Categorically, Friend

~ A friend in need is a friend indeed~

~Friends for a reason, friends for a season, friends for a lifetime...~

~A friend is a present you give yourself~

Bleccch.

Ptooey.

I hate these platitudes. Mostly, sadly, because - as precious and cloying as they are, they do have a fundamental grain of truth to them. And I so hate when hackneyed old adages become self-fulfilling prophecies. Because, really. It completely undermines my (perceived) sense of total knowledge and control. Over. Everything.

The categorization of friends is a tricky one, and a sacred cow that the Baroness tries to give wide berth to. Please understand, I have more than my share of reason-, season-, and lifetime friends, and I wouldn't trade these chicas for all the Godiva Dark Chocolate Cherries* in the world (although, if you should feel compelled to bribe me with confections, I might not say no).

But.

Something's been picking away at me. Something about why friends are friends. Something about the line between casual acquaintance and beloved friend, and that grey area in between.

How is that line is crossed over, and by whom? Can it be crossed over, back and forth, time and again? Whose responsibility is it to stride that barrier? If one person takes the leap from acquaintance to friend, and the other lags behind, what then? How is this reconciled?

If it were to somehow be quantified by the scientific community, we would find that the effort exerted to be polite - especially when it is not in our nature to do so - burns a hell of a lot of calories.

It is, then, a puzzlement to me as to why I am not mistaken more often for the unknown triplet sibling of Mary Kate & Ashley. Because I have been on the dance floor doing the Politeness Minuet for far too long, and people - I am tired.

I'm tired of not asking the questions I really want to, because it could be construed as judgmental or prying.

I'm tired of not saying the bilious, vitriolic things I really want to say, because I would come off as a first class hag.

I'm tired of trying to hold my bottom jaw nearer to the top, when all it wants to do is drop open at the sheer stupidity of things said or deeds done.

I'm tired of backflipping, headstanding, cheerleading and acting the court jester for the mopey and blue, because that is the right thing to do.

I'm tired of bad manners, and insensitivity and general carelessness.

Screw the right thing, the kind thing, the proper thing. I'm tired of it all. And at this point, I could care less if I am thought of less.

One of my dearest friends is my dearest friends for the very reason that we each can show each other the good. The bad. And the irksome. It's very liberating. I can call her anytime on her crap, and she feels free to do the same (I think she secretly delights in this). Regardless, I respect that. It invigorates me.

What tires me out is the recent realization that all those old adages are true (damn it, you old people, for being smarter than me).

There are basically two categories of friends:
1. The No-Holds-Barred Buddy, and

2. TheTreading-Lightly-Oops-I-Didn't-Mean-To-Hurt-Your-Feelings-by-Saying-Hi-In-The
Wrong-Tone-of-Voice Associate

The odd thing is, I have met #1's in the last few months that could potentially be life long friends. And I've know scads of #2's, where the nature of the relationship is stuck in the primordial ooze, never to evolve. How many #1's do you know? How many #2's? Have you mistaken 2's for 1's? Are you tired like me? Are you through with your dancing? Rest your feet, doll - I'm cooking up a plan.

The Baroness doth declareth: I think it's high time to schmush up these two categories into one.The Number Ones will love it. Who doesn't want a little nicety thrown in with the candor and disclosure every once in a while?

And the Number Twos? Well, the name kind of speaks for itself.


* Re: Godiva Dark Chocolate Cherries. This offering could help just about anyone climb up the friendship ladder.

Like a bullet.

If bullets climbed ladders.