Posts Tagged ‘dying alone’

It’s been a while since I’ve made a friend. 5 years? Nah not that long. I’m not that much of an outcast. But it has been a good long while. Long enough where I don’t remember moving my car so it looked like I wasn’t home when a friend I didn’t like much was coming to hang out. Because that’s what friends do. Avoid each other.

The first friend I ever made was an imaginary man named John Cracker. He killed teenagers. He also always wore a tight yellow shirt. I think he was a gay murderer way ahead of his time. I don’t know how I came up with him. I never actually saw him, but I knew he existed. He was a real bastard. Realizing that imaginary serial killers aren’t the best of friends, I decided it was time to branch out. I made some new friends. And by friends I mean socialized with other children around me. That’s how children make friends. It’s just whoever else is there and isn’t a bastard.

When I got to school it was easier to make friends. I remember the first day of kindergarten. We got to pick where we’d sit. I saw a scary looking kid sitting next to a goofy looking kid. I figured “Hey, I’m somewhere in the middle of that combo.” I sat at their table. One of them was a bully who ended up moving a few years later. The other was a friend who ended up moving even sooner, Michael Barbera who I have previously mentioned in another post. He went from best friend to mortal enemy only because he moved away and did not keep in touch. How’s your life shitface? Those silver spoons taste good? Michael’s dad was either a prison guard or a security guard at a place called The Wiz! It was a more primitive version of Best Buy. Their slogan was “Nobody beats the Wiz!” Liars. You went out of business. The 1990s beat you. The Clinton Administration decapitated your business model. You’re a Gold’s Gym now. Fat people sweat where you once sold copies of Mrs. Doubtfire on VHS. But anyway, Michael’s dad hurt his knee and they became really rich. That’s why he’s not a friend of mine anymore.

(American Icon Toby Huss portraying “The Wiz” on an episode of Seinfeld. Much better than that douche Michael Barbera)

With Michael, I had another friend who wouldn’t care if I mentioned his name but I won’t because he wouldn’t care. We’re still friends to this day. 19 years of friendship. 19 years of coming from different families, having different experiences, and still ending up in nearly the same boat. It impresses me how similar we ended up considering how different we were raised. We met in kindergarten when he was discussing the Mel Brooks film Spaceballs and I was the only other person that had seen it. So, we bonded over slapstick comedy. Oddly enough, that’s been the main driving force of our friendship ever since. Writing our own slapstick-type comedies. Come to think of it, we don’t have anything else in common other than our height. He eats fast food a lot, I never do. He drives a nice car, mine has had sap on the windshield for a year. He’s slowly killing himself by smoking, I’m doing everything I can to survive. You just know I’m going to die of something freak. Like a meteor will enter the atmosphere, dissolve, and one piece will hit me on the top of my head. How embarrassing.

(Is he wearing a skirt? At least try not to look like such a wimp. He deserves to be crushed by an asteroid)

School was always easy to make friends for me. I would find someone fatter than me, someone uglier than me, and someone dumber than me and suddenly I had a wolf pack going. You’re almost forced into friendships at that age. You have to do these things called team building exercises. The hellish activity of working with others. Yuck! It’s terrible. How about I do it myself like I’ll have to in the real world. No matter what grade I was in, I was always able to at least make friends. Sometimes it was with the kid that always wore the same vest, other times it was with the kid with the hole in his shoe that liked Star Wars, and most of all it was with the kid who was suspended for a bomb threat. These were my people. Now they’ve grown up to be whatever shitty job it is they chose.

After graduating from whatever level of school you have completed, it becomes more difficult to befriend people. You have two options. Either through work or through a hobby. I never make friends at work. It’s not that they’re good people, but I don’t know what I could talk about to married women in their 40s. Menopause? I’m not even quite sure what that is. I think it has something to do with a mid-life crisis and dryness down below. I’m not talking about Australia either. My hobbies don’t help much either. Most of them involve being alone. Writing, watching television shows on my laptop, exercising, masturbating, thinking up get rich quick schemes, and wallowing alone are all activities that are harder to do with someone around. I don’t know where to make friends. I can’t post a Facebook event to tell everyone the next time I’m going to do any of those. And who would even come? I never go to their events. Look at me. Acting like anyone ever invites me to anywhere that doesn’t cost $20 with a two drink minimum. Assholes.

I have a new goal that I have come up with. It is to make as many friends as possible. Make them think I’m their best friend. The only catch is that I will do it with people who play the lottery frequently and compulsive gamblers. You see, that’s gambling by proxy. If they win big, I’m bound to get something of it. Especially if they think I’m their best friend. Why bother playing the slots when it’s so much easier to befriend a multiple 78-year-old women? That increases my odds exponentially. I am a math genius.

(Stop trying to figure out how to create a black hole and find a cure for Lou Gehrig’s disease, the most sporty of diseases after jock itch)

Where is it that a boy can make a friend? The process is too insane. I almost made one friend then realized I had been lying to him because I had assumed he was lying to me. That felt silly. But all he talked to me about was art and that’s not me. I don’t know anything about art. My favorite painter is Bob Ross. I have no artistic integrity and have lost what little respect you may have had for me.

(Incase you’ve been living under a “happy tree” here’s a picture of Bob Ross)

I would make finding a new friend a goal of mine except that it’s a silly lonely goal to make. I don’t need to go out in hopes of making a friend. That’s not a real friend. It’s not organic. I’d have to be fake to do it. Things like that should happen organically. Maybe someday I’ll find a new friend. Until then I’ll continue to actually be productive and undistracted by people wanting to go out and eggs cars.

“I’ll be there for you.” – chorus from a popular television show from the 1990s about a group of friends in New York city who work together to solve murders called Law & Order