I'd like to think that I've cultivated the kind of friendships that don't result in backstabbing. The few women I've called close friends are confident, independent ladies who are too concerned with what makes them happy to bother trampling on what I've built, just for sport.
And these patterns didn't happen by accident. Growing up, I was never the kind of girl who dated my best friend's castaways. Even just telling me you had a crush on him was enough for me to avert my gaze. I was a loyal, devoted best friend and, I can honestly say, the only one in my group who never had a crush on Matt. (It helped that he smoked cigarettes and had the same name as one of my big brothers, but still--gaze averted!)
I remember it was a Thursday--ok, I didn't actually remember, I figured it was a Tuesday but I just checked the date on the email and a Thursday it was-- or as I'll be choosing to remember it hence forth: August 30th 2012, a turd day.
|Never could get the hang of turd days.|
Of all the Brutis' that had ever Judased the accent grave kid, I really thought Rhi was on my team straight on into the apocalypse. She read a poem at my wedding. Introduced me to Harry Potter. Watched all three Lord of the Rings movies with me and laughed at almost all my insinuations to the homoeroticism. She sang a Tool song for me the first time we hung out. Spent a whole summer living at my house on Cape Cod. We catered together. No, run that tape back, we literally danced until September. She would add salt to the ketchup for our fries----fuckin jeen-yus, ked.
Every time I get back to where she's living, it's like no time has passed at all.
This is the most broken hearted I've ever been.
I mean, she has been my best friend since I was 14 years old. I met her my first day of high school out by a bunch of bushes where she was smoking a cigarette. She was a sophomore with long auburn hair and horn-rimmed glasses, plus the camouflage tights she was wearing clashed perfectly with our catholic school girl uniform. Granted, I made fun of her to try and impress a fellow freshmen...um, yeah...it went exactly like this:
Anyway, we joined Art club that year and Drama club too, and as a joke, we even joined the Spirit club. Mad at her as I am, I gotta admit that Rhi was the coooooolest. She introduced me to so many great local bands and had more Nirvana shirts than even Paul. Before I knew it, I was going over her house every night after school so I could stare sidelong at her brother as he played video games next to me.
|And then I played this song and felt better about myself|
Scully wasn't and Rhi wasn't either. When Fox eye-banged his partner in the same episode I didn't even get jealous. I knew his intentions were pure.
Basically, I only stopped watching the X-files because I realized I wanted two fictional characters to kiss and love each other and make babies and also meet aliens. Which is fine thing to think quietly to yourself but not terribly wise to spew in teenage tones at your parents during commercial breaks.
|She's never moving out, is she.|
She was making out with Paul. Yes. She has been with Paul since the year I met her and now they're getting married.
Back in the day, I would call her all the time to see if she wanted to hangout but no, she was busy making out with Paul. Who was I making out with? None of your business. Not Paul though. And not Fox Mulder either. So it hardly seems fair that she should get both. (Also, for the record I was likely watching Pokemon.)
She should stay away from Mulder and be happy that Paul makes great sauce, drums like a beast and puts up with the fact that she's trying to gank my main jump off. Look, I get it--Paul's not perfect--he doesn't want to read Harry Potter, he won't even let you name your dogs after Lily and James (for this I am not sorry) but neither would Mulder. You're living in a fantasy world Rhi, Fox is totally not even a dog person. Face it--the boy is mine.