I’m sure I’m not the only one who had friends and family on what-ever-social-site(s)-you-use posting “30 days of thanks” because of Thanksgiving. Maybe you’re even one of those people. Good for you. I am entirely too lazy to do such a thing.
Hell, people are lucky I brush my teeth every day.
Though, I’ve often wondered why people wait until November to spout off and share all the things that they’re thankful for. I’m thankful for things everyday of my life. I even have a list to look at when I need a reminder because I’m getting that “not so fresh” feeling and am ready to strangle someone pull all of my hair out drown myself in vodka until I’m happy lock myself in the laundry room in a vain attempt to hide and gather some sanity.
There’s also a list of made-by-me words, mythological creatures I would mate with, and dances to never attempt in public again.
On my list of Things To Be Thankful For, good friends are pretty high up there. Right between “Coffee” and “Bacon”.
Throughout my life, friends have come and gone. I try to keep the good ones, and let go of the bad as often as possible. Sometimes you spend years getting to know someone, just for them to show you that they were really just a peanut butter and turd sandwich disguised as noodles covered in awesome-sauce the whole time. I think that life brings you those people to teach you a lesson. Even if that lesson is just how to make really good Kool-Aid.
When you’re a child, friends seem to come easy. All it took was for someone to have one thing in common with you, and all of a sudden, you’re attached at the hip for the remainder of the playground visit. Remember that?
Middle school is a totally different story. There’s conversations about Lisa Frank stickers and which member of The New Kids On The Block whatever boy-band reigns supreme at the moment you’re going to marry, and calling the local pizza place to order 15 pies topped with extra anchovies to be delivered to your BFF’s neighbor’s house during a sleep-over.
Then comes high school. Four hormone driven years of back-stabbing, judging, confusion, pimples, unsatisfying sexual encounters, homework, and stealing your best friend’s boyfriend because he has a car. (FYI: I never stole anyone’s boyfriend over a car. It was a moped, and he was 18, so he could buy my cigarettes. And also, she wasn’t my friend, so it doesn’t even count.)
Fortunately for me, I was one of those weird people that got along with everyone, with the exception of a few of the fat girls that didn’t get my sense of humor. I guess I had just moved around enough as a child to realize that these people probably wouldn’t be around forever, so I didn’t really give a shit what they thought.
One day, one particular girl said to me, “You’re not even funny. Why don’t you go sit on an egg until it hatches?” I replied, “That’s not funny either. And you can keep your egg. My mom won’t let me have anymore llamas.”
Sometimes their backsides get stuck in the shell and you have to pull it off. It’s super gross.
Right now I have some friends that I ab-so-fucking-lutely adore that I don’t talk to as often as I should. (I kind of really suck at phone calls.)
There are also some people that I love, but would rather have a raging case of herpetitis than spend more than an hour alone with them. (Small doses or group settings are fine.)
And then there are my REAL friends…
They’re the kind of people that would stop what they were doing to join me in a tag-team wrestling match against a big woman named Bertha that was just released from prison, and whom I seem to have offended by mistakenly hitting on her. (How the hell was I supposed to know that they think “The drool on your beard makes it glisten like the stars in this dimly lit bar…” is a compliment in the slammer?)
And if they couldn’t make it to the fight in time, they’d at least break me out of jail for shankin’ a bitch with a broken beer bottle…
Because sometimes I pretend to live in “The Wild Wild West”, where this kind of thing works.
They’re the people that have children that I call things like “Spawn”, “Santa”, or “Insanely adorable fund-sucking twat-monsters”. I can tell them that their child is “so fucking cute that I want to eat his stupid, fat, little face right off!” – and they don’t call the cops. In fact, they smile, and say something like “I know. I almost wanted to punch him for being so damn adorable yesterday, but then I remembered that I was in line at the grocery store, and that they’re mandatory reporters. Plus, I didn’t want to get drool on my hand.”
Or they post something like this to your FB wall at 3am, a week after you ask them if it’s possible to fart out of your dick.
Two days later, we stayed up all night sending each other random links about noises being made with penises.
They’re the ones that I can call in the middle of the night because I came up with an amazing new way to take over the world.
“They” say that real friends are like assholes; everybody should have at least one.
Well, I’ve got a few assholes. They’re some of the names on my People I Want To Skin And Wear As A Coat list, because they’re so fucking awesome that it hurts. And those are the ones that I am thankful for on a daily basis. Not just in November.
So, thank you, now and forever, for being my assholes…
I promise to always tell you when you have a hair out of place.
I miss the days when we were children and a simple “would you be my friend?” sufficed. Making friends as an adult sucks. I think I forgot how to do it, because now it’s no longer a matter of just sharing your Barbies and trying not to punch them when they hogged the video game controller.
Right? Finding people you actually vibe with on a good level is really hard now. That’s why I’m so thankful for the crazies I have in my life. They’ve held my hair, helped me through hard times, and dominated the world (in my head) with me.
This was my “bigger than thank you” to them, because at least 4 other people have seen this now.
I have things to say to you about this and other things mentioned but it’s time for me to go home and eat homemade burritos with my husband and BFF and her little monster shit of a child. So remind me tomorrow that I have more things to say.
Speaking of more things to say… I’m going over to your page to back-stalk. I’ve been reading and getting distracted by shiny things before commenting, because I’m an A-hole.
Dude! Yeah, you are. Why would you read my blog with shiny things nearby? That’s just nonsense. Only read my blog in a darkened room. With no internet connection. Which is going to make it difficult but will definitely cut down on distractions.
Real friends are the ones that won’t say “I told you so” when you cry for two weeks straight over the complete douchebag they knew would break your heart because of what an utter asshole he is, and they pretended to be nice to him even all the times he deserved to get kicked in the nuts, just because they love you and want you to be happy. They hold your hair while you puke your face off from too many Fireball shots and they’re always up for sneaking into the neighbour’s field to try and steal a donkey with you
Exactly! I learned earlier this year that me and Fireball can no longer be friends. He’s mean to me. Kicks me in the face the next morning every damn time. I could have 6 Captain & Cokes and be fine. 2 of those and a shot of Fireball, and I’m blacked out, hearing all about the ten tequila shots I did off of some half naked waitresses belly and the nerdy fat guy I was flirting with. No fucking bueno dude.
I love having friends who don’t freak out when I hump them in public… That’s just how I say I love you. And they know its not a dominant thing. Because I save that for peeing on people
I.. Don’t have too many friends as it turns out…
Hugs!
Valerie
I would let you pee on and/or hump me in public anytime. But after you pee on me, you have to hump me from behind… It’s not a love thing though (except that I kind of do love you in a creepy cyber-stalker sort of way). That’s just how I role. Especially with the humping. Nothing beats a good leg hump while you wait in line at the bar…
We should hang out and make sock puppets or something…
That is a brilliant idea! I’ve got tons of buttons and googly eyes. You bring the socks and your evil toes.
With these puppets, we shall take over the world!
1. I feel honored to have briefly been a person you wanted to skin and wear as a coat. But I am quite pale, so I should warn you not to wear me after labor day.
2. I am fresh out of llamas, so if you’d like to share…
3. I once had a boyfriend who’s penis squeaked. for reals.
Ok. I’m back. Thanks for the reminder.
So, anyway!
I wanted to say the following:
1) Your to-do list looks strikingly similar to mine, only without the hair dolls. And speaking of hair dolls, I see that you finally want to make one of me and I am humbled. However, I need to know: do you need my hair to do it? Because I have plenty. I found, in a very scientific experiment that I, myself, conducted, that I can pack a grocery bag full of my leftover hair after brushings in the course of a year. And I don’t mean “Oh, the bag is full,” I mean tamped down and shoved in until there’s no room for another strand. So…if you need hair for my doll, I can send some. How very Victorian. You’ve seen those Victorian hang-on-the-wall pictures made of hair, right? Like hair samplers only it’s not stitchery? Yeah, those creep me out.
2) I’m glad you don’t do the 30 days of Thanksgivingful in November. It makes me feel better about not doing it, myself. Of course, in my case, I’m on the other end of the spectrum and am not thankful for anything. Mostly, I just sit on the front stoop and threateningly menace people with my cane, calling them “ingrate” and such. That’s not a thankful thing to do.
3) If you lightly steam the llama egg, first, the llama comes right out without sticking to anything. It’s like you coated the inside with Crisco before getting the llama in there; works wonders. You should try it!
4) OMG! Lisa Frank! She saved my life with her colorful puppies and kittens! I still have a Lisa Frank coloring book and none of my nieces or nephews understand it. It makes me sad for their unenlightened souls.
5) You have some good friends. Especially since they wear masks with their buns when doing important shit. I applaud you. *clap clap clap*
Alright, I’m done. That’s what I’d wanted to say. Let’s hope WordPress lets me say it.
Oh dear god the grocery store workers are mandatory reporters? Do you mean just with regards to children or do you mean for uh… other stuff too? I probably need to start shopping at a different store.
I’m pretty sure it’s just for child and vegetable abuse. Although they might call the authorities for sticking things in the meat, depending on what it is…
I keep my circle of real friends small – helps me keep a better eye on what they’re up to.
You really have to. If they’re anything like me and my friends, you never know what to expect. Plus, that really helps to add a stalker-ish feel to the relationship when you know what everyone is up to.
Your assholes sound great! If only the whole world was filled with people who have awesome senses of humor…
I know my assholes by their reaction to me farting in their general direction, or in their face depending on my proximity. Yeah, I’m gross, but aren’t we all?
I certainly hope so! I’m pretty sure that you and I would be assholes too if we lived near each other. Some of the things I’ve read by you (comments and blogs), you are a hilariously nasty mofo, and I love you for it…
Opinions AND friends are like assholes? This is getting hard to remember.
And I never committed to a New Kid, I guess none of them really did it for me, but you’re right, Danny was the WORST.
At first, I wanted to think that he was just funny looking because of the adorableness he was hanging around. Nope. He’s still ugly as sin. It’s kind of scary.
Aw. One of my REAL friends just moved far, far away and reading this made me ache for her even more. She’s having a baby in a few weeks and I’m so damn sad I won’t be there for her to shout angry abusive things at me because she’s so tired and can’t find the pacifier and whatever it is that new mothers cry about. It’s been 13 years for me. The details get fuzzy.
I’m pretty sure they wander around in a stupor until they look at the baby one day and say “How the eff did my shirt get on your ass, and why am I wearing your diaper?!” and then they go bat-shit crazy. You should tell Harv to buy you a ticket to go see her. You could use the excuse that it’s for her sanity and will probably save her life.
You’d be doing a public service.