I hate to say it but the friend game doesn’t get any better the older you get. You get to a point where you think that the group of friends you have surrounded yourself with is beyond all of the petty drama and bull you dealt with in HS and in college. You think that because they’re all intelligent people who you admire for different reasons that they are above the puerile bickering and selfishness that you have tried so hard to distance yourself from for so long. You think that the people you invest the most energy in and that you come to trust the most will actually be there for you when you need it. If you think these things at some point in time you will realize that you are sorely mistaken.

In the long run it won’t matter if you gave your “friend” more than anyone’s fair share of attention and support. It won’t matter if you stood behind them through bad relationships, police reports, job woes, and family trauma. Their promises to call, write, and send smoke signals are all for naught. You will be let down. I just hope that your “friend” actually gives you a reason for dropping you on your ass. A lame excuse is better than none at all.

Recently I’ve read a lot of articles about MySpace. The vast majority have been negative, although a few bloggers have pointed out some positive aspects of MySpace and how it is effecting how we communicate. I have recently reconnected with some friends that I met as early as first grade which is definitely something I am grateful for. To find these people, however, I had to fight through hundreds of profiles that only the blind could appreciate. I’ve had to install plug-ins for Firefox that cripple music that plays automatically when you load a profile, and avoid pages with auto-playing video clips. At one point in time I found a MySpace profile that actually got my browser to lock up on a regular basis. Putting the gross design flaws and ghastly aesthetics aside, MySpace seems to be a meeting place for people who are unable to write in complete words or sentences so it’s not the place to go for philosophical debate.

I can forgive some of the shortcomings of MySpace and some of the negative trends in online communication that it seems to have inspired. The thing that seems to bother me the most is how it’s degraded the meaning of the word friendship. I think that this problem started back when Friendster was the new hotness. After about a week it became a popularity contest and everyone tried to add everyone else to their little friend list. I thought it got ridiculous when people had hundreds of friends but only knew a handful of them. Now the same disease seems to have infected MySpace. I personally know all of my MySpace friends with the exception of one celebrity. Celebrities and Bands are the exception to the rule because the more friends they have the more fans they can directly touch. In fact I’m considering requesting to be added to more Celebrity and Band friend lists just for the bulletins and updates. The reverse of that is I’m sure that those public figures get bombarded with bulletins from all of their fans.

Since I joined MySpace I have had over 20 friend requests from people I have never met or spoken to with no attempt to start a conversation beforehand. When I reject these requests from complete strangers, I find it amusing that some of them take offense. There’s not much difference between sending out Spam and begging random MySpace users to be their friend. I’d love to ask some of these people who have hundreds of MySpace friends how many of them they actually know. By “know” I don’t mean one or two emails or a couple of IM conversations. I’d also love to hear how these people define the word friendship — I’m sure it’d be worth a laugh.

I’ve been experiencing a lot of frustration lately, and rather than unloading it on the good people around me I’ve decided to do a weekly core dump here. If you don’t feel like reading about me whining about my life, feel free to skip these posts. If you don’t have anything constructive to say, don’t comment. Having said that, let’s bring on the angst.

I know a couple of my friends and readers have been in a situation much like mine. After being out in the world for a while and running into a bad patch, you’re forced to take a huge ego shot and move home with relatives or move in with friends. No matter how you try to paint it, it sucks. No matter how optimistic you are when you first do it, the golden goose egg manages to turn into another turd by the end. Having your freedoms and privacy stripped from you after you’ve gotten good and used to having both does wonders for your self-esteem and not in the good way. This is what I’ve learned since I moved home.

I’ve been so lucky to rediscover why I stopped getting along with my mother. Let’s put aside being beaten with electrical cords at age 2, being thrown out of my house at ages 8, 12, and 16, being told I was (insert name here), being blamed for her diabetes, and being told that she wished I was never born. I know I am not the only person who has lived through all of that, and I’m far too smart to let it sink all the way in. I don’t believe I am all of those bad things. Don’t get me wrong, they’re still my ghosts, but they don’t make a huge impact on my life from day to day. What stops me dead in my tracks on an almost daily basis is her irrationality.

I’ll try to give you some examples as to why my mother is so exasperating. The newest situation is that she’s losing her hearing and she won’t get it checked. My dad worked in Audiology for over 25 years and I have a BS in Communicative Disorders (Speech Pathology) and she adamantly denies to both of us that there is any real problem and that visiting an Audiologist will do her no good. Denying that you need help is a slap in both of our faces, and she has no idea how insulting she’s being. At least come up with a better reason when you’re talking to two people who worked/studied in the field, and if you choose to stay the way you are, at least have the courtesy to not participate in any conversations so the people talking don’t have to repeat themselves every two minutes! The icing on this cake is that if my father or I harp on it, she’ll go into one of her downward spirals and try to destroy the family again. That’s what she does.

Dear Kevin was astute to point out that I’m not a happy person and I can be a downer a lot. After a lot of introspective thought, I have an explanation for why that is. Aside from all of the not-so-great happenings in my life over the past two years (if you want details, feel free to e-mail me), I’ve realized that my melancholy doesn’t completely stem from that. Being raised in a Caribbean household, I was never taught to seek happiness. I was never encouraged to do things for enjoyment, or to make sure that I was happy. I’m sure I’m not the only COCP (Child of Caribbean Parents) that understands this or grew up in that kind of environment. There is an overwhelming sense of duty and that’s all there is. Having friends and fostering relationships with people is not seen as being important or necessary at all. Leisure activities and relaxation are all a phenomenal waste of time. You get your work/school done because that’s what’s necessary and that’s all there is. Everything else is expendable. Therefore if you don’t find a great deal of joy in work or school (which the great majority of people don’t derive most of their happiness from), where do you get your happy? This is a thought pattern that I have been slowly breaking myself from for years. Every year I get a little bit better about it. I’ve gone from waiting for happiness to fall in my lap to actively seeking it, but like anything else you have ingrained in you as a child.. it’s a hard pattern of thought to snap out of. Like if you’ve given up your Christianity.. around Christmas time you don’t know what to do with yourself. In good time you get over that, but there is an adjustment period which is what I’m going through with my proverbial happy right now.

All in all, I’ll survive all of this, but without having an outlet to angst to, it gets overwhelming and things pile up. I’m going to try to not let that happen anymore. It’s not worth all of the frustration. Anyway, feel free to comment at me.

So I went bowling with the family and some neighbors last night. Six people on one lane for two hours. Fill in the blanks about my level of enjoyment but I don’t care to elaborate. Anyway, being the occasional bowler, I had to rent shoes. They gave me brand new right out of the box bowling alley rental standard leather shoes. After wearing them for over two hours I can tell you that I would’ve rather risked athlete’s foot with a scrubby old pair of shoes than ever wear brand new bowling alley standard shoes again. I got home and took off my Superstars and my two big toes were purple. Yeah… purple. Yeowch! They still hurt this morning.

So as my feet were suffering on this family bowling nightmare of an evening, I decided that I wanted a Bass (or a Guinness would do). I sent my dear ol’ da to get me my cup of brew and he returned in 5 minutes to inform me that this nightmare of a bowling alley had neither Bass nor Guinness even though they sported both banners on the walls all over. From what I gathered, they didn’t even have them in stock. If they did it’d be hard to run out of either by 8pm on a Saturday night. The only other darkish brew they had was Amberboch. Uhm… yeah that’s what I said.. Amberboch. One glass of Amberboch and two hours of sore toed bowling later I felt no pangs of sadness as I limped out of the worst bowling alley I’ve ever been to. *sigh*

So yeah, I’m 26 today. I don’t feel older than I did yesterday, nor do I feel any wiser. If anything I feel a little younger because my aches and pains from the gym are gone.
Anyway, the first song I heard on the radio this morning (around 7am) was Mambo #5. It’s been forever since I’ve heard that one and when I heard it I kept thinking about that stupid little flash video called Combo #5 about the chinese food. Aah the memories. Reminds me of conquering the Uncle in 2 Willard. If you don’t know what that means, you weren’t meant to know.
If anything interesting happens today I’ll throw up an update later. I might get my hair cut. If it’s particularly bad, there will be pictures.

So, my parents take me out for the day cause it’s my birfday. We go to Wal-Mart because there’s a salon near there where I get my hair done. I can’t get fit into the schedule today, so I told my mom that I’d come back tomorrow. Dad agrees and says, “I’m tired, I don’t want to walk around this big store anyway.”

In the next heartbeat, my mother has a shopping cart and proceeds to run all over the store filling it. Not only does she decide to try to do a full month’s worth of grocery shopping, but she goes into the pet section, gets one thing, then crosses the half mile long store to the food section to get something else and then TURNS BACK cause cat food is the next item on her list. So this zig-zagging ritual contunes and after I’d walked about 2 miles, I lost it. I had a fit and i tore her a new orafice in public.

Who gives you the right to take over someone else’s birthday? If this was her birthday, we’d all have been shunned for weeks. In 2002, I took over a week off of work and flew down to Orlando just for my father’s 70th birthday and on that day we did whatever he wanted to. I am forced to give respect but not get any in return. In the same breath my parents will tell me I am being childish and then treat me like a child. How does a person become an adult if they’re not treated like one? How can you teach someone to give respect when you don’t give them any? Where is the example? When am I going to be allowed to grow up?

As you can see, this is not only an illustration of my mother’s mental illness, but a clear illustration of the delicious irony I have to live with every day. Yes, I said mental illness. I have come to grips with my depression and my anxiety disorder, which are a result of being around her. She, however, refuses to consult a professional about her mood swings and her manic cycles because she doesn’t put any stock in them. This is what I am forced to deal with daily, people.

Now you know why I am dying to move out of this place. It’s not just Orlando, it’s the bloody mind trip that happens in this house. If I could I’d take my father with me but he’s too softheaded to realize that life can be better and he has a guilt complex that my mother has instilled in him for the past thirtysomething years.

If you’ve read this far, let me give you some advice. It is ok to be selfish enough to live your own life. Don’t fall prey to the guilt traps laid by parents and family members. Don’t ever stop your life to try to spend “quality time” with these people that just take you for granted anyway. If you’re going to take a chunk of time out of your life to spend with your parents before they wither and die, make sure you have the type of parents that will recognize this gift of time that you’re giving them. Don’t waste time on people that treat you like a piece of refuse. Don’t waste time on unreasonable people who ask for help and advice but never make use of it. And for god’s sake don’t let them take your self-esteem away. When that happens there is very little hope left.

Now that I’ve spent the last year of my life trying to help my parents, I’ve realized that it’s time for me to spend some time on myself. I can’t reclaim the last year, so I’m going to spend the next year putting every iota of energy I have into getting away from them. I’ve often wondered why the phone in this house rarely rings. I’ve gone an entire week without hearing the phone ring. I realized today why it doesn’t ring; the people out there know who lives in here.

I am finding out slowly that in my old age (i’m 24 now for those of you who have been living in a bucket) I am becoming less tolerant of certain things. One of my biggest pet peeves is manipulation.

Benjy would say that because I am female I am a natural manipulator. I would argue that though I have the capacity and perhaps the propensity to manipulate people, I do my best to avoid that route with people. It’s a very unbecoming trait… and it’s downright horrible to be known as a manipulator so I try my best not to do it to my friends and loved ones. Now… when people try to manipulate me or manipulate my friends they’re playing with fire because as a natural manipulator not only can I play the game but I can call other people’s games too. There are just certain things in life that I will not tolerate and this is one of them.

Secondly, don’t EVER play the ultimatum game with me or with my friends. When I was younger I admit I played this one a lot, but unfortunately sometimes it’s the only way to get people to do something.. sometimes for their own benefit (in very serious situations where they wouldn’t listen to you otherwise). It still doesn’t mean it should be one of the cards you play all the time. That’s downright stupid. Don’t tell my friend “Either you do this or I won’t talk to you again.” At this point, when you play this particular game, you’ve earned my (our) ire and you’ve earned it HARDCORE. What right do you have to tell someone else how to live their lives? This is part of the reason that I am pro choice. I don’t advocate Abortion by any means, but what gives a legislator the right to tell me how to manage my body? It’s as simple as that. If you think someone has a serious problem that needs attending to… tell them that… don’t play fucking mind games and power games with them. And if they’re smart, they’ll still tell you to go fuck yourself because you have no right to impose your opinions on them. We were all given the power of higher thought to think for ourselves not to think for others.

Finally, the other thing that pisses me off a lot lately is when people lie. Don’t tell me X, tell my brother Y and expect us not to figure out that we’re not on the same letter of the alphabet. That should be common sense. Don’t assume that I’m not going to confer with my friends on a quasi-regular basis about you. If you assume that we’re not talking about you (good or bad) you’re dead wrong. When shit hits the fan, everyone’s getting splattered. Remember that.

You’d think that as we get older we’d have the decency to think a little about how our actions effect the people around us. I have come to learn that not everyone takes the time out to think about this and it saddens me deeply. The one thing I DO know is that I don’t trust anyone I don’t consider a real friend as far as I can throw them.

Why is it that people who have the least to say spend the most time talking? I was just thinking about this and I find it really amusing. The most shallow individuals I know spend the most time talking about the most inane shit. It’s really true… think about it. Imagine the most shallow person you know and really think about the amount of time they spend talking. Now you should be thoroughly amused but scared at the same time. I think if these shallow people who babble bullshit all the time would spend more time with their traps shut… we could reverse global warming. That’s just my spin on it.

Why do friendships and life have to be so complicated? Why can’t you just meet someone and go “you’re cool” and have them go “you’re cool too” and ride off into the sunset happy together as friends or whatever you want it to be? What’s up with all this testing the water and sizing people up down and sideways? I mean sometimes all this work and all of this being finiky pays off and you get a really good and substantial friend out of it… but what is it that makes people feel the need to size you up and test you and poke you and prod you and run around in your head willy nilly. Sometimes I feel like a godforsaken lab rat when I meet new people. I know they’re testing me. I know they’re trying to see what makes me tick. And I know they’re doing it for both their good and my good in the long run but why does it have to happen this way? My best answer is this: People get hurt so much that they have to do anything and everything possible to protect their own interests. I mean I understand why someone would have to size me up and I understand why I do the same but when you really think about it, it wouldn’t be necessary if there weren’t so many bad people out there. What happened to the days where you could hang out with your buddies on the playground during recess and there was no mind gaming and water testing. You wanted to play kickball and so did they and that’s what you did, goddamnit. You didn’t give anyone a battery of mental and emotional tests. You didn’t run a background check or ask that person’s friends what type of person they were before you decided they were a worthy friend. It was just simple. I miss the simplicity of childhood. I miss walking up to some kid you’ve never seen before on the monkey bars and just playing with them. I miss just going to the swing set and pushing some kid and having them push you cause you were both too little to get any serious momentum on the swings by yourselves. I honestly miss those days. Being an adult is complicated. Having adult feelings is complicated. I am not one to avoid complications but it doesn’t mean I like them. I know it will all turn out for the better when all the walking on proverbial eggshells is done, but I miss the days when word was bond. “Yo, You know I’m cool.. and I know you’re cool, so let’s chill.” To be 8 again…. now those WERE the days.

When will people learn how to deal with their shit. Oh wait, what planet am I on? People will never learn to deal with their shit. Instead they ball up their frustrations and their pain and their hate and they take it out on other people, consciously and unconsciously. I don’t give a shit what your momma did to you when you were growing up. Don’t take it out on me… blah blah…. People are dumb. My roommate is even dumber. I’ve stopped worrying though. Karma is a bitch and when it bites… it bites hard. Sometimes it forgets to let go… like a pitbull. One way or another, someday in life… he’ll get his.

Anyway, I’m going to the carnival today. YAY. Love me.