Sunday, April 19, 2015

Friends? #FriendshipRevolution

A few days ago I was asked what friendship means to me:

 In a nutshell it means you put up with my crazy and I’ll put up with yours.

I do have a few musts-haves because I'm me - 

Loyalty - this sounds like an easy one.  It isn’t.  If you’re my friend you back me up regardless of the circumstance.  You can totally tell me later that I acted like a complete asshole. (I probably was) Talking smack about me, listening to others talk smack about me, and spreading aforementioned smack is also a big bad no-no.  In regards to my smack, keep your face-hole closed.   Standing up for my stupid ass when others are talking the smack will definitely get you bonus points in the friendship arena. You may not fuck, date, flirt, or otherwise engage in physical contact with my boyfriend, husband, date, etc…  Again…seems easy, right?  It isn’t.  My almost 45 years on the planet have shown me that some many bitches who pretend to be your friend will damn sure play mind games – just for sport.  Cum guzzling, bottom feeding, ass munching, fake bitches can easily march the fuck around waving the friendship banner high while trying to figure out how to stab you in the taint with it on the down low.   If say you are loyal to me, be that.  You won’t need to take a bullet for me (maybe) but if I call your ass at 3am because a spider has me trapped in the bathroom you had best come up with something.

Responsibility – not for your family, duh – do that shit on your own time.  I require a responsible friend who doesn’t let me get lost, lose stuff, fall asleep on the beach and fry myself like bacon, leave with a complete stranger, eat too much, or drink too much.  There is an exaception to these rules; If any of the aforementioned shit ends up happening despite your Olympic babysitting skills?  You’re in charge of making it all better.  Yes, I require a damn babysitter.  That’s exactly what I’m saying. I lose money, things, people, and brain cells.    I do okay on my own because I have to, but if you’re in the picture you will damn sure assist my sorry ass with attempting to behave normally.  Trust me; this is for your benefit too.  When I say “Hey, let’s drive to Tennessee for White Castles” at 6pm on a Tuesday night, you have to talk to me down or you won’t be making it to work on Wednesday. 

Thick skin – I will fuck with you until the day you die.  Deal with it.  The more I fuck with you, the more I love you. I can’t be friends with a pussy-assed lollygagger who doesn’t get the joke. I’m always going to go for the joke.  It’s what I do.  Shut up and deal.  If you take yourself too seriously chances are I won’t deal with you anyway. If I have to explain the joke to you, we can’t be friends. Obviously you have to fuck with me too.  Being funny is yet another prerequisite for hanging with all this (points to self using both hands in really creepy, over-sexual manner).  I have to be able to say anything about everything to you.  You can do the same.  No filters. This is not negotiable.  Horrible, awful things may be said and we will disagree. Doesn’t matter.  If I tell you that I like to stick dead frogs down my pants and sing “It’s Raining Men” while I dance the tango you need to just nod your pretty little head and go about your business.  You can think it’s fucking weird because it is.  I can say some freaky shit.  It just pops into my head and flows right out my mouth.  Mostly I say it just to freak you out – DEAL.  Open & honest or you’re an acquaintance.  End of story. 

The ability to drink massive amounts of alcohol without being a douche – this is probably the most important must-have for being my friend.  You cannot be a falling-down, puking, obnoxious, drunk.  You cannot tell me you love me, drool, and yell bizarre offerings at the dude next to us in the bar.  You cannot try and fix me up with your blitzed version of the man of my dreams, or get all involved with the people screaming at the sports on the television. You cannot get all whore-y at the bar and start jamming your tongue down the face-holes of unsuspecting men (unless it has been previously discussed).  If there is dancing - falling down on the dance floor, near the dance floor, or while dancing at your chair is a “fuck no” unless you approve of me laughing, taking photos, and posting them on Facebook.  If we are drunk at my home you are not allowed to break my stuff or get puke everywhere unless you are going to pay have that shit fixed.  I will not be cooking for you or play hostess.  We are there to drink.  We will drink.  If we are drunk at your home do not expect me to accomplish things.  Don’t ask me to come over and do crafts while we drink or bake shit.  Ummmm, no.  My sorry ass can watch a movie, chat, sleep, or eat stuff (that is pre-made, you made, or has been ordered & delivered) whilst guzzling vodka.  No other activities will be tolerated.  I cannot be trusted to take care of myself so you are not to get drunk and act a fool.  That’s my job. 

The friend must-haves are important.  Equally important in a friendship with me is trust.  Trust is interwoven into the 4 qualities. You can’t be loyal without it.  I have to trust you to be responsible.  Being open & honest and having thick skin requires trust and lastly, it is essential to have a mutual trust when you’re completely blotto on the alcohol.  I must be able to trust that we are like Vegas - What happens with us, stays with us. 

All relationships regardless of type require communication, and effort from both sides.   Friendships aren’t easy.  Sometimes they require adult stuff that blows hobo sack.  When done correctly (not the hobo blowing) they rock.  It took me getting totally fucked over a gazillion times before I found healthy friendships (people who would put up with my shit).  I don’t have many.  The friends I have are close.  They have different backgrounds, marital status, income levels, and social standings.  I don’t limit who I’m friends with.  When I find a good un’ I don’t let them go. 

PPB aka The Precious Princess - The Princess is a twice divorced, recently dumped, recently unemployed, self-proclaimed member of the mentally hilarious. She has been referred to as living under a rock stocked with vodka and anger. Her 12 year old “Mini”, who is carbon copy of the Princess, is often the subject of blogs, and Facebook posts. In addition, she writes about dating, the dumbness of boys, life after 40, and shares stories from Bananaland which is both her past and current residence. She is the owner/sole admin for the Facebook page Precious Princess's Guide to Bananaland where she is famous for her rants and her blunt, honest, and sarcastic look at life. She blogs both extremely funny and all-the-feels posts at Princess Bananaland. She hates people, kids, and karaoke. She uses all the swears and makes up dirty words. Be afraid. 
*For Stephanie, Aly, CB, J,  Bernie & Maria, Sue, Andrea, Amanda, Jeanne, my bitches in the WOP, (we need a cooler name - that sounds racist) and the A2 Papa- xx, my friends.  


The Original Hussy said...

Love this!

"If I tell you that I like to stick dead frogs down my pants and sing “It’s Raining Men” while I dance the tango you need to just nod your pretty little head and go about your business. You can think it’s fucking weird because it is. I can say some freaky shit. It just pops into my head and flows right out my mouth. Mostly I say it just to freak you out – DEAL."

This made me snort!

Beautifully written, PPB!

It's why you like me said...

Ummm excuse me but the WOP makes me want to bust out some 80's dance moves!! Love you baby and am glad we can be complete dicks together and never be embarrassed by our need to find an adult to babysit us.