You may or may not remember this, but I mentioned awhile back that our best friends were moving to Georgia because my best friend’s husband, Señor Tiny Junk, is a teat-suckling man-child who needed to move closer to his milk supply.
If you don’t remember me mentioning this, couple things. One, if you read all of my posts, you should get checked for early-onset Alzheimer’s. Two, if you don’t read all of my posts, then you aren’t nearly as dedicated to me as you should be. Kind of ticks me off.
Well, Audrey Hepburn and Señor Tiny Junk moved to Georgia in January. We gave them a fabulous going-away party. And by “fabulous” I mean sucky. But we meant for it to be sucky.
Audrey Hepburn is all about classy parties with fancy dessert tables, color-coordinated party banners made with a Cricut and thematic tablescapes. (Thank you, Sandra Lee. You may suck at all things cooking but you’re pretty to look at and you gave me a word I like to use, unlike that hack Rachael Ray who gave us EVOO, but every time she says EVOO, she then says Extra Virgin Olive Oil so that we understand what she’s talking about and really she’s just wasting everyone’s time.)
Anyway, Audrey Hepburn likes class, so my other friend (Yes, I literally have two friends. Shut up.) and I threw the Hepburn/Tiny Junk family a classless going-away party. We used paper plates, and not the nice paper plates like Chinet. We used the cheapest, flimsiest paper plates money couldn’t buy. I can’t even guarantee that they were clean. We used leftover napkins that I had in my pantry from Chik-Fil-A. Also potentially used.
I made a crap ton of junky, preservative-filled food because it’s just what Audrey Hepburn hates. And I made food labels. But when you’re trying to demonstrate your displeasure regarding someone’s move, this is what your labels look like:
Here’s a picture of the tablescape:
The very non-Cricut banner:
Since that time I have made no new friends. Making friends is incredibly difficult when you’re a 40-year-old introvert who never leaves the house. The fact that I’m not very friendly also doesn’t help.
And it’s even more difficult to make friends with a couple that both spouses like. Usually I make a friend and VSM finds the husband to be a tool, or he makes a friend and I won’t like the wife because, I don’t know, she says “yummy” a lot.
We actually do have one other set of friends, a husband and wife with three boys, but they’ve lived here their whole lives and have tons of friends and family, so they need us way less than we need them.
I recently met the woman who moved into the Hepburn/Tiny Junk house, and I instantly knew she and I wouldn’t be close friends.
My mother, who happened to be visiting at the time, said, “How can you tell so quickly that you won’t like her enough to be close friends with her?”
I said, “I can tell within three minutes of meeting you if I like you enough to want to get to know you better. You, Mom, are just lucky I was a baby and therefore incapable of forming opinions when I met you.”
I’m kidding. I love my mother.
But while I’m sure this new neighbor is an absolutely likeable woman, I did know within three minutes that I wasn’t going to be close friends with her because in that initial three-minute period she made sure to tell me that her husband is the manager of something. I don’t remember what he is a manager of. Probably a porta-potty cleaning company, but she was bragging like he runs a small country.
I felt like saying, “Yeah, well Virginia Slims Man is a boxer-short wearing, narcoleptic business owner whose snores could guide ships into harbor in a thick fog, but you don’t hear me bragging.”
Then she asked, “Is The Good One in the gifted and talented program at school? My son is in the gifted and talented program at school.”
“No, The Good One is not in the gifted and talented program. He thinks that the largest chain of barrier islands in the United States exists somewhere in the completely landlocked Midwest.”
Sadly, that’s a true story.
So basically my problem with her is this: She presents with her crazy. You need to hold some of that crap back so that people don’t flee. When you meet me, it’ll take a good couple of months before you realize that an argument could be made for my being institutionalized, but by then you’ll be so sucked in that fleeing won’t be possible and the only way to escape me will be to move to a different state. That’s how you make lifelong friends.
Anyway, that’s where I stand right now.
Still only have two friends: one here, one far away.
On the upside, I’m just as popular as I was in high school.