friendship | APOCALYPSTICK

We’ve all done it. We’ve all flaked out on someone. And we have our reasons, and some of them are good, and some of them are fake because we don’t actually want to say, “I have diabolical diarrhea.” But at a certain point, we all hit our limits. We say, “I get it, I’m never inviting you to anything again.” So how do we determine when that limit is?

I have some ideas:

1. They cancel, but with plenty of notice, and they have a good reason: they’re sick, or have a family thing. No problem.

2. They cancel, last minute, but it’s because they got into some sort of urgent situation or emergency. No problem.

3. They cancel, because they forgot they had other plans. Uh, okay.

4. They cancel in the sense that they don’t even really let you know until and hour or less before, or they don’t respond until you text something like, “Hey, are you coming?” Dude, not cool.

5. They do all of the above repeatedly. Oh come on, seriously?

6. They say yes to all invitations, sometimes add something like, “I’m so excited!” or “I wouldn’t miss this” but then and do the above repeatedly. STOP SAYING YES TO THINGS, YOU SODDING JERK.

Even more annoying is when they never tell you if they’re coming or not. It’s totally easy, here are your options: yes or no. If you say maybe, I don’t really know what to do with that, unless you explain something like, I have something before and I don’t know when it will be over. It’s not that I’m trying to dictate your plans or be an asshole about the whole thing, I just want to know how much food or drink I should provide or when I should get ready, or if I need to put in a plus one.

You all know who you are. And I know some of you think I’m a flake. But please know that if I don’t go to something, it’s because I am genuinely not feeling well, because I am sick all the time, like a small child in a Dickens novel, or I really do have plans.

Here’s an exception: if that person let’s you know well in advance that they can’t come and is sincerely sorry and is totally honest about their reasons, I wouldn’t give up on them. Who knows the kind of guff they’re dealing with or going through? I once didn’t go to a party because my dress didn’t fit. And neither did the 5 other ones I tried on. True story. Rather than say something like, “Cough cough, I’m sick” I told the truth, as stupid as that truth was, because that’s what you do for your friends.

What do you think?

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On TV there’s always a group of friends who spontaneously meet up, or someone will call Tyler, and they’ll say, “Tyler, meet me at [whatever bar or coffee shop here]” and they hang up and don’t even give a time, and Tyler always shows up. And let’s not forget the ole drop-by. This happens a lot on “Beverly Hills, 90210” (the original). EVERYONE drops by Dylan’s house. I understand why TV writers do this. To show characters calling each other, or texting each other, is a lot less interesting than having them speak in person. But this trope gave me false hopes about what being an “adult” would be like. And by “adult,” I mean any cool, awesome chick from 18 – 30. From Clarissa Darling to Carrie Bradshaw. I thought that once I turned that magical adult age, I would have a close group of friends who would always be available to meet at “our” place or drop by unexpectedly.

I don’t think this is a real thing.

If you and people you know live in NYC (like the village or somewhere stupid in Brooklyn) or Los Angeles (in somewhere like Silverlake or Los Feliz or maybe even Venice) you can experience the magic TV moments of running into your friends at a nearby restaurant or other local joint. That’s why I like where I live now, even though I use to ruthlessly make fun of it all the time. I like being able to walk everywhere. I used to live in Manhattan and that was one of my favorite things, ever. To just get out of your studio apartment and walk. And see people. And things. And get hammered and take a taxi back or walk. Or if you’re really desperate, the subway. Yes, I can be quite an elitist jerk, don’t even bother pointing that out. I think that jeans and beer are for poor people. And if that shocks or upsets you, then I’m sorry. I’m like Patrick Bateman, but a woman, and with a lot less money and murders.

I think I have lots of friends. Maybe? It’s hard to tell. What’s a friend? Someone who goes to your bday party? Someone you don’t feel awkward having a one on one conversation with? Someone you know really well? I don’t really feel like I have a lot of close friends. But I have friends I can talk to. I wish I had a closely knit group, like the ones in “How I Met Your Mother” and “Friends.” But perhaps those don’t exist. At least not after college. But just once, I’d like to send out a mass text with, “MEET AT COOLBARWELIKEHERE at 9!” and everyone shows up, or at the very least, doesn’t ignore my text.

For more on friendship, read this old post: Friends.