I have always been good at making friends. Ever since school began, I have always had gaggles of friends. For crying out loud, my grandma still talks about Grandparents’ Day when I was in third grade and was BFFs with every little girl no matter how much she looked like a ragamuffin.
I do have to say, I am now much more picky about my posse, but I still have lots of friends. I have rules with friends: they must be pretty and they must be funny/get my sense of humor. I don’t go whoring my friendship around. This is a priceless commodity people.
There are plenty of people I consider “friends” that aren’t exactly spectacular. But those are friends by default. What I’m talking about are people who you just know upon the first couple minutes of your interaction that you’re going to be friends. It’s almost like you’re on a date. Instantly your gabbing about your inner quirks, sex lives, secrets, dancing to the Cupid Shuffle, etc. You just know.
But, I guess my point, being the horrendous dater I am, is why can’t actual dating be this easy. I would rather gnaw off three toes than be completely myself with a guy that fast. As soon as testosterone hits the room it’s like my inner dating representative comes out to play. There’s no mention of sex (not classy). I all of a sudden cook every night, have a gym membership and only listen to Led Zeppelin. When in reality: macaroni and cheese instructions send me into a panic, I had a membership at the Y for like two months because it was free and went twice three years ago and my iPod is full of gangster rap and bubblegum pop music.
The funniest part of it all is I am willing to give pretty much any thing with a pulse and a penis a fair shot at love. If I won’t even do that with my friendship, why am I so willing to do that with my heart? I guess my inner spinster/grandma bubbles to the surface whispering you’re going to die alone and your cats are going to eat your body and nobody is going to care…and I, naturally, grasp at straws.
I say all of this like I’m a sideshow, but I actually am well aware I am not the only one with this problem. There are millions of relationships that start this way. I would even venture to say all of my friends’ relationships started all Leave it to Beaver and then after two months they let the act fall to the wayside. But, who has that kind of patience? Or better yet, who has that much faith? Really, if I’m lying about my love of the oven, what is he lying about? It’s like that complex cheaters get that they immediately assume their spouse is cheating and become psychotic and dig through their belongings searching for a clue just because they are dishonest.
I guess there’s no solution but to just jump in with my freak flag flying and hope that there’s someone out there who’s quirks (defects?) match mine.