As I read the essay, my eyebrows rose higher and higher towards my hairline, which is nearly 40.
"It's OK, eyebrows", I thought. "You are also nearly 40 and so fast approaching your prime."
I soothed them by stroking them with my two index fingers (also well on the way to desirability.) "I don't know who this Tom Junot fellow is, eyebrows, but we can rest assured that he desires us solely on the virtue of a bunch of projections and a crass generalisation of femme d'un certain age."
And then just like that, magically, both my middle fingers (so close to that magic age!) spontaneously rose up in tribute. They were really feeling that gravitas, you know? So much gravitas. And let's face it, as nearly 40-year-old middle fingers do, they just had to show it.
I like this very much.
And also, if this were on a t-shirt, I would probably buy it: "Uninhibited feeling in no way indicates one’s predisposition to taking shit." Well said! :)
@antilamentation Also, the site keeps logging me out although I've checked the "keep me logged in" box. This has been happening for quite a long time now. Is there a fix for that?
@antilamentation Can someone tell me if the comment system is broken? I can only see my own comments when logged in. This makes me wonder if I'm missing comments by other posters as well.
This was epic and wonderful.
@lunaesque Yeah. If I'm with a friend and their partner, I will say "hi" to the partner, ask how they are and so on. I'll include them if for no other reason than they're important to my friend and their well being matters to my friend. I care about my friend so why wouldn't I want to get on decently with their partner and be interested in how they are too?
If we take out the partner angle (for clarity), the same thing is still true for people who are otherwise important to my friends. When I meet a friend's parents for instance, I'm polite to them. I talk with them. I certainly don't ignore them. I may not relate to them in the same way that I relate to my friend, but I do make an effort to relate to them in some way, and to get along at least minimally because that's part of being a good friend: being decent towards the people who matter to my friend.
It's a basic friendship fail, even before we get to the weird reveal about asking former-best-friend to donate sperm in such a way that former-best-friend's girlfriend was left horrified by the situation. Why would you do that to a friend?! I mean you must have had some idea that their partner will also have an opinion and needs and feelings in that situation, right? So wouldn't you be working doubly hard - if anything - to get to know her, let her get to know you, and to see how you all feel about each other, before making such a huge request? If you'd done that, you might know it wasn't right to ask, or even if you asked, you might have done it in a way that showed you'd understand if the answer was "no", and that might have saved that friendship. If she was treating former-best-friend's partner anything like LW, I don't see how she was doing any groundwork in her friendship to support making such a huge request of the couple. It smacks of blind self-interest trumping the empathy needed for a good friendship, let alone a BEST friendship.
Good friends understand that their friends exist in a web of relationships that are also important to the well being of those friends, and they work with that in the friendship. A best friend - of all people - should be making even more of an effort to get along with their best friend's significant people. The whole thing speaks to me of bad friendship and weird boundaries, and I think LW and her partner are well out of that one.
Awwwwwwwww! So sweet. :)
For even more feels, you may also want to check out this video about deaf Seahawks fullback, Derrick Coleman, surprising two young fans who also wear hearing aids.
John Smith picked up his post as he got home from his job as a marketer. He flipped through some leaflets for take out food, one credit card bill and then paused with a frown on his face as he came across a slim white envelope addressed to "John Smith, Being Stalked, Or Current Business."
"What the fuck?" He tore open the envelope to see that it was a promotional leaflet for a car wash. He glared at it for a moment, perplexed, and then tossed it with the other leaflets into the trash.
He knew about some of this stuff from work. "Someone got it wrong," he muttered to himself as he headed to the kitchen. "Fucking interns."
Two days later, he got home to another slim envelope, brown this time, addressed to "John Smith, Being Stalked in his own Neighborhood, And at Current Business."
Hands trembling slightly, he tore it open and extracted a leaflet advertising a local computer repair company. He pulled out his mobile phone.
"Hello, Computer Fix. We fix it for you. How can I help you today?"
"I got this leaflet in the post from you, and it's actually addressed to me, being stalked?"
"What? You're being stalked, sir? Online?"
"No! Your leaflet. It's addressed to me, and says I'm being stalked."
"If you're having trouble with an online stalker, sir, you need to contact the police. We can only fix your computer."
"No! Look, who's in charge of your marketing? Look, just put me through to a manager."
One pointless conversation later during which he managed to learn absolutely nothing, he jammed the phone back into his pocket and went to fix himself a stiff drink.
The third envelope was waiting for him a week later. This time it was a stiff rectangular cardboard one with a white adhesive printed label, addressed to "John Smith, On Suicide Watch, At Home or At Current Business."
Inside the cardboard envelope was a small, free sample penknife from an online company which sold knives and pocket tools. He swore and flung the whole lot into the trash.
After that the letters came everyday.
"John Smith, Seeking Help for Anxiety, At his MD's."
"John Smith, Still Being Watched, All the Time."
"John Smith, The Police Just Laugh, At You."
And so on.
He began to miss work on some days to wait for the postman. He would grab the letters before the postman could slide them into his mailbox, and then hurl them straight into his trashcan. And then later when he found he couldn't think of anything else, he would creep back, extract them, and read them fearfully.
"John Smith, Self Medicating with Alcohol, At Current Business."
"John Smith, Fired, From Work."
"John Smith, Treated For Paranoid Delusions, In Hospital."
"John Smith, RIP, At Home."
The last accompanied a brochure for a funeral home.
For once, it wasn't spam.
I got my copy of the book the other week from Amazon, and have been reading it slowly to make it last longer. Great stuff. :)