You can make us go, but you can't make us care

In a few weeks we'll be visiting casual acquaintances who had a baby a few months ago. I describe them as such because I reserve the term friend for someone I rely on, and I wouldn't ask these people for a nickle. We tried to get something going a few weeks ago, but severe illness overtook our household so we had to cancel. Spouse was truly uninterested in rescheduling, although reluctantly agreed it was part of normal social protocol to go over and examine the baby, make a few remarks about "how cute" and get the hell out. Our current record is 55 minutes. We're looking to try and break that with this visit. The first step to doing that was to nix the idea of us coming for dinner. They offered take out because they're so busy with the new baby! We can eat takeout at home. I parried with the option of a mid-afternoon visit, clear that food should not be involved. They countered with a family party; we pushed it out two weeks. And so we're settled on a date, but I'm hopeful for a snowstorm. And I hate shoveling.

Enough!

Last night, in a fit of irritation, I disabled my Facebook account. I had received yet another friend request from someone in my spouse's former social circle and hit my limit. Spouse has decided that the old circle of friends isn't putting forth the effort, so he won't either, and both of us agreed that the request was a fishing expedition. I immediately unfriended and blocked the four people from the group I had been friends with, and because my rage was unabated, disabled the account. (I had also seen "The Social Network" this weekend and now find the creator of Facebook, Mark Zuckerberg, to be a horrifyingly obnoxious person.)

I have never loved Facebook. I mostly joined it to keep up on the latest news with people, but quickly discovered that keeping up with people meant reading boring streams of consciousness from about a dozen or so regular posters (out of more than 200+ "friends" I have on the site) who complained about one or more of the following: their jobs, spouses, children, what they ate (or didn't eat) why they hated people, and the government. Everyone else was basically silent. I also found that social networking sites keep us further away from one another by subsituting electronic interaction for real communication. People aren't telling the truth about their lives online. And if they are, they're usually complaining. (Get a blog! Even if no one reads it!)

I don't think I'll stay away forever, but I think I'm going to take the rest of December off at a minimum. It will cover my electronic tracks, and make things easier to complete the severing with the other social group. Facebook is like a soap opera, in my mind - you can walk away for days and weeks and come back to find that nothing much has changed.

My Imaginary Friend

A couple of years ago, I met this really cool, really fun woman (lets call her Gretchen) through the wife of one of my spouse's friends at a party. She and I just clicked - similar sense of humor, outlook on life, the works. Gretchen was smart, and funny, and cool and we became buddies really fast. I say buddies, because I never fully trusted her - although I invited her to parties, saw her monthly for brunch or lunch or dinner, and emailed with her several times a week, I never forgot that she was friends with my spouse's friend's wife. The wife is a woman who is always delightful to your face, and stabby behind your back. I avoid her at all costs, because the negative energy and gossipy countenance are just too much to take. So while I enjoyed hanging out with Gretchen, offering advice or commiseration on her love life, making jokes about public figures or everyday things we were experiencing, I never confided in her, worked very hard never to say anything to her about anyone else that I wouldn't say to their face, and never forgot who else she was friends with every time we interacted.

And then one day she was gone. She had moved across the country for a job transfer, so at first it was a physical disappearance, and then she met someone and the relationship worked, so she was busy with that. One day, the emails stopped. I made several attempts to re-initiate contact, but got the sense she was looking for dirt and gossip on behalf of the other woman, and when nothing was forthcoming, silence reigned again. Strangely, I was more relieved than saddened by this - a friendship isn't worth the time you have to put into it to make it work if you don't have trust as a foundation.

One thing I did save were our back-and-forth emails. They read like something out of a sitcom - witty, sharp, full of jokes - it's me (and probably Gretchen) at my very best. They remind me that it's possible to have a superficial friendship that bears fruit - writing inspiration, and a good laugh, months and years after the original jokes were made.

Gretchen, best wishes to you wherever you are - it was lovely to make your acquaintance....

You're Not My Friend...Not Really

So today I had a dust-up with a guy I would describe as a "friendly acquaintance." You see, unlike many people, I tend to view the vast majority of the people in my orbit as acquaintances, not friends. I feel no deep urge to confide in them. I ask politely after their lives & families, remember key details like birthdays and anniversaries (and send cards or an email to mark the event) and listen intently while they tell me what's going on. The majority of people I know are going about their business, creating their own little dramas that they play out endlessly in their heads and spill to their "friends." I'm a good listener, especially to those in actual crisis (by my definition: job loss, bankruptcy, health issues, divorce) and I am always happy to lend an ear. The rest of the chattering classes also get my attention when I can spare it, and I listen to their concerns and "crisis" with an attentive ear. But do I truly care?

In a word? No.

And that's a dirty little secret of "friendship" - very few people are actually your friends. You might call them your "friend" but if you wouldn't tell them your darkest secret, ask for their help, be willing to do them a favor no matter how high the personal cost to you, loan them money you will never see again, or trust them with some small bit of information, they are not your friend.

The guy I had the dust up with this morning wanted me to be more chummy and solicitous in my email to him; I was just trying to get some information and get on with my day. I apologized but also heaped a large quantity of guilt on him, which made me feel better. Who's sorry now, sucker?

Random Irritations

Yes, it's over 90 degrees outside and it's only May. Yes, it's hot. Yes, it's statistically not normal. Yes, you hate the heat. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, COULD WE PLEASE DISCUSS SOMETHING ELSE??

Dear Boss, I know that fishing through your emails to find the one sent by the accountant asking for authorization to run payroll is a pain, but I only show up because of the paycheck and health insurance. One of those things stops appearing and so will I!

How is it that reality t.v. season enders have now become hyped on par with the Superbowl? How is reality t.v. even something anyone wants to admit watching?

Don't think I didn't notice that you left a couple of people that are considered part of the group off your email invitation. I'm glad those excluded people have other friends, because you're a jerk.

No, I really don't want to talk about what I think the finale of LOST really means. It's the end of the show. I don't know if they died in the beginning, at the end or somewhere in the middle. I'm kinda sad nobody got eaten by the polar bear. I do want to talk about Jorge Garcia's blog, dispatchesfromtheisland.blogspot.com. He grows plants, takes funny pictures, bakes bread, writes about his dog and his blog generally rocks. How soon until he's back on t.v.?

Dear other boss, please stop messing with the thermostat. It should not be cold enough in here to freeze meat, and every time you move the dial, the other guy comes out of his office and jacks the thermostat up to 90 because he's cold. I think we can all agree that 70 is not an unreasonable temperature. Please do not make me break all your fingers to keep you from fiddling with the thermostat.

Oh hey family! When I mention how cute my friend J's new baby G is, stop saying, "Don't you want one? You know you do!" I think G is sweet. I don't mind holding her, and I try to keep her happy and amused. She is very cute and cuddly. However. There is a BIG difference between liking children and wanting one. I like children. I HATE sanctimonious one-upsmanship martyr mommies, endless talk ONLY about children, and people who nag me to have a baby.

Maybe it's the heat. No, I'm always cranky.

Not a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

Spouse and I have recently learned that two families on our street are divorcing. One is an older couple with grown/nearly grown children, a second marriage for both; the other is a young-ish couple (around our age) with a five-year-old daughter. Today I received an email from a friend who informed me that one of her coworkers said my street has a higher-than-average divorce rate, and that I should think about moving. Really? I'm guessing, statistically speaking, that my street's divorce rate is no better or worse than society on the whole. And even if it was higher than average, so what? Every marriage is individual. I certainly wouldn't move due to that statistic. But I do think we have a better chance than most because we can work on our marriage and not be sucked into the merry-go-round that is being a parent. I feel bad for the little girl whose parents are getting divorced, though. What a terrible thing for a 5-year old.

Holiday Harmony

The holiday season is rapidly bearing down upon us, meaning a new round of parties, social obligations and gift-giving will soon commence. This year, though, I have a lot to be thankful for. I have my health (mostly) a good job with good benefits, a sweet spouse who also still has a job, minimal debt, and good friends. But what I will be most thankful for this year is that I do not have to attend spouse's college-buddy's holiday gathering.

This gathering has been held for years, dating back to right after graduation. For years it's been a child-free evening event, but in the last 3 years almost everyone has had a child, so now it's an afternoon "family-friendly" gathering. This year my spouse sat up and decided we weren't going - we have virtually nothing in common with these folks, the last few group gatherings have been awkward, and spouse doesn't particularly enjoy the noise generated by groups of children. So we're out! I've been hinting around at a nice dinner out, or perhaps a fancy dinner in, and spouse seems intrigued. We did decide that a little white lie was in order - saying that we weren't coming because we don't have a good time any more and that there would be hoardes of the small sticky people would probably have a bad effect. After all, we don't judge them for choosing to become parents, just as we wish they didn't judge/gossip/comment/remark about us not being parents.

And how do you nicely tell people they've become boring? You can't. You just dodge and avoid until they forget about you and get sucked back into their family lives. Despite the way we're treated by people because of our life choices, I was raised to always be polite and never to make people uncomfortable if I could help it. Although some days I would like to lay it all out on the line and tell them what I really think. Because isn't that what they do to us all the time?