Today I want to talk about friends. I got 'em, I'm happy to share 'em.
The first thing about my friends is that they all have
opinions about things. We don't always
agree, and some of my friends are infinitely smarter than I will ever be in
multiple lifetimes, but each and every one of my friends has something
interesting to say. Okay, so sometimes
our conversations center on really crucial things like dancing Storm Troopers
or bad movies or the benefit of shopping at DSW over Famous Footwear. But still.
An opinion is an opinion is an opinion, in my opinion, anyway.
Also, my friends are go-getters. They raise families, have jobs, go to school,
adopt animals, vote, hold me up at bars, bring me home from emergency rooms, eat
frozen yogurt with me, go to the gym, and listen to me complain as I listen to
them. All of that stuff, and not
necessarily in that particular order.
I have a great diversity of friends, from all walks of life,
from all corners of the globe. It leads
to some interesting conversations, funny misinterpretations, and some heated
political debates. It's no secret that I
detest arguing American politics with people from other countries or who are
not natural born citizens, but then again, I pretty much detest American
politics in general, so my foreign friends don't take it personally.
Some of my friends are even related to me. No, truly, I consider my kids and my siblings
and even my siblings' in-laws to be friends.
Good people are good people, blood or not. Everyone has heard the expression, "You
can pick your friends but you can't pick your relatives." Sometimes the pickings are slim, and
sometimes you hit the jackpot. Probably
explains why I don't do well gambling and should never, ever go to Vegas or
Atlantic City or certain parts of Connecticut - I already hit it big with the
whole blood-ties thing, so I shouldn't press my luck.
But most important of all, my friends have marvelously
twisted, sick, probably damn-near psychotic senses of humor. We can quote entire scripts from Blazing Saddles, Airplane, and Doctor
Strangelove, Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb. We can (and have) shut down both the Los
Angeles and New York City corporate offices of CBS Television with tons and
tons and tons of peanuts. We have been
collectively and personally thrown off major news and entertainment blogs only
to valiantly ride (on Senor Ed) to each other's defenses. We plant crackers and cheese under offensive
beach-goers' chairs so seagulls share their "perfect" spots. We visit giant Corpse Flowers at zoos simply
because we can. We run from restaurants
and hide between parked cars as well as hide in the infant clothing aisles of
department stores in order to help each other avoid uncomfortable encounters
and confrontations with malcontents. We
tell each other nasty jokes but never hold a grudge about being momentarily
offended.
The icing on the cake, of course, is that my friends have my
back, and I have theirs. If we cross the
line with each other, it's a forgivable blip.
But if someone else crosses the line to one of our own, well… screw them and the horses they rode in
on.
(And bless you, my
Colorado/Jericho/Communal Brain friend, for sparking today's blog topic. You totally ROCK …y Mountain.)
