Being particular about the friendships I cultivate is a manifestation of having zero friends and/or friends that used me and generally fucked me over for a number of years. To say that the junior high years were ‘tumultuous’ would be putting things mildly. Of course there’s still a little bit of that in me when I attempt to be nice and complimentary of people who disregard me and find me a nuisance and who are frankly rude and pretentious little shits who feel that the world should cater to them, but they are not obligated to behave the same back. While it irks me entirely, I’ve learned to shrug and behave as if they do not exist and instead be terribly cautious when choosing who I want to be friends with and who I would like to punch in the nose.
I have few extremely close friends, and hordes of ‘friends’ or ‘acquaintances’ that I see for Happy Hours and parties and events. Those are the people that I can give a hug and quick side kiss to while balancing a drink in my other hand as we exchange pleasantries and a few notes of gossip. Then there are my honest to God friends who know that there are nights I’d much rather spend with a very cute blonde and catching up on Tivo than trying to figure out how many glasses of wine I can consume before puking all over U Street. These are the friends that know how much I need and value my alone time and can tell me that I’m considerably more pleasant when “getting ass” than I am 90% of the time. I can appreciate that they can appreciate my generally quirky behavior and why I do the same thing every single Saturday like a little old woman.
Over the past year, I’ve gotten better about who I let in and to what degree of trust I will afford them, which roughly correlates to the number of times that I will freely Instant Message such a person about the inane details of my life. I think I’ve gotten incredibly lucky with Kris, because with her I can do just the latter. And she knows me to a ‘T’. I say all of the above, because the truth is that while I love that woman wholeheartedly, I love it even more when she goes away because then, I get her apartment to myself for an entire weekend or on those really awesome circumstances, an entire week. And nothing says “I heart you, HB” like giving me the keys to your apartment and letting me have at it. Alone. Alllll alone. Misanthropy, my friends, is a lovely thing.