Friendship: Oh, What a Tangled Web...

My best (and longest standing) friend and I were talking about the complications of the man-woman dynamic. As in, women are sensitive, and men, while they typically mean well, are usually missing something important in the sensitivity area, like a brain. Men and women, duh, are wired differently and therefore think differently; and she was marveling that men and women ever hook up at all. I too wonder from time to time how men ever get laid.

I’m sure you all agree men can be amazingly obtuse and singularly dense about things that should be so obvious. You can even tell them and draw them diagrams about the importance of the topic you’re ranting about, and like Frasier, men are of this thought: “There's an incredible piece of scientific equipment known as the Tunneling Electron Microscope. Now, this microscope is so powerful that by firing electrons you can actually see images of the atom, the infinitesimally minute building block of our universe. If I were using that microscope right now, I still wouldn't be able to locate my interest in your problem.”

This makes men seem very insensitive—you know, not caring about our problems—and it’s not that they don’t care, or even that they don’t understand. I believe they’re more than capable of both. It’s just their priorities are not our priorities; and they are not going to devote that much energy into worrying about something that is not going to matter in five years (when it so clearly barely matters now), when they can be using that brain power for good and happy outcomes, like how to get sex…and possibly a beer.

I can’t say men are wrong in this. I like beer. But as a woman and a best friend, I have to agree that men are insensitive…and empathy deficient much of the time.

However, as complicated as the man-woman dynamic is, there is no way on God’s earth I will ever be convinced that it is more complicated than the woman-woman dynamic. My best relationships are with women, and they are the most frustrating, rewarding, irritating, happiest, worst, best, and most fulfilling relationships I have. One would think having a uterus would at least put me on a level playing field with my friendships. And God knows we talk about everything, so it’s not like we’re not communicating. It’s just that…I spend a lot of my time pandering to a lot of the irrational.

As women we hate this, right? I mean, that excuse holds us back from higher positions and holding office—it’s a lame excuse. We can be very rational, thank you. But oh, my God, I do think we hold the corner on being completely irrational as well. “You’re not even angry at me. Why am I the one being yelled at?” “Because I can’t tell my mother-in-law she’s a blazing shrew, that’s why!” Oh-kay. It’s also amazing to me how something can be only my problem, my desire or whatever, is suddenly encroaching on their happiness in some way. And if I pursue it, I’m not a good friend…and I’m not being sensitive to the situation. (Women can do the guilt manipulation like no one’s business, can’t they?) It’s even gotten that I almost have the same empathy disorder my best friend accuses men of having. Technically she knows I’m not, but I’m certainly giving a good imitation of it.

And it’s when I’m being my most unempathetic that I actually feel men might have a point: this barely matters now. What are we getting so worked up about? Can’t you just be happy right this second without trying to predict the next five years of potential happiness to follow? After 33 years of being a female, I’m going to say: Nope. We can’t. Sorry. We’re just weird.

But the woman-woman dynamic is so important. I think it was my second day of kindergarten when I came to the stunning conclusion: Life sucks. Followed by the second conclusion: I better find a friend because that’s the only way I’m going to cope with the first conclusion. So that’s where I found my best friend. For a long time, I thought you could only have one real best friend. This is probably because of school. There’s a lot of back-stabbing and turncoating in school, so it’s little wonder that I basically had one friend who never did that so therefore I thought, you should only have one best friend. I’m not sure. I didn’t have a therapist then, but I imagine that was a lot of it.

Only my best friend knew something then that I didn’t learn until much, much later. College actually, because by then, I had been replaced in my friend’s life by a boyfriend. Talk about a rude awakening and adjustment phase. This is what I learned: No one person can be every single thing to you, and what an incredible burden to assume one person can be. You can have lots of best friends. For God’s sake, you wouldn’t want just one pair of shoes, would you? Which pair would you choose? Surely you’d need to consider the occasion.

This is a lot easier on certain aspects of the woman-woman dynamic. That means you can stop pestering your BFF to go to movies with you that she has no interest in, or asking to do “girl only” things with you, when you know she feels guilty leaving her husband alone on the couch. Don’t force your friends to be more than they are or give more than they can freely give. And for God’s sake, stop trying to make them more like you. It’s not going to happen; and it shouldn’t. That’s what being a friend is about. These are supposed to be people in which you feel free to be yourself around and they love you anyway. It’s about accepting people as they are, and if you can’t, then let them go. There is no point in continuing a friendship in which everyone is unhappy. Life sucks—and the point of friends is that they’re supposed to make life a little shinier.

But having all these best friends, all of which only see a certain Hellion, is this lying? Does this mean no one friend has ever seen Hellion in the altogether then? Which Hellion is the real Hellion then? Or are all the bits of Hellion true, even if when you put them all together they contradict themselves? (Women are nothing if not contradictory.) Is it possible to have a friendship with any one person in which all aspects of yourself can be shown and not fracture the friendship?

I don’t know.

Last Post For Awhile

Because I'm going on Vacation!

That's right. Hellion is flying to Virginia (no, not on my broom) and meeting with Terri & Tiff, who will already be hanging out and doing all things indolent and vacationy.

Some interesting trivia before I go:

Sin has the ability to "scissor-kick" people in the back of the head. She told me so on the way up to meet our critique group, The Sassy Scribes, on Saturday. I nearly drove off the road, I was laughing so hard at her story about it.

"Russian Goggles" is a similar term to "Tea-Bagging", which I had interestingly enough HAD heard of before both terms were bandied about at the co-worker party Brad took me to Saturday night. His friend, Ted, brought it up, then left Brad to explain it to the rest of us ignorant females...and when he brought up "Tea-Bagging" as a frame of reference, a look of enlightenment must have skittered across my face because he looked rather priceless when he asked, "You know what that is?" "Yes, I know I've been told before what it is...but I'm not drawing a complete definition at the moment." At the moment, I was thinking, It was something Jack and Matty had yammered about--and it's probably as deviant as that whole donkey punch crap that Matty had to explain to me. If you don't know what the terms are, you can Wikipedia it. I'm not telling you.

I've discovered not all Mikes are bad. I know, I wouldn't believe it either. I have been emailing with this applicant/student for a couple months; and he really wanted in this summer. I told him it would take a miracle; I bugged the hell out of him; and he did everything I asked. I finally got to process him for summer, since I wanted to do it before I left on vacation and when I told him all was done, he wrote back he was "speechless." I had written I wasn't opposed to bribes of chocolate. He sent me this ostentatiously huge bouquet of flowers--and I stared at it for five minutes, couldn't sign my name to "receive" them I was so flummoxed and shaky, then nearly broke into tears at the card. "Thank you for saving me. Gratefully, Mike." Usually at best, I get a chocolate bar from a grateful student...and really, it IS my job, so why expect more? But this was awesome. I've taken about 6 pictures of it. I'm rather devastated I won't be able to enjoy it much more since I'll be on vacation (it arrived yesterday). P.S. Mike is engaged. I *did* ask; I mean, I had to, but I figured he'd at least be dating...anyone who follows a woman's directives that well without complaint or questioning...yeah, he's taken.

Anyway, if you ever want to make me cry: send flowers. And you know the totally kick-ass part--this bouquet is freaking gorgeous and not one carnation in the batch--and we all know I hate carnations. You didn't know? Oh.

I hate carnations. They are the flower of death. Can't stand them.

My luggage for the trip probably weighs as much as I do. I pack like Scarlett O'Hara. Although my boss (I adore the man) said, "I had a student once who brought four trunks with her for an overnight trip. The others never let her live it down." I'm not that bad. One big suitcase, one backpack and my purse. I tried to leave some room for souvenirs. I've brought 6 pairs of shoes; 2 pairs of which are flip-flops; 2 are high-heels; 1 pair tennis shoes; 1 pair leather sandals.

Shoes

I like shoes. I’m an all or nothing shoe gal. I have tennis shoes, flip flops and sandals—and then I have kitten heels and CFM pumps. I have one pair of flats but they look like Catholic Girl shoes—so even then, they serve a purpose. I’m always on the lookout for new shoes.

Yesterday I was playing catch up from my Friday Freeday, and this gentleman comes in. We’ll call him Joe. He wants in the program to finish his masters, which by the way he already thinks he was in. In fact, we’ve already had a couple discussions by phone and he’s come to my office to fill out paperwork. I hand him a packet, he proceeds to fill it out at my desk. I start a folder.

“Okay, Joe,” I say. “Now let me explain what your chances are for getting your program finished this semester.”

“They’re good, right?” He’s got a big shit-eating grin on his face.

“Right. Okay, hurdle number one. You have completed 24 hours. You can only bring in 12 hours of non-degree graduate credit….”

“But I didn’t realize I was non-degree. See, it says Grad over here on my transcripts…”

“That’s nice, Joe, but you’re still non-degree. See, next to the grad, it says NON-DEGREE. Okay. Now, this is bad because although all those hours are graduate level, right now, 12 hours are going to be classified as personal enrichment.”

“Yeah, that’s not what I was shooting for.”

“It never is, Joe. So we have to get you backdated.”

“So it can be done?”

“That’s only hurdle one, Joe. Stay with me. You also have to fill out a program of study….”

“Give it to me. I’ll do it now.”

“Yes, but you can’t really fill out the form until you’re in the program. Do you see my catch 22, here? Great.” Gets program form and hands it to him anyway. Might as well. “Fill it out anyway and we’ll proceed. Now the drop-dead date…”

“Drop dead date?”

“Yes, the last date you can turn in a program or you can drop dead—that’s in like two days. And you haven’t taken the graduate exam yet—so right now I have to talk with Dr. Sparrow to see if he’ll let you be conditionally admitted. If so, if all this goes right, you’re looking at a ½ of 1% likelihood of graduating this semester.”

“So there’s a chance? Awesome.” Mr. Optimism smiles. I just start laughing. I like this guy. What can I say?

I shake my head. “You are the one Dr. Sparrow warned me about. He said you’d be a problem. Well, you know what, you’re buying me shoes.” Don’t you like my leaps of logic?

“I’ll buy you whatever you want if you get me in this program. It’ll be worth it.”

“Good, because you’re buying me shoes. You might even be buying me some dinner because shopping is so exhausting.”

“I’ll buy you dinner. Everett’s okay?” Everett’s is one of the most expensive places in town. How nice.

“Of course, Everett’s is.”

“Longhorn has better steak,” he says.

“Yes, yes, it does, and it’s a bit cheaper…no…wait…”

He grins. “Longhorn can get pricey.”

“It can. Actually if we’re doing steak, I vote for G&D, no frills, great steak, and it’s right next to Shoe Carnival. Let me talk with the Grad School, and I’ll emphasize how important it is I get my shoes.” I do, and the Hellion over there laughs at me and says, we can probably do it, if you have the program turned in, etc. Hmmm. He must have worked some magic on her too. Actually I also promised her that he was willing to buy her shoes as well. She said she wore an 8 ½ or a 9, and she preferred a nice heel. I said, “I love heels myself. I think that will be the way to go.” I get off the phone. “Okay, Joe, we’re willing to work for shoes. Where’s my statement.”

“What statement?”

“This one.” I point to a question on the form. “You were supposed to write me a statement. I don’t even care what it says. It’s not going to matter. You have a 4.0 in everything anyway; we know you can write, which is why they make you write the statement to begin with…just write something down so I can mark it off my list.”

He laughs again. “You’re so funny.”

“Of course, I am. I’m in a good mood because I’m getting new shoes.” So he fills out his statement, his program, and around 5 pm, he trots back in my office because he can’t get the online website I sent him to to work. I sit him at my desk, pull up the site, and have him fill out the other form he needs. I sit at my desk, prop up my feet, and read my Ranger book. Joe finds this the height of amusing.

Dr. Sparrow came in this morning and laughs at me. “Joe is the ultimate procrastinator.”

“Yes, but he’s buying me shoes.” Four inch FMPs if I have anything to say about it. And I have a good idea who I’d first strut them off for too…and it won’t be Joe. Or Booty Call in Ohio. Or even Southern Boy.

So are you a shoe slut too? What are your favorite pair of shoes and why? My faves are a pair of 4 ½ inch red strappy heels. Total badass, total hellion shoes. (I need to find a skirt to wear with them. That’s my other mission in life is to find a skirt that will go with these shoes. And boy, when I do….)