December 18, 2014
Finding friends as an adult really sucks. It's rough going out there if you're a random in a new city who doesn't have kids and isn't interested in befriending drunken strangers in bars.
I used to think the adolescent dating ritual was one of the most painfully awkward scenarios in life, but maybe that's because in my day we didn't have social media or even Internet, so the ritual consisted of my friend telling his friend, "Krisa thinks your friend's cute!" and about twenty-five of these passed messages later, a boy four inches shorter than me would shuffle up and squeak, "Will you go out with me?" Awkward. And yes, I will go out with you. Now let's go find a corner where I can crouch down to make out with you & hopefully we won't get our braces caught together.
I never would've thought that finding friendships in adult life could be more awkward than that, or that I'd find myself using arguably more awkward flirtation strategies than I used on boys back in the early 90s when I come across a girl who seems like she might be just my non-romantic type. Catch myself staring longingly at her from across the room, or the street, or the cafe. Ask if she knows where the bathroom is even though I just used it. Trick my way into a conversation by paying for a haircutor some other salon service I don't need. Bring up the bad traffic that made us both late to our continuing education class (that I'm only taking because I'm desperately hoping to make a new friend) and casually mention a cafe downtown where I'm going to hang out beforehand next week, hoping she'll catch my drift and join me. Laugh at everything she says. Decide that if she doesn't like me back I'll just die!!
Sometimes all of this awkwardness seems to lead somewhere, like the make out session in the corner with the four foot nine boy with braces and glasses. Sometimes though, it only leads to a reminder that I might be better off giving up on adult friendship entirely, renting four movies on any night when my husband's not home & accepting a life without women forever, besides my real friends who live multiple states away of course.
In my last new city, I was walking around unemployed on a weekday when I saw a cute girl about my age working in a nail salon, sitting at her station reading a magazine, laughing at one of the articles. My nails always look like a fifth grade boy's, so I figured fuck it, I'll go in and see if I might get a friend out of the deal. Melissa was my age and had a kid, so we laughed a lot about the year I'd taught kindergarten and some of her kid's crazy behaviors, and inevitably we landed on the grown up boys in our lives. She was dating a guy named Brad and I was already married and didn't really have any bad things to say. On the other hand, Brad sounded like a total douche. This was my new potential friend though, so it was no time for expressing opinions; just laugh and smile and nod Krisa, laugh and smile and nod.
Now, my husband has had a few new adult friendships go horribly wrong (including a borderline stalker), so he's become pretty content with spending his time surfing and building furniture alone when he's not with me. He grew up with a huge crew of male friends though, so when we moved to California, I worried he might go insane without a new best bud. So I started dragging him into double and triple date type scenarios with my coworkers and the grown up boys in their lives. For the most part, he played along without putting up too much of a fight, as long as I promised to bring cash so that we didn't end up inadvertently paying for nine drinks on our card when I'd only ordered one. That all stopped after our night out with Melissa and Brad though.
Brad had eaten some pot cookies before meeting up with us at a new bar in town and Melissa overreacted, going off on him for ruining our night when it had only just begun. Within an hour we were at a dive bar down the road where Brad's female friend worked and Melissa was screaming about how much hotter she was than the slut bartender, clinging to my husband's shirt & frantically asking him if he agreed. When I turned and walked towards the bathroom, Melissa ran after me, held the door open, followed me in and plopped straight down on the toilet. Then I just pretended I didn't need to go, because seriously, I haven't felt the bond needed for me to pee in front of another girl in at least a decade. In my 30s, at a dive bar, with this girl who I just met stumbling around struggling to pull her pants up, it was just too weird. So I played with the chalkboard walls while she did her business and I went on a rant about the previous tenants of our duplex who had left us the gift of fleas to hide my embarrassment.
When we came out, Brad was waving his arms around and yelling about Melissa being a jealous bitch. My husband looked at his watch and gave me "the look," and a few minutes later we all got up to leave. Melissa and Brad screamed at each other in the parking lot, took a quick break from their argument about the slut bartender to offer us a ride home, and then went back to fighting after calling us weird when we insisted we'd rather walk. It was a warm summer night in California and we only lived about a mile away, and they were absolutely fucking hammered.
I hung out with Melissa alone a few times after that when she wasn't hammered, and perhaps surprisingly, I actually liked her. I liked her a lot. She was funny and sweet and sad in an interesting way. But she had this guy Brad in tow who made her act crazy, and the third or fourth time we hung out she cried because she'd found some flirty stuff while snooping on his Facebook page. After that I stopped replying to her texts, or made excuses when she asked if we wanted to go on another double date. I just wasn't interested in a wild card new friend who came with a douchey sidekick.
About a year later, I randomly answered one of Melissa's "Are you alive?" texts, and she excitedly texted back that she was pregnant with a little girl. I congratulated her and included a bunch of obligatory sparkly pink heart emojis. A few days later she texted me again, "Can I talk to you? It's really important. I need advice." After over a year of not seeing each other in a fairly small town, that was just too weird. I changed my number. I was moving to a new city soon anyway.
When we moved I deleted her number to help me resist the urge to tell her that it wasn't her, and that it wasn't me either. It was the guy, the douchebag, or rather it was her reaction to him and her failure to kick him to the curb. I'll always wonder what she thinks of me. Perhaps I was the crazier bitch, or maybe I'm just getting too old for that kind of drama. In the end, I walk down my new street and see all kinds of girls who look like they just might be the perfect new friend, but instead of taking a risk like I did with Melissa, I usually rent a DVD or read a book, or I text a friend who lives multiple states away. I decide maybe it's a good time to get pregnant. I've heard that's a way for adult women to make friends. Apparently having a kid is also a great way to get out of an awkward situation. Apparently I need both.