Weather-ed

I was chatting with a friend about these fine Irish gentlemen last night and now I feel like sharing. These are pictures from a few years back but I think their faces are pretty timeless. A little warmth on a cold-ass day.

Waiting

So far it's been a lot of this:

And this (even though it's pretty):

But I am ready for this:

Soon. Or bad things might happen.

Ew

Who invented nail clippers on a key chain? Who are you? Show yourself! You, friend, are a menace to society.

Hear ye Hear ye.
Public Service Announcement. Everyone listen up!

There is absolutely no reason why anyone should be clipping their nails in public, therefore there is no reason why your keys and your nail clippers should be attached. Period. You hear me boys? NO. PERIOD.

Also, there is not a woman on earth that disagrees with me. So think about that next time you're checking out some pretty young thing waiting for the train while you're dropping your nail clippings all over the platform. What was that you said? She didn't look up from her book so she doesn't know its you? Oh yes she does. She can hear it. That Sound. Click. Click. Click. And she knows its you. We always know. That girl will never sleep with you. Ever.

The subway is sad and gross enough. Stop making it worse please. Thanks.

Velvet Rope

Golden Rule.  Do unto others.  

I try.  I really do.

And so I made a choice, and I walked backwards through two years of dank, smelly tunnels and opened the door again.  And I forgave.

And it blew up in my face.

There's a lot of fear and pain down there.  And it bred a desperate, violent sort of recklessness.  But I get it.  And it never scared me. Still doesn't.  In fact, I know how to deal with it, and there was time when I was reveled in the thought of dealing with it, well, forever, I guess.  But a light went out and I can't turn it back on.  I totally believe that I was hearing the truth.  That there was a revelation.  You get it now.  But it's too late.  So.  It kills me, but I'm done.  I have to be.  

Right words, wrong face.  That's all I could think while I was speeding up the west side highway in the back of a cab.  Right words.  Deadly accurate.  Wrong eyes.  Wrong voice.  Throw something.  Shout.  Cry.  Smoke a slow stale cigarette.  Shrug it off.   

Flack

I've been getting a lot of crap from people regarding my top 5 friends post.  Seems that it strikes a nerve for folks.  

Let me first apologize to those of you who thought we were super close besties, and have now learned that we aren't.  Sorry.  Yes, I'm a little mean.  But I tell the truth.  Doesn't mean I don't like you.  Just means you're on the B-list.  That's not a bad place to be.  It's pretty sweet actually.  We hang out, we laugh, we smile, and you don't have to deal with anything real or important.  It's like a temp job.  Oh come on...if you really stop and think about it, I bet I'm on your B-list too.  

Lots of you are very interested in defining "real friend".  It runs a pretty wide spectrum: Remembered birthdays.  The people you would call for bail if you found yourself in jail in Indiana. Those who might drop everything to weep by your bedside if you were in a coma.  And I have to say (and I'm not just tooting my own horn here) no matter the severity, when pressed to think within their own guidelines, most of these definition seekers could not come up with more than 5 names (sometimes even fewer).

Let's do my favorite thing- make an argument more complicated:

How about soul mates?  How many of those should we have?  1?  Lord I hope not.  In fact, I have an alternate proposal.  What if it has nothing to do with gooey-sugar-coated-love stuff? With the other half/hole in your soul/incomplete package crap we are all sold every time Valentine's day rolls around?  The dictionary definition of soul mate is "a person with whom one has a strong affinity".  Affinity.  Great word. Natural liking.  Feeling of kinship.  An inherent similarity between persons or things.  What if a soul mate is simply someone who gets you?  Really gets you; without judgement; without fear, and without even trying.  In that case, we definitely have more than one soul mate out there.  How comforting are those odds?  

So.  There's my definition.  Don't judge me when I screw up, and don't fear me when I'm furious. Believe that through all the bullshit, I'll come out right on the other side.  Always tell me the truth and always be ready to hear the truth.  Care outside of yourself .  Make my world a better place just by existing and being the badass friend you were born to be.  I'll do the same for you.  I will love you fiercely and without end, no matter what you do.  

I promise.   I have to.  You're my soul mate.  

Actuador

A man named M. Gary Neuman has written a book about infidelity.  He researched.  He interviewed hundreds of men.  And, in brief, here's what he found out:

• 1 in 2.7 married men have cheated, or will cheat.
  
• 92% of men said it wasn't primarily about sex.  Most sighted insecurity and a need to feel "more appreciated"
  
• 88% of men said that the other woman was not necessarily better looking or in better shape than their wives, but rather that the attraction was simply to something "different".
  
• Only 7% of men confessed to cheating without being asked, and 48% deny it until they are confronted with irrefutable evidence

Ladies.  Listen closely:

1 in 2.7.  

Think about that.  Do the math.  Think about all the times you smugly looked down your nose at your single friends and wished we could just settle down and be as blissfully happy as you are.  

Then give me a call.  Drinks are on me.  

No room at the table

Why are friends so few and far between?  At a party on a Saturday night a few weeks ago I whittled my list down to a very small number.  It was horribly sad and I got horribly drunk.  And then a few days ago, it happened again and the list got even smaller.  But at least now I know where I stand.  Trusting humans is such a risk.  We give up so much and then it is so easy to throw it away.  The older I get the more I am wary of new friends.  Who are you?  Why me? Should I listen to your stories...and when I listen, I really listen...because you might turn out to suck, and then I've wasted all that time.  Life is short babe.  I want my hours back.  

My magic number is 5.  Just barely a handful.  What's yours?