Thursday, March 5, 2015

how to survive the death of a friendship.

it's like taking a motherfucking bullet. worse than the cancellation of your favorite tv show, worse than a heart-shattering romantical breakup, kicking your icecreamcryingpajamafriend to the curb (or finding yourself choking on gutter water because she's sick of you and your shit) is the most painful thing a girl could ever go through, and i'm an orphan who has tried to remove her own skin tags with dental floss. i know from severe emotional and physical pain. and i know what you're thinking, "WHO WOULD EVER WANT TO STOP BEING YOUR FRIEND, SAM" and the answer is: three or four dummies i had to search through my gmail contacts to delete because i got hacked and the thought of spamming that one jerkface with phony weight loss URLs and uncashed nigerian royalty checks was motherfucking excruciating. i couldn't let her know that my password choice was weak, I AM TRYING TO BE THE WINNER OF THIS BREAKUP. because i'm petty.

i'm not even really sure that "getting over it" is something i'm even good at yet. my friendships are too goddamn important for me to just shrug and walk away and erase them from my mind forever. i'm proud to say that despite my shitty disposition i haven't lost very many friends, so i haven't had a lot of practice going through these motions and turning up cured and happy on the other side. frankly, i might be kind of crappy at this. and i don't know whether or not it's healthy to be good at it? i've gotten over romantic relationships in the time it takes to get that tricky plastic ring off the lid of a pint of ben and jerry's, but i still wake up in the middle of the night haunted by that one person who doesn't speak to me any more because of the thing i didn't mean to do but couldn't convince him of otherwise. I AM STILL VERY SORRY, STEVE.

a couple days ago i was scrolling through the cemetery that is my linkedin profile when a skeleton clawed its way out of the shallow grave i'd buried it in and was like, "CONGRATULATE ME ON MY PROMOTION, YOU BITCH." first of all, what is linkedin really for. i've been at the same job for almost thirteen years and all my motherfucking endorsements are the same as your 8th grade sister's: "good at social media!" "knows how to make columns in microsoft excel!!" (kind of) "can make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich while texting!!!" i only have that shit so i can look at all the lies bitches i went to high school with are telling. anyway, i was surprised that the skeleton hadn't wiped me clean from all of her internet platforms. that asshole must really want me to know that red lobster has no glass ceiling. "good for you, whore," i mumbled to myself as my mouse hovered over the remove connection button. and then i felt sad.

sometimes the shit is a relief, like when those convenience friendships you make on the job where you hope that bitch quits or gets fired before you have to figure out how to tactfully leave her off the invite list for your baby shower dissipate when she suddenly has to move out of state. and other times it feels fucking amazing, like when you get to charge a particularly egregious bitch to the game in a spectacular goddamned way after she's wronged you. but mostly it's just HELLA AWKWARD, like when you ghost after an unresolved text fight or block a bitch on facebook while hoping that she knows you get custody of that brunch spot with those bourbon drinks.

you could think about apologizing, but i don't. because forgiveness is a slippery slope into indentured servitude and man fuck that. if you fucked up, say sorry like you mean it and hope for the best. just be ready for her to tell you to hit the goddamn bricks. and if she does? pack your shit and get the fuck out. but if she toys with you and makes you beg while she "thinks about it" and you dangle at the end of her rope you gotta bail on that, too. remember that one dude you took back after he fucked your sister and stole thirty bucks out of your pants in the middle of the night? for the next [insert laughably short amount of time here] it took him to fuck up again, i know what you did: BROUGHT THAT SHIT UP EVERY CHANCE YOU GODDAMN GOT. that's what i would do.
bruh: "i can't pay for dinner."
sam: "but remember that time you cheated?"
bruh: "i'm too tired to bang you." 
sam: "but remember that time you cheated?"
bruh: "i'll take the garbage out tomorrow." 
sam: "but remember that time you cheated?"
bruh: "i'm sorry, boo. i cheated again." 
sam: "BUT REMEMBER THAT OTHER TIME YOU CHEATED!?"

not me, homie. i refuse to spend friendship 2.0 curtsying and paying for all the snacks. either we retreat to our respective corners to lick our wounds for a week then forget all about it, or we set it on fire and move on. i'm for real trying to have my life be like steel magnolias, but people are shit and life is terrible and sometimes it just doesn't work out the way i want it to. here's how i cope:

1 you get one day to be the heidi montag to her lauren conrad. this is hard with ladyfriends since, because they aren't shitty, emotionally reckless dudes, i tend to be more generous with the benefit of the doubt when they do some greasy shit to me. i'm more likely to torment myself for hours on end wondering what i did wrong and how i could've made it better. when i get dumped by a dude it's like, "okay: small dick, didn't go to high school, one of his car doors is a different color than the others, made fun of me for trying to get into green juice, couldn't pronounce nuclear, always snickered when he referred to wednesday as 'humpday,' balding." but with my homies it's like, "um...enviable lipstick collection, killer taste in music, always knows the best happy hour on any given night, SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME WHAT I DID TO FUCK THIS RELATIONSHIP UP." 

usually it's nothing. you've grown apart, you're making different choices, you're team adam and she's team christina, WHATEVER. even if you did something horrible and malicious how long do you have to beat yourself up for? i say one goddamned day. then you gotta let it go. she's 50 cent, you're young buck, life goes on.

2 don't talk public shit about her to your mutual friends. your tried and true soldiers? BY ALL MEANS, especially if you can devise some sort of litmus test to ensure that they are actually on your side. you don't need any double agents snitching on your hurt feelings. you're trying to look like a g. that one bitch you know just asked you to lunch to try to get you to skulldrag your old roommate so she could post everything you say on twitter? you better stop by the corner store on your way to brunch and grab a new york times or something. you are going to need some current events, sister. you gotta have those cat reflexes ready to deflect even the most innocent-seeming name drop or personal inquiry. it's a trap, b. DO NOT ENGAGE.
her: "hey, did you hear [evil bitchface from hell] got engaged to that ugly guy?"
your ass: "hey, did you hear what benjamin netanyahu said yesterday?"
AWKWARD PAUSE. then start digging in your salad like there's buried treasure at the bottom of it because you don't know shit about world politics. but that bitch doesn't read! eventually she'll get the hint and bring the conversation back around gel manicures or bruno mars or whatever it is young people talk about and then you dudes are all good.

3 unfollow her insta. in twenty years i'ma read this old shit and be like, "unfollow her what the what!?" while adjusting my moon goggles, but until then SORRY BITCH BUT I MUST REMOVE YOU FROM MY NEWSFEED. here are two things that you won't anticipate happening but totally will: 1 the sight of her face is going to make you want to throw up every fucking time you see it and 2 even the smallest of her life's accomplishments will mock you endlessly until some dummy you went to high school with starts reposting that privacy warning that rears its ugly head and clogs up the newsfeed every few months. just block her already. her poorly-lit selfies are of no interest to you anymore.

4 call that one broad you've been meaning to chill with. i am not an "other fish in the sea" type of person. like, if your romantical partner tells you to kick rocks in a real bogus way, i'm the one you want to call to 1 wingman a bad choice for your vagina down at the local watering hole or 2 strip the gears on that motherfucker's car and put dog shit in his mailbox. want a pep talk about how your soulmate is still out there? you probably have a mom for that. need help faking a pregnancy and tricking dude out of a few bucks? i'm already in an uber, sister. BE THERE IN TEN. so i'm not going to lie to you and tell you there's another rainbow out there with with your next best friend sitting underneath it. because there probably isn't. plus you're feeling all touchy and betrayed anyway, and who needs empty platitudes when there are skinny girl pina coladas to be consumed? which is why you should holler at that one broad who keeps instant messaging you on facebook to make plans. stop ignoring her, she could be just the distraction you need. ol' girl was pretty cool in high school, right? from what you can remember!? she never hit on your boyfriend and she let you cheat off her biology final in sophomore year, why not buy her a beer and project all of your newfound rage and insecurity onto her! relationships have been built on less, trust me.

5 juice that lemon. the beautifullest thing about friendships past is that you know all about how silly motherfuckers are in real life, and those are stories you can use to entertain yourself once they've shown you the goddamned door and you're alone in your crib crocheting an afghan out of cat hair while watching every episode of girlfriends you can find on netflix. the hardest thing about being a good friend, for me, is biting my tongue while my friends do and say the stupidest shit ever. have you ever had to keep a straight face while pretending the woman across the table from you is a smart, rational human being as she describes why the items she found while digging through her boyfriend's trash have led her to believe he's cheating on her with a co-worker? no!? WELL I FUCKING HAVE. i basically had to superglue my eyes to keep them from rolling into the back of my head. i've also sat in a car outside an empty apartment building with binoculars trying to catch a friend's cheating lover, because it's what one does when one is a good friend. (turns out we were on the wrong street but whatever.) everyone is dumb and terrible. what was desperate and sad a few years ago is now a hilarious story to tell at cocktail parties. thank you, ex-BFF! at the time i didn't judge that gay man you were talking about getting engaged to, madam, but now that you've dismissed me and i'm the life of the party BAHAHAHAHAHAHA THAT DUDE HAD A BOYFRIEND.

6 be cute at all times and never go to any places you might run into that bitch. a dude is not going to notice your recent experimentation with turquoise eyeliner and harem pants, friend. but you know who will? the one woman in town who has seen your natural hair color. and, unfortunately for you, YOU GUYS AREN'T SPEAKING ANYMORE. remember what i said about custody of brunch? unless you can be sure she will never crave that brisket hash ever again, find a new goddamn spot. 99% of the time i'm sure that your cruel god hates my guts, except for that 1% of the time little baby jesus spends protecting me from running into any of my enemies in awkward public spaces. even though chicago is the largest incestuous small town on the map, i have been fortunate to never have been stuck on a subway car or at a sporting event with anyone i had to pretend not to notice. that shit is exhausting. which is why this frienddeath is the perfect opportunity for you to get out and see some new shit. take that new haircut to a neighborhood you know that bitch would never go to. oh, you're into orange lipstick now? GOOD, why not show it off at the cupcake emporium (that's a thing, right young people?) or at the reggae spot? take this opportunity to explore new surroundings and play with your look and maybe even reinvent your goddamned self, all while trolling for a new best friend who accepts your newfound interest in art and won't remind you every five minutes of that time you peed yourself in the fourth grade.

7 it's okay to be sad sometimes. even years later. a song will come on the radio or something hilarious will happen and you're going to pause mid-text and feel like shit for thirty seconds. it sucks, man. thank god you now have cool hair.