What makes a good friend

A friend of mine (who shall remain nameless, but I think you know who you are) once asked me how he could be a better friend. He was/is notorious for being a little flakey, so that was really the only thing I could think of to tell him: quit being so flakey. But I was thinking about it this morning, and I have revised my answer.

There is the sort of common sense, Golden Rule, "Do unto others" philosophy, but I would take it a step further. I'll use the friend I was talking about for my example. With this particular friend, I think I can safely say that he considers me a really good friend. Why? Because that's how I treat him. I don't think that at any point he could say he doubts whether I am his friend or not because the actions and words and what-have-you that are directed at him make him feel like he is important to me and that I care about his well-being. Now, how does he make himself a better friend? Treat ME the same way! That's all there is to it! The more instances that I question how much he values the friendship, the less I feel like I am important to him. Why would a person who feels like they're important to me treat me with an imbalance of priority? Well, there is a degree of selfishness to this, but there is also just laziness. Friendship, like any other relationship, requires effort. The more effort one puts into it, the more you'll get out of it. You'd think diminishing returns would have bitten me in the ass a long time ago, but eh. I try not to let someone else determine my level of contribution to any relationship. That's called being passive aggressive and it's unnecessary, not to mention reeeally annoying.



So..... in short, to be a better friend... be a better friend.


(This kind of turned into a giant bitchfest, and I didn't intend for it to do that. Oh well. I'm going to post it anyway. So there!)


Bah! And in searching for a picture to go with this, I am reminded of THIS bit of genius which, somewhat ironically, fits better than I'd usually admit.



BIRDIES!

Why I'm Single (by Lemmonex)

Ok, so Lemmonex's post I read today is just about the best thing ever. Enjoy:


Hating animals and the outdoors has rendered me undateable.

If you are a single woman, you know what exactly what I am talking about. The dating landscape is so mired with cliches, down right predictable that I can practically peg what a guy is going to say on a first date (or in his online dating profile…yes, I dabble online) before I even meet him.

Single men love the outdoors. They want someone to go camping with and who enjoys the fresh air. It is an “essential”. Am I a crazy shut in? No, but camping ranks right below a colonic on things I want to have happen to me. Yes, camping happens to people. If someone wants to chase me around a god damn tipi in the woods to fulfill their Pocohontas fantasy, I am game but I sure as shit am not squatting in a hole on the regular. I don’t want to hike. This is why I live in a major metropolitan area.

And dogs! Men and their dogs. THEY LOVE THEIR DOGS. ”You have to love my dog”, they will say. Ya know what, dude? I may like your dog, I more likely will tolerate it and I might even fucking hate it. They show you pictures of their dog, expecting you to cream yourself. They tell you cutesey stories waiting for a hearty laugh. I have a heart and have loved some canines, but this is not the way to this girls heart. Show me a picture of your flat screen TV or your niece. Shit, show me a picture of the Guatamalan orphan you sponsor. This is way more likely to get me wet. I recently had a guy tell me his 5 year plan included owning an awesome dog. SO, let me get this straight…your goal is to be a cliche, but you are not even there yet.

And dudes who love cats? No thanks. I like my men with a penis, please.

They all say “I am just your average guy”. I don’t want average and I do not want to date someone who so easily bows down to the alter of average. God knows no one is truly special, we are never as unique as we think we are, but please try. Give me something, anything. And you hipsters who name bands I have never heard of or who tell tales of spending summers in Nepal washing the feet of the elderly? You are just as average, just as boring. An average guy takes off his khakis, fucks me missionary, drives me to the Olive Garden in his Ford Focus and sends me red roses the next day.

Maybe I am single because I am a judgmental bitch. Maybe I should hug a tree and a dog. Perhaps I should embrace the comfort of breadsticks and sensible fashion. But I can’t, I just can’t. Call me tough, call me rigid, call me undateable. I don’t care. Give me leather, give me the city, give me a steak, give me something new.

All Will Be Well

- I have a whole blog about changing and new leaves and whatnot that I am really excited to write about but just can't write today because all of this other garbage happened. The changey-change blog will come down the pipeline next week probably (as this weekend is occupied primarily by learning Elvira in Don Giovanni before rehearsals start on Monday. EEK. -

Well, today started relatively normally, but it cascaded downward until lunchtime when I applied for a private collegiate loan to pay for this semester (since my school didn't have money for me [which baffles me, but what are you going to do]) and I was pre-denied. Not just regular denied, but pre-denied. Thanks a lot. I didn't want to finish school, anyway. So I went to the school to actually talk to some people and basically, I have no options to get help from anywhere. I will just have to pay for the semester as it happens (which will be ridiculously difficult). I am literally signed up for 1 credit hour because all I have to do is write my paper and do my recital. This whole business is WHOA frustrating.

Blech. I am sort of feeling like this:



garfield minus garfield


But I have to tell you all of that mess so I can tell you the story of right after I got in the car to go to lunch. (Warning: We're about to get a little Jesus-y)

At this point in my day, I had applied, been pre-denied, was on my way to the bank to deposit a paycheck (that is basically already gone to bills) and then go to the school to address my situation. This is one of those times that I am not really as worried as I should be about my personal impending doom. I get into the car and my CD player picks up right where it left off when I got to work. This song:


All Will Be Well - Gabe Dixon Band


...

All will be well.
Even after all the promises you’ve broken to yourself,
All will be well.
You can ask Me how but only time will tell.

The winter’s cold,
But the snow still lightly settles on the trees.
And a mess is still a moment I can seize until I know,
That all will be well.
Even though sometimes this is hard to tell,
And the fight is just as frustrating as hell
All will be well.

All the children walking home past the factories,
Could see the light that’s shining in My window as I write this song to you.
All the cars running fast along the interstate
Can feel the love that radiates
Illuminating what I know is true
All will be well.
Even after all the promises you’ve broken to yourself
All will be well.
You can ask Me how but only time will tell.

Keep it up and don’t give up
And chase your dreams and you will find
All in time.

...


Full lyrics here

It started in the middle of the song, so I only wrote down the lyrics I heard from the time I left the parking lot at work to when I turned off the car at the bank. I also added some capitalization because at that moment, it wasn't an ambiguously hopeful song for me. This was literally something God was saying to me. It sounds kind of out there and spiritual-y, but I really believe that. How else could such a perfectly worded promise audibly speak to me at exactly the moment I needed it to? I mean, the CD started at exactly the most perfect spot in the song. Say what you will about coincidence and yada yada, but that's my God. The God that lets me do incredibly stupid and irresponsible crap just so I won't do it anymore (because He totally knows just keeping me from doing it in the first place will never allow me to learn to be a big kid). The God who helps me in little ways so I can help myself in big ways. The God who sometimes says what he needs to say to me through my car CD player. My God is hilarious, clearly, and draws inspiration from any and everything (*cough cough* Transformers *cough* [He also appreciates that I am a big nerd])


That's my God, alright. He's a funny Guy, sometimes, and He's got this whole wacky (read: awful) situation (among many MANY other things) under control. So I'm just going to let Him get this one. He would, anyway, but it makes me feel better when I know I don't have to worry about it.