When Friends Let Friends Listen to Joni

My best friend in the world is going through a tough time right now. She hasn’t really discussed it with me, which I know from years of experience means one thing: she’s ready to crack.

This girl is the savior who turned me on to Joni Mitchell 12 years ago, after we debated which was a better lay for James Taylor–Carly Simon or Joni Mitchell. At the time I vehemently argued that Carly was, until L. made me a Joni mix tape. A few rounds of Blue, Court and Spark, and For The Roses convinced me that not only was Joni likely a better lay, but also a better musician and songwriter. From that point on I was indebted to L.

Unfortunately, we still live miles and miles away from each other, so offering company, a bottle of Cabernet and/or excessive amounts of Belgian beer and cranking Joni (which usually turns into a classic rock trivia game involving Joni, Zeppelin, The Who, The Beatles, etc.) is a little out of the question. Normally I would have picked up the phone, but this time I opted for the most reliable source known: Joni. I emailed an mp3 of Lesson in Survival, a song that I always think of when things overall suck:

Lesson in Survival
Spinning out on turns
That gets you tough

There are times when I really feel like my friends are far better to me than I am to them; that I don’t do enough to show gratitude for their ears and hearts. I forget birthdays and anniversaries. I usually never have enough money to buy their kids the gifts I’d like to. Anything involving a greeting card takes me two weeks to send, by which time, the life event has passed. My internal debate/excuse is, “Well, I BOUGHT the card a month before the event. I just didn’t know what to write without sounding saccharine or fake for four weeks.” This excuse flies in my own brain, but doesn’t go over so well with friends who know that I have a degree in English and write for a hobby. My rebuttal is usually pretty simple: it’s HARD writing for or to people you care about!

And then there are other times and other friends who get it; who know how much I do care. This one got it and sent me the best email I’ve received in ages, “…how do you always know what’s going on in my head?”

When Friends Break up

I was in between dreaming and waking up to my neighbor’s heavy footsteps over my head this morning when I found my brain counting out Six Word memoirs. I’m not kidding. I was thinking about one of my formerly close friends and how I miss her, but don’t regret the fight we had that “broke-up” our “relationship.” I found myself in this lucid state thinking, “I’m not sorry, [but] I miss you. Jeez, how can I get that down to six?”

This little brain weave got me to thinking: is it possible to just forget, instead of forgiving?

Part of me would like for her to reply to the email I just sent. The other part is pretty certain that if she’s still enmeshed in what I perceive(d) as a really, really destructive relationship, our friendship is done for now. Which I still find kind of sad. The fact is, I’ll never be able to understand how someone who could withstand horrific life tragedies (and I mean HORRIFIC) can’t seem to find the courage to drop a loser boyfriend with one ball.

I Promise…

…that I won’t start posting chapters from this novel, since no one actually READS chapters of unpublished novels from obscure blogs. I’m oddly excited about it and will likely randomly post snippets for critical inquiry and/or the shear hell of it.

I must say, I think I may have lied. I’m thinking the semi-autobiographical thing is more entertaining than some modern Shakespearian shake up (and it’s really weird that artichokeshavehearts posted an encouraging comment minutes before I copied and pasted this little entry…talk about serendipity…thank you, Artichoke. I always knew they had hearts).

I need to stress that this is SEMI-autobiographical, since there’s no way in hell my friends and family would ever approve of the real story. Not that I would blame them…

I snagged the first line at Six Word Memoirs and their “A Life in Bites” contest. If this is ever published, I’m probably going to owe someone some kind of royalty.

I should also mention that all the names of the characters are completely fictional.

*deep breathe*

“It’s not you. It’s the garlic.” He didn’t think she noticed that he was picking his nose while saying this. Oh. She noticed. And also confirmed for the 400th time why she broke up with Aaron Chekowski four years before.

“Are you kidding me? Is it that bad?” She held her hand up to her mouth and huffed out a few breaths, checking to see if Aaron was right, since despite his lack of table manners, he had always been honest. During a drunken New Year’s Eve battle she hauled off and punched him in the arm for calling his in-the-closet best friend a f-g. The night after, when it was obvious that their short-lived union had come to a palpable end, he mentioned that brute force was a major turn-off, and if she ever hit him again he would never talk to her, regardless of their status. And, “It hurrrt!” She tried to back peddle, claiming that his lack of sensitivity in regards to his best friend’s sexual orientation was sufficient cause for an ass whipping, but got his point. Don’t punch men. They have nerve endings too.

“Well, as long as your date doesn’t mind your pie hole smelling like a f—-g Italian Restaurant…” He wiped the snot on the side of the bucket seat of her beat-up station wagon.

“Did you just wipe a booger on my seat?” She glared at him from the driver’s side, digging her finger nails into the tan steering wheel.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. That’s disgusting. Get out of my car.”

Luckily for Aaron, Roxanne was pulling up to his house, “So, ah, see ya later. And I didn’t pick my nose.”

“DID TOO!”

P.S. (and totally unrelated to the post) I don’t care what anyone says, I’m going to see Mama Mia Friday. And I’ll probably be going alone, so keep your eyes peeled for a chair dancing solo artist at your local movie theater. Oddly, I never liked ABBA when my college roommates overplayed their tunes in 1996.