Friday, July 19, 2013

With Friends Like These...


Best Friends don't let you do stupid things . . . alone!

                                         

                                                 -Unknown

I was recently "un-friended" on a social network site and It really bummed me out, primarily because I refuse to accept that "un-friend" is a real word...no matter what Urban Dictionary says.

This unfortunate event stirred a bit of conversation between me and my writer friend,Todd, in that we were trying to form a viable answer to the following questions:

What constitutes the designation for "Best Friend?"
Can you have multiple best friends and have them vie for BESTEST status?
What time does Theo's Pizza close on weeknights?

Todd is fun to hang out with, but we usually inadvertently get into trouble together for reasons which are not readily known to us.  Especially with his wife, Melissa.

As an example, see: http://pontchartrainpress.blogspot.com/2012/03/meeting-of-mindless.html


We arrived at one mutual agreement that if someone referred to either of us as their "BFF" we would punch them in the neck and light them on fire, then we ordered a pizza.  By the way, Urban Dictionary online defines "BFF" as either:

Best Friends Forever or
Big Fat F*ck

16-year old kids who use the term "BFF" get a free pass.  Adults...punch in the head and a trip to the Houston Burn Clinic.

I consider Todd to be one of my better friends; I would consider BEST friend status should he decide to divorce his wife who hates me.   At any rate, either he or I must put on a few pounds to earn the second designation from the Urban Dictionary.

As I contemplated writing this article, a close friend of mine chimed in, asking how I knew who my real friends were. By "close friend"  I mean that we shared a couple of evenings of late night  "relations" several years ago and still manage to look one another in the eyes. 

I answered her question by immediately distributing a text message to three people with the following note: (This is something that I call a topic grenade.  Pronounced: Prompt them do some free work for me.  Heheh.)


"Writing a new piece ...How does one know who their BEST friend is?"

Twenty consecutive texts in five minutes seemed to be an excellent illustration for her.

Lets look at a couple of the things that I found in online research and personal text messages.


Lynn: My best friend is Lydia

Jim: How long have you known her?

Lynn: 7 or 8 months.  She told me after the first couple of months that I'm the best friend she's ever had.  That's sweet huh?

Jim: Have you, by chance, ever watched the movie "Cable Guy?"


Honestly, I cant even muster loyalty to a new grocery store product until a year has passed...much less for a human being. I have cereal in my pantry that's been there for a year and I still don't hold positive feelings for it.

A best friend, in my mind, is measured in the following way:


Me: I have a problem

Marie: Shoot!

Me: I already did. Now there seems to be a dead body in my living room. We may need to chop her up in order to not draw too much attention in carting her away.

Marie: OK...Be there in 10. Game Of Thrones is almost over.

Me: Excellent. Don't tell me how it ends...I haven't watched it yet.  BTW, can you bring some old quilts, rubber gloves and some cleaning supplies?

When I floated this storyline, I received a lovely email from Caroline. She advised that:

"Jesus Christ is MY best friend;  Isn't he YOURS?"


I appreciate JC and all that he did; I'm sure that his final days were a painful experience.  It also triggered a holiday full of festive hats, candy, a mythical rabbit and wide social acceptance for one to wear white in public.  However, I tend to assign the "BEST friend" title to one who can give me a ride to the airport and/or loan me 20-bucks here and there.


My friend Kristi tells me that her best friend picks her up when she's feeling down. And...she even bought her a burial plot.


So long as she's not the beneficiary of a major insurance policy, I suppose I'd be somewhat OK with that arrangement.  But, it's still a little creepy for my taste.

My editor, Mike, informs me that his mother is HIS best friend. What a shock.


I could have never been best friends with my mom. Primarily because best friends are those with whom you can share your deepest and darkest secrets. For instance, my story of having sexual relations in the trunk of a car on a country back road with the state governor's niece many years ago would go largely unappreciated by dear mom. Bob, on the other hand, feels strongly that I am a super hero.


From our chief Pontchartrain Press research machine, Eric:

A REAL friend will go out and get two b**wjobs then come back and give you one.

An oldie, but still funny Eric. 

I can also count on research requests from Eric to never end with just one text:

Why won't you move to Philly dude?

I usually inform him that I love Philly and the Reading Market Place, but I will move to Philly in the event that they move the city approximately 900 miles south.  Blunt honesty is a virtuous quality amongst friends as far as I'm concerned.

A long time ago a studio producer friend at the radio station, who I considered to be a close friend and confidant, borrowed his friend's car with strict instructions to NOT smoke in the vehicle as his friend is a non-smoker.

My producer dropped his cigarette onto the seat of the car and it caused a major burn mark on the upholstery.  Needless to say, he experienced a state of utter panic, wondering HOW he was going to explain the damage.

As a true friend, his lifelong childhood friend came to the rescue by putting the car into neutral and letting it roll downhill into a tree.  The airbag deployed, covering the upholstery with a white powder.  Then he gave my friend a 16-ounce Budweiser.  Problem solved I suppose.


According to a Glamour Magazine tidbit, one best friend scenario goes something like this:


Gun Man: I’m going to kill your best friend miss
Stu: No take me instead!


This has a Tim McGraw song title written ALL over it.


According to Oprah online:  "Men are happy to silently watch sports over a beer. Psychologists call these side-to-side relationships, versus female's face-to-face ones. Women like to engage in conversation; men like to bond over an activity.  Anyone who's seen men sit and watch the game while the women gab in the kitchen knows it to be true."

Thank you "O" for assuming that women don't watch sports...and, seem to belong in the kitchen.  Heheh.


At the end of the day, it's my experience and observation that a true friend will:

  • Take one for the team (yes, you know what I mean)
  • Bring you chicken noodle soup and a gallon of vodka when you're feeling blah.
  • Comfort you when your heart is a wee bit empty
  • When you go to the restroom, they'll give a fake excuse to someone regarding a potentially fatal social disease to a person who's hitting on you
  • Give you a lift to work, the airport, the grocery store or to Barstow, California
  • Help you move and (most importantly) move forward
  • Urinate on your ex-boss' Infinity door handle
  • Tell those who bring hurt to your world to "piss off."
  • Correct YOU when you bring hurt to another person's world
  • They will feed your dog and, generally, NOT sleep with your significant other when you go out of town

I have no clever way to end this piece before turning in for the evening other than to say, I go to bed one social network friend lighter and many real life friends heavier.  A much more fortunate place to be if you ask me. 


Perhaps one of my good friends, Tony, puts it best...

"Best friends don't give up on you.  And, you don't give up on them."

Now, if anyone feels so inclined to send me $20-dollars, email me for my address.  If you'd like to drop it off in person, I DO still have leftover pizza.

“The truth is, everyone is going to hurt you. You just got to find the ones worth suffering for”

                                                                                                        -Bob Marley



Yes, this friendship has been called into question.  Heheh.  BFF!

copyright Pontchartrain Press, 2013