Fickle Friendship

I've had a couple of requests for the finished draft of my great treatise on friendship. But I have a confession to make. My sudden, crippling illness was not the only reason I abandoned the piece. Despite much tweaking and artful metaphor, it was shaping up to be an unwieldy, moralizing mess. Two things I avoid at all costs here at JEDA's House of Blahs, so I binned it.

It started out as a sort of reflection on these vague feelings of....I don't know...obligation?...that I feel every time I use the rice cooker that I received as a gift from the much maligned Princess Z two Christmases ago. Obligation to what I do not know because I neither asked for nor expected such an extravagant gift. Nor do I have any qualms about my part in the drama that ensued last Spring--she's the one who blocked me from her blog, and look, that shit's just petty! So fuck her. But still, it feels odd to me to have this artifact--one that I use often, and am really quite grateful to have been given--of a once vibrant, budding friendship when the friendship itself has degenerated to the point where we avoid eye contact as much as possible when we cross paths.

My reflections on that brief but turbulent relationship naturally led me to expound on the curiosities of some of my deeper, longer lived friendships. La Dragon made an appearance here, for how is it possible to have so much shared history and depth of feeling for a person with whom you only actually shared a city for 9 very brief months?

From there the whole thing really started to fall apart. I bemoaned the fact that I have no childhood friends left, only a handful of high school acquaintances with whom I maintain "Christmas Card Status", but that's about it. Ditto most of my college friends--snooty bitches. Then, after touching briefly on various bruises and scars sustained in a brief tussle with Ms. M a few months back, I ended in a varitable quagmire of existential bullshit about how nobody can ever really know anybody, and we're all ultimately alone, adrift in an unfathomable, hostile universe.

Boo hoo hoo. Then I started my period, and I feel really rather better about everything now. So best to forget it ever happened.

It's a sad fact that there is a wide streak of moody introspection running through my heart and soul. After 34 years of my mother rolling her eyes at me and telling me to knock it off already, I've learned to do my level best to keep a tight lid on it. Got my big-girl panies on, Mom! So God willing, you'll never have to see anything even remotely like the above drivel in either its synopsis or protracted form ever again.

Witty, satirical, self-deprecating--these are the qualities I aim for. Best to leave the metaphysical ruminations on the very nature and essence of human connectivity to Boy. He's much better at it than I am.

To wit--yesterday, I was treated to this monologue on the way to school:

"I love Mommy because she loves me. I love Daddy because he loves me. Missy loves me. EM loves me. And I love them when they're nice. Puss loves me. Puss is soft so I love him. I love my house because my house makes me warm. But the car? The car Mom? I don't love the car because the car can only love itself."

Too true, my darling. All too too true.

Interlude

"Mom? MOM? MOMMY!!!!!"

"Yes, Boy?"

"Life never goes away."

"Well, Boy, yes. Yes it does."

"Mom, look at me. Mom, LOOK!"

"Yes, Boy?"

"NEVER."

__________

Granted, he's had a fever for three days. But still. Kid freaks me out sometimes.

Sexy's Back

So there I was, diligently composing an emotionally charged yet insightful post about the curious nature of friendship with all of its inevitable ebbs and flows, and petty tantrums--when I was struck down by an ague.

That's right. You read right.

An ague. And not some paltry, citified, but-I'd-really-rather-not-go-to-work-today ague either.

No, I'm talking a proper, knock-you-on-your-ass, kick-you-through-the-snow-then-pin-you-over-an-open-fire-til-you-pop-and-boil kind of ague. The sort of ague that befell fey Victorian heroines when they were accidently caught out in the rain. The kind of ague that had them panting and sweating (albeit daintily) in ornate four-poster beds, while their dashing Victorian men paced dark, drafty hallways, brows furrowing, fists clinching as they finally realize their undying love for the stricken lady.

I know, right? That's exactly the kind of ague I'm talking about. That was me last weekend. Dreadful. Pitiful. Grievous. Just plain sad.

I'm mostly over it now, so don't go breaking out your mourning attire just yet. Though I fear I may yet need a good leeching to suck out the infection that seems to lingering in my sinuses.

Elder Miss has it now. She's on day two of the fever and about to do my head in with her endless demands for "more blankets, more water, more Sponge Bob!"

I'm really only here today to call your attention to a bit of a milestone. An anniversary, of sorts. Take a look at the archives. It was exactly one year ago today that I started this two-bit operation. I know, I know. It was one post followed by another one 2 months later. Whatever. Point is I DID start it, see? So......Happy Birthday to my blog. Many happy returns and all that.

Jilly, you left the rum, Love. Tell me you did that on purpose.

8 o'clock New Year's Eve I get a phone call from Jilly who had, just the day before sent her regrets via SMS:  Hogmeny just won't be hogmeny if we can't be in Scotland, so we might as well just have a quiet evening at home. Boo hoo hoo. What.Ever. Jilly Baby. Your loss.

Happily, she thought better of it.

Ring, ring"Hello?"
"Hello, JEDA?"

"Yes?"
"Well, um, I was just out to the garage to get a bottle of Coke. And well, the neighbors, you see, they're all out. And they're all dressed up. Pretty dresses. Pretty hair. Fabulous shoes. Gaity. Hilarity. Drunken revelry. And well, I was just wondering.....could we....? That is to say, would you mind terribly if.....? Can we still come?"
Luckily I had already been coached in proper Hogmeny etiquette, so I knew exactly the right thing to say:

"Sure!!! Of course!!! Yes! Come! Now! Immediately!!!"
They missed out on one hell of a dinner: king crab, tiger prawns and scallops in ginger butter sauce, baguettes, and enough white wine to drown a large cat. They showed up around 10, just in time for the real fun to start. They brought whiskey. And did I mention the rum?

I guess I really can't speak for the others, but I had a glorious time.

Did I drink too much? Yes.

Did I make an ass of myself? A little maybe, yeah.

Did my children witness my shame? Surely they were too preoccupied with the fireworks to notice...much....

Is that real champagne I see Mister opening in that picture above? Pommery, darling. Bought from the cellars, direct. And opened saber-style with my best butcher's knife. Smoooooooth.