Friends and fight clubs

Lets talk about friends. They come in all shapes, sizes, genders and loyalty levels. Working in a dive bar where it’s all pretty much low to middle income regulars who’ve known each other for decades Ive come to realize that friend is a very flexible term. Infinitely flexible. People who are best friends face to face talk shit behind each others backs. People who appear to hate each other still defend each other to the death. It’s like high school: there’s the mean girl, the popular guy, the nerd, the slut, the druggie, the drunk, the wierd old guy and the obnoxious orphan….we’ve got love triangles/squares/octogons and cliques of every shape and style. Everyone knows what everyone else is doing whether they’re actually doing it or not. The bar needs it’s own reality TV series. Rundle Shore, complete with all the sex, infighting and messes.

It’s odd to watch actually. I used to bask in the drama of it all. Now it’s just soul sucking and exhausting. “Not my monkeys, not my circus” has become my catch phrase whenever anyone tries to drag me into any of it. It’s also caused me to re-evaluate what I define as a friend. Ive always been a bit too trusting I think. Or maybe I just knew I’d be judged and those women I’d poured my heart out to would take that info and run and that worked for me too.

Im entirely the odd one out there. Not invited to much of anything by anyone. I think it’s because my bullshit tolerance is nill but maybe Im just the weird one. My staunch refusal to get involved in any of the garbage has meant I dont get the perks, such as they are, either. Not sure I’d even go to any of it but the fact that some people make a point of inviting everyone but me stings whether I want it to or not. I get to be a spectator and that unwanted extra. Like the last kid picked in gym. It’s a different position for me to be in an is taking some adjusting. One of the things I’ll remember when it comes time to throw my annual halloween and bday party. Karma is a wonderful thing.

I had my bff for years, and I still do, but she’s a city away with a lot on her plate. My anxiety dictates that she’s probably sick of hearing the same shit from me year after year so I dont tell her as much as I once did. I know I would be sick of it. Hell, I flip out if I hear the same sob story out of someone more than once. Like…fix your fucking shit instead of bitching about it.

I really need to take my own damn advice.

Oddly, it’s also caused me to clamp on to the most unlikely person as my confidante and friend. She’s just about the only one there that I trust with anything even remotely personal as she doesnt judge and the shit I doubt and try to rethink she encourages like a cheerleader. It’s crazy since, when I first started working there, I heard more dirt on her than nearly everyone else combined and she’s turned out to be the most solid bitch there. Weird how that works.

I think girls need someone to lean on and bounce ideas off of. I also think girls make some of the worst friends possible. Im not even sure why that is. Women always seem to be trying to one-up each other, often tearing each other down in the process. And we all know we do it so I dont think any one of us fully trusts another. It’s a bit sad really. I dont think that’s a new thing either. I remember my grade 11 english teacher, Mr Syme, talking one day about why women make shitty platoons. That if women could be in a platoon of just 2 they’d rock out but any more than that and all they do is fight. In hindsight that’s infinitely sexist but I dont think he’s wrong either. Bitches be cray cray.

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