Howdy. Um….I’m Drew. Let’s see…..apparently I will be your ‘Guest Blogger’ this evening. I…well...shit, I don’t know how to do this, I can’t keep my own blog updated, let alone write for someone else’s. Why the frak does Lauren want me to do this again? Is she torturing me? Is she finally getting me back for all those times I bailed on her when she lived in San Diego? Or maybe she’s a closet masochist, and sits at home twirling her proverbial moustache as she watches others squirm when they’re put in situations that they find terribly uncomfortable. Isn’t that what Chatroulette is for? Should I take my dick out?
Oh yeah, it’s cause she has this really annoying quality, where she always thinks of other people first. And wants all 200 + of her followers to read my pathetic and post-starved blog (he says with a green-eyed monster looking over his shoulder). What a damn saint she is.
So what the hell do I write about? Should I slam her? Should I talk about how incredibly mediocre the guys she used to date were? Or maybe about that time when the guy she thought was hot at the club completely ignored her and ended up grinding on the dance floor with her mother? Or that time when I came home to find her jilling-off to a photo of Jeremy Piven , with some sad sack Dave Matthews song on repeat in the background? Ok, that last one didn’t actually happen, but trust me, it very easily could have - she has ‘interesting’ tastes.
No, I don’t want to rip her a new one; Piven probably already took care of that in her deranged little fantasy anyway. Maybe I should blow all kindsa smoke up her ass, and tell you all just how much she means to me. Or how she is the one friend that knows every single disappointing thing that I have done in the last four years, and has never truly judged me for any of them. Or how I absolutely respect and take to heart every one of her opinions, even if they make me want to regress back to my childhood, when I used to hide in my closet and pretend that my parents couldn’t find me, and would be SO SORRY that they upset their little boy enough to run away from home.
Nope, not gonna do that either. Instead, I will use my feelings for my…oh dear lord in heaven how much do I hate typing these three letters…BFF to rune about how your definition of the word ‘friendship’ changes after turning 30. It’s true, think about what that word meant to you in grade school. Your best friends were the ones who you bonded with on the playground, when the one and only quality they needed to possess was the desire to hang out with you the next time.
Then in high school, things changed. Those friends you literally grew up with, well let’s face it, if they didn’t fit into your social circle, they got dropped. Sure, you may have recently reconnected with them on Facebook, but now they have kids and 401K’s and front-butts. No, in high school you didn’t even have to fucking like the people you hung out with, as long as you got to go to the right parties and you looked cool sitting with them at the food court at the mall.
Then came college, and you, ahem, found yourself. You were enlightened, and you dropped all those immature high school tendencies in order to spend your time watching independent flicks, listening to Bob Marley, and honestly justifying not going to class because your roommate just made the most amazing bong out of an antique World War II mortar shell. Alright, maybe that was just me, but your friendships then were a matter of circumstance – it was all about who fit well with whoever the fuck YOU were that particular semester.
Post-college – here is where you truly started making/keeping friends who at least had a chance of staying with you for the rest of your life. For me, I had different groups. Group A - they already had their life figured out (fuckers), and who I had dinner with twice a year outside of the obligatory monthly phone call. Then there was Group B, those who fit into my same situation – single, horny, and willing to get drunk and pontificate on how those people from Group A were wasting the best years of their life by settling down and making families, when they could be out traveling and seeing the world (I made it to the Bahamas once, my one and only time outside the continental United States). And then Group C, my drinking buddies – guys and girls who knew the exact the moment to pull me off the girl who I should NOT be going home with, even if she is the only chick left after last call who didn’t have a lazy eye or smell ever so faintly of cheese. Shit, I’m projecting again aren’t I?
So now that I’m (cough) 32 years of age, I thank whatever deity exists over my head for the buds I have now. Cause they represent either the best parts of myself, or the worst. I have no problem admitting that I need both. Despite the fact that they are all getting married and having kids, or finding that one special someone who they can finally relate to, or being blindly focused on their careers when I am at home drinking and watching Tombstone for the 397th time – they are here to stay. I am who I am now, and if anyone of them ever left me, a little part of me would die inside.
So here’s to friends like Laurnie Dubbs – I love you, babe. We don’t see each other as much these days, cause you have found someone who makes you truly happy (and I actually LIKE him, and am completely at peace relegating MY time to him). But you are the very definition of a friend, in my eyes. To all of you reading this, continue to follow her blog. Because she is the best version of herself these days – happy and focused on her own life, all while still thinking of everyone around her, simultaneously. She has shit to say, and I couldn’t be more proud of her for putting it out there as poignantly and often as she does. Way to go Four-Eyes.
Fuck, I went and did it didn’t I? I totally blew smoke up her ass! Damn you woman!
Be good kids. Keep your friends close, and no one closer.