving back to my mom’s place to pick up my son and on the way we talked about “kids these days.” It’s so funny because we used to be those kids!

I had a really great afternoon with Cranium, even though a small part of me thought I may have killed her.

This is a picture of the lunch that we both had today. Paleo and so awesome, perhaps too much dressing, but it was so delicious! I don’t normally post pics, but look at how epic this salad is!

Knock, Knock. Hello? Is this Kettle? Yes? This is Pot, You’re Black.

I am seething rage.

I don’t have time to deal with your neurotic bullshit. I don’t care anymore. This is why you don’t have any friends. As soon as there is confrontation, you blacklist them off all social media, get mad at them and end friendships via text. Thanks for being a grown up. Relationships take work and you’re obviously not willing to put in that kind of effort or responsibility to work on this friendship.

You dare call me flaky when you’re the flakiest of them all.

I will swear at you (via text) if you end a friendship with me over a fucking text message and I will not apologize for it.

My ‘friend’ (I use that term loosely) told me tonight, via text, that she didn’t want to be friends anymore because I’m too flaky. Because I was hanging out with another friend of mine (whom she doesn’t get along with) since this morning. She had asked me if I wanted to go on a walk, and I would have, but my buddy and I were having a good time and I told her later, when he left, we could go on a walk. It turned out that we decided to watch a movie, and my friend had already gone on a walk so I figured it was not a big deal to just let her know that we’re going to watch a movie instead. It was still early enough that she could have made other plans or do whatever.

“We should go for a pleasure stroll when you’re free!!! At 930 or whatevs” she writes.

“Nah, Friend and Husband and I are going to watch a movie, sorry!” I responded.

“Oh, um thanks. You’re a peach. Explains why you ‘inadvertently’ didn’t get back to me earlier. How kind of you. I’m sick of how flaky you are. If you want to do something in the future get in touch. I won’t be reaching out. Bye.”

This is where I get really mad. Who ends a friendship over a text message?

“Are you fucking kidding me? Go fuck yourself!”

“Hahaha aren’t we a lady!”

“I do my best!”

“Hahaha see ya!”

I was tired of texting, so I sent her this email.

“You’ve flaked out on me more times than I can count. “Nah, I just want to go home and put my pj’s on,” WTF, I thought we were hanging out?

You’ve called us drunk, demanding that we come pick you up, only to leave within an hour of getting to our house. LAME.

How dare you call me flaky. I’ve never cut you off, never ended our friendship, never left our friendship hanging in all the years that you’ve come and gone from our lives. I’ve always been there for you, accepting your flighty and inconsistent nature, always accepting you for who you are. Yeah, sometimes I flake out, because by the end of the day I’m fucking tired. You know what it’s like here at bed time, now imagine them being extra needy/whiny because they’re coming down with something.

I didn’t want to go for a walk tonight because I’m fucking exhausted, I think I’m getting sick too, and the kids went to bed later than usual tonight.  ‘Friend’ is hanging out here with me and we’re just taking it easy. I thought he was going to leave earlier, but we decided to watch a movie instead. I’m sorry I’m not at your beck and call. I would have suggested we all go for a walk, but heaven fucking forbid should you and he stop being stupidly awkward around each other.

It’s so lame that you’re so quick to drop me, like I’m some fucking inconvenience instead of a good friend. I’ve never once dropped you, never once wanted to stop being friends with you when you’ve flaked out on me countless times. It’s inconsiderate, and what’s worse, you can’t even call me or say it to my fucking face, you have to do it through text. God forbid should you ACTUALLY confront me about this, as real people, instead of hiding behind your fucking text machine.

You know what, I value you as a friend but I can’t be at your beck and call. I have a husband and 3 kids but I really love spending time with you too. You never seem to be available during the day, in the morning, when it’s most convenient for me. You sleep in until the afternoon and by then I’m getting ready for the girls to come home/get dinner ready.

If you really want to end this friendship, fine. Be done with it. Just know that I think it’s really weak on your part to try and end our friendship over a fucking text message. It’s inconsiderate and furthermore it’s rude.”

Her response to my email:

“I skimmed part of your email, but I won’t be reading it. It seems a pointless exercise in vitriol, quite frankly.

I get that you’re mad. So was I. However, I don’t want to turn this into a “She said, she said” back-and-forth.

I’m sorry I took you off of Facebook – I shouldn’t have without consulting you. I was quite upset – having a close friend tell you to “Go fuck yourself” is never conducive to a pleasant evening, no?

If you would like to have a civil conversation without swearing I would be quite up for that – whether through email or chat or what have you.”

Not in person. Not over the phone. Coward. Hide behind your phone, your computer. Act like this is all on me for swearing at you…even though that was precipitated by you ending our friendship, via text.

This is the first I heard of her taking me off facebook. But obviously this is worthy of a full scale social media blackout. Because I didn’t want to take a walk in the park with her. That would be like me ending a friendship with someone for being too crass.

“I’m sorry, you’re awfully rude, I don’t think we can be friends.”

Really? I put the ass in crass (and class, but only sometimes).

The hardest part for me though, is walking away. This is the first time I’ve felt like I need to walk away from a friendship. I love my friends, I put a lot of love and devotion into my relationships and she turns around and spits on it. If she came to me and apologized, acknowledging that she over reacted or whatever, I would probably forgive her.

But she’s already cut the ties, cut me out of her life. What’s worse, she did it so easily. She’s heartless and cold, and then turns around and wonders why she has no friends. Maybe because when the going gets tough, she runs. I wonder how I’m supposed to contact her to resolve this considering she’s blacklisted me. The answer is, I’m not. She will contact me or this won’t get resolved. I can’t keep doing this with her.

How long will this drag on? A year? More? Every time I go back for more, every time I say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing and suddenly she’s gone. Poof. Out of my life until the next random encounter. Not this time. This is not how you treat a friend.

Way to be a grown up. The eternal teenager, awkward to the last.

An Ocean of Secrets

…buried in my heart.

A desperate yearning for love and the heart break that follows.

There was a boy in high school. I met him in grade 9 and he was cute and sweet and funny. I changed schools and later, years later,  at foot ball game I decided to drive down to the school and watch. I hadn’t done my hair (which was bleached and normally spiky) so it lay flat and lifeless. Coupled with the green baseball jersey I wore, I’m sure I looked like a cute little lesbian. I bumped into him there and we hit it off. He engaged me and invited me out. To be honest I couldn’t believe he was attracted to me because I looked my worst.

We started dating. Or at least, that’s what I thought it was at the time.  We used to make out in the field by his house under the full moon. He would tell me such romantic things, tell me I was beautiful, whisper my name while I nibbled on his ear. It was innocent, but I would have lost my virginity to him.

The night I met his mother, I had done a play at school and looked like an emo cutter. I had big black smudges on my eyes, black nail polish and grotesque red lipstick. She judged me harshly in that moment, and he probably had no refuge from her judgment. Later that night we made out on the couch while she was upstairs. It was the first time I had touched his dick. I was trying to be really good at hand jobs,  but he was uncomfortable and told me to take it easy. I felt awful. In the middle of it his mom called down the stairs that it was time for me to leave. For all I knew the bitch was listening at the top of the stairs.

The next time I was over at his house, a girl from our class had to stop by to drop something off for a project they were working on. He looked and acted really embarrassed,  and I couldn’t understand why. The way they looked at each other really through me off though. It was quite obvious that she liked him and had assumed he would be alone. I felt like a third wheel. This was the girl that every boy wants to bring home to his mother. Pretty, sweet, confident, really good in school, very social. I found her terribly perky and didn’t like her much.

After she left, we watched a movie and he sat on the opposite side of the couch. I really liked him. I had applied to be a counselor at a diabetic camp that summer, but I knew things with him were getting pretty serious, so I decided not to go. He broke up with me a few days later. And he was harsh about it too. He told me that he never really liked me like ‘that’, that things were getting too serious, and that his mother didn’t really like me anyway. He was incredibly tactless with my delicate heart.

I always had the feeling that he was just practicing with me, practicing his sweet words, practicing with his roaming hands. He left me feeling empty and broken hearted. Not long after I heard he started dating that other girl. I hoped she was a cold fish. A dead fuck.  I think they’re married now. I almost bumped into him at the mall not too long ago. I looked up and saw him, I knew he had seen me because he made too much of an effort to avoid me. I was trying to catch his eye so I could ask him how he was doing and introduce him to my child. He walked by me pointedly looking away.

That hurt the most because he made me feel so special when I was with him. He always made me feel like such a lady, someone worthy of the devotion he gave me and then in one fell swoop he took it all away. I wasn’t really special, I was just the practice model until he found the real thing.

Another boy I met in a high school night class. I fell in love with him. He was the most unique person I’d ever met. He was interesting and I was enthralled with him. He invited me out to his birthday party and we got drunk and made out. I remember his best friend said that watching us kiss looked like a lion eating a gazel but the with the gazel fighting back to take it’s own share. We always laughed at that. He was tender with me, very open and honest. I loved him dearly, and imagined an entire future with him. He was stable, passionate (our sex was incredible), and  romantic. I used to love the way he would hold me, especially after sex. We were great friends and amazing lovers. I remember walking into his parents house (I would pick him up for school, with another friend of mine who was waiting in the car.) I knew as soon as I walked in that something was different. He was stiffer, cold. He wouldn’t look me in the eyes. Finally I called him on it. He admitted that he didn’t see us working out. Things were getting too intense and he felt that I was feeling way more for him than he was for me. He didn’t think it was fair to me to not feel the same way. It crushed me.

All my dreams of him, of being with him, marrying him, making babies with him, gone in an instant. I truly thought we would be together for the long haul. I don’t think he ever really realized how much I loved him. Or maybe he did but knew he would never feel like that about me. He was tender to the very end, and I appreciated that from him. We met up a few years later and now we’re pretty good friends. He actually just got married. He’s a still a really great guy and a good friend.

I like to open my heart to people, especially my lovers. I don’t think they ever really knew that, or at least I tried not to let them know that. I always yearned for love.

I had a mad crush on a friend of mine (this was the next year). I yearned for him, wanted him so badly. He never reciprocated. He was a few years older than me and we used to drive up to his dad’s cottage. Of all the cottages I’ve ever been to, even since then, I’ve never seen the stars like I did there. Once he hosted a big party there and all of us got drunk and passed out in the cots in the basement. We were pretty close friends and we fell asleep together. I woke up to him grinding on me. It was really nice. I turned around and gave him a hand job. We kissed a bit and eventually he came into my hand. I thought for sure that he had changed his mind and decided we would be together. He whispered in my ear that now was the time to find something, anything, to wipe my hands on. We were in the pitch black basement of the cottage surrounded by our sleeping friends. It was one of the first, true, erotic moments of my life.

I asked him later if it meant anything and he assured me it didn’t. It broke my heart again because I was sure that things had changed between us. I later went on to ‘date’ his friend. Well over a year later, when my feelings for him had cooled and I knew nothing would ever happen between us. We would all get drunk and his friend and I would make out. He was typically an asshole. A seriously mean asshole, but when he was drunk he treated me like gold. We would drink and make out and I loved rubbing his huge dick. I imagined losing my virginity to him. I used to grind on him in my little white panties, wondering what it would feel like to have his dick inside me. Man, he was an amazing kisser. After one such session, we went down to the kitchen for more beers and the guys were all hanging out there. He came up and hugged me close from behind. He held me like that for a while, as we drank beer and talked with the guys. I felt so special. I was surprised that he was so openly affectionate. It turned out that he was only like that when he was drunk. He treated me like absolute shit when he was sober. He barely talked to me, ever. It’s too bad he needed alcohol to open up and be honest with me. I had mentioned, “when we have sex,” because I just assumed I would lose my virginity to him and that freaked him out. He started getting meaner when he was sober, so I broke up with him. Which fucked him up real bad. He started drinking more and I went out with the guys less. Eventually he got over it, but I just thought it was mean that he couldn’t be nice to me unless he was drunk. It made me really sad too because I was falling for him. I could have loved him.

These feelings sometimes remind me of Kurdles. She is ready, willing, and able to give a beautiful, intense love and these assholes keep shoving it back in her face. Too much. Too intense. That’s how I felt with most of the guys I had been with. It was always the guys that were friends that I was ready love. A devoted servant, ready to placate them with hand jobs, and probably my virginity, if they would just love me.

Why don’t they like intense? I’ll never understand. If you show someone that kind of intensity they brush it off and call you crazy. I call it passionate and fuck anyone who says otherwise. I feel like she and I are of the same ilk when it comes to loving in a relationship. I want someone who is willing to fall with me, into passion. Who will be as intense with me as I feel for them. Who will fuck with raw passion, fuck the love into my pussy. Eye contact, heavy breathing, deep kisses and soft touches.

I think people are moving away from such intimate passion. There are new rules, stupid rules. Don’t be too clingy, wait 3 days before you call someone. I’ll never understand it. Luckily, I don’t have to. In my opinion though, if a guy wants to be with me, he’ll show interest, not a lack of it. My husband loves me. I love him dearly for all my whining about him. I’m glad I don’t have to worry about being too clingy.

 

 

Curiosity Killed the Cat

This past Saturday night, I had a girls night with Kurdles and MadEye. We were drinking wine and eating mini-quiche and having a good ol’ time. Kurdles mentioned something about me having a super-special-relationship with most people individually.

At first I didn’t understand what she meant, but she insisted, “c’mon, you know what I mean! You’re friends with everyone, everyone tells you their secrets, even though you’re terrible at keeping them.”

It’s true. I am notoriously bad at keeping secrets.

I thought about what she said and I guess it’s true. I love the one-on-one relationships I have with my friends. I tease the secrets out of them the same way you would tickle fish out of the river. Nothing beats great conversation, especially not the great conversation with a close friend.

I’m curious by nature and I love to know as much as I can get from someone. I love the nature of their relationship with their parents and how it compares to mine. I love to know why they like or don’t like certain things, what makes them tick. How they relate to the world around them. I find it fascinating and I love to ask questions.

I especially enjoy asking questions that most people would find awkward and uncomfortable. I like to know how much someone is willing to tell me because I simply refuse to acknowledge awkward situations. I think that puts people at ease, which lets them open up more than they normally would. I don’t judge them, I don’t think less of them and I genuinely want to know the answer. I love a good story.

MadEye was telling us that her dad had his bags packed and almost left her mother on their wedding night. What? Now there’s an amazing story…that she never asked a question about! That almost killed me. How could your father tell you something like that without wanting (in my case needing) to know the answer? If my dad ever told me that, I’d ask him all sorts of questions.

I know not everyone has the same relationship with their parents that I have with mine (a very open one), but wouldn’t you want to know what would cause such a rift between your parents that your dad almost left your mom, on their wedding night, no less? Wouldn’t it enthral you to know that if things had gone only a little differently, you might never have been born? Human nature fascinates me.

I’d want to know everything. The how’s, the why’s, the motives behind it all.

I think I probably drove my parents around the bend with all the questions I asked, especially ‘why’.

“But why, mum? Why?”

I know that my parents first year of marriage wasn’t as amazing as I had always assumed it was. My mother was apparently quite the prude (shocking, I know) and didn’t know how to communicate that well. My dad, who barely spoke english, really had to work to get my mom to loosen up.

I know that before my mom got pregnant with me, she went to the doctor for spotting, and he told her that she was having too much sex.

I know that my grandmother was the bastard child of an affair and was raised by her grandparents. Her mother, my great grandmother, was shunned by the community and forced to walk on the other side of the street. I also know that she was shunned by her church and that’s why she became a Jehovah witness. She died on Christmas morning.

I know that my grandmother was pregnant when she and my grandfather got married. She was also known as the hickey queen. Gross.

There’s all sorts of nuggets of information you can learn from people, and it’s all interesting. Each successive thing you learn adds to your knowledge base of that person, allowing you to understand them better and hopefully, be a better friend.

Why wouldn’t you want to know as much as you could about someone? Especially if they’re a friend?

“I don’t want to pry,” I’ve been offered as an excuse. Well, why the fuck not?! Why don’t you want to pry the shit out of that can of worms and see what you find?

If I was MadEye, I’d ask my dad why he almost left. I’d ask my mom how she felt about it. How did they resolve it? What could have possibly changed his mind if his bags were already packed? How did he feel during the wedding service, was everything resolved by then? There’s so much to know!

I love to know the intimate details. Nothing is weird or awkward. The more I learn about someone, the more I appreciate them. The more I think about what Kurdles said, the more I realize it’s true. I love having conversations, talking long into the night, learning all I can about the intricate nuances of a person.

I love my friends.