I find it a little odd that over the years, the only friends I’ve actually managed to stay close with are the ones I made when I was 14, and the subject of my post from last week: My Metal Heads. Close is a relative term, I guess, but they’re the kind of people that I don’t need to talk with every week or even every month to know that all I’d have to do is pick up the phone and say, “I need a shovel, tarp, and an alibi,” and they’d be over in less than an hour with all three, no questions asked.
In a bizarre twist, I even live down the street from one of the houses that Jeremy (one half of the couple that screen prints my awesome Shut Your Whore Mouth Shirts. P.S. they make other shirts, too) grew up in.
Sure, I’ve always had other friends, but they’ve sort of flitted in and out of my life, but these guys have always been around.
At thirty now, I have more girlfriends than I probably ever have before, thanks to you, my Pranksters, but I’ve never managed to hold onto any. I’ve always just been one of the guys. With a set of knockers. Not, I should carefully add, one of the guys, in the Village Bicycle “I fuck them all so they keep me around,” kind of ways, either.
I’ve mentioned before that I’ve been trying to make some local friends so that I can have occasion to leave the house now and again, so I figured that my neighbors would be an awesome place to start. I’m fortunate that I like my neighbors and my house and my motherfucking roses, and while The Daver is a hermit who is allergic to sunshine, outside air, and dirt, I’m always out and about with my pickax, shovel and power washer, trying to make my house look less like zombies live here.
I’m the only woman on the block who asks for power tools for her birthday.
I’m also the only woman who does the maintenance around the house. So, when I’m taking a break from ripping out bushes and shrubbery and busting up my ankles from buying a pickax that weighs 30 pounds (say it with me now, Pranksters, nice call on buying the HEAVIEST most HARDCORE one the hardware store had, Aunt Becky), I’ll stop, and have a chat with one of my neighbors.
Now, I’m going to have to draw you a picture to show you what I look like when I’m having these talks, just so we’re both acutely aware of how I look, okay? Then you can nominate my artistic skillz for a Tony Award.
Okay, so that’s OBVIOUSLY not my garden, but I’d say the artistic rendering is pretty incredible, don’t you?
Of course you do. So please, grab a tissue and dab up your tears. I know it’s beautiful. I cried tears at it’s beauty while I drew it.
I know pictures are worth a thousand words, but you cannot hear this amazing drawing speak (besides the worm, of course), but if you could, it would be saying, “So, how do you best remove those roots? And what blade works best? Tell me again about the miter saw. Can I borrow one or do you think that’s something I should really invest in?”
At no point is the interaction ever like this:
I just don’t get it.
I don’t want to have The Sex with other mens. I don’t want your boyfriends. Ladies, I’m not interested in your husbands. Married men don’t appeal to me. I know women who like that kind of conquest, but frankly, I’m more interested in learning about power tools, and I don’t mean the kind in their pants.
See, my dad knows what a klutz I am and didn’t teach me about power tools, probably because he didn’t want to take me to the ER to have my fingers sewn back on every other week. You know what? After I’ve successfully been to the ER on 5 out of 7 of my last birthdays, busted both of my ankles on the stupid pickax in a single week, maybe he was right.
But you know what? I’m scrappy and determined and how to PROPERLY use a miter saw, THAT is what I want to know from your husband. Not how best to take it from behind.
What makes me saddest about this is that I realized I can no longer easily make new guy friends. That’s a sad realization for me.
Hm. Maybe I can get a shirt made that says, “I don’t want your man.” Think it’ll make any difference?
Also: have you noticed this, Pranksters? Can you successfully make friends of the opposite sex now? If you can, tips please?
In a TOTALLY unrelated note, I need halp. I need a ton of pictures for my new site (which I am hoping to get launched tomorrow) that cannot come from Dr. Google. I need your pictures. Not pictures of your kids, but other stuff. Drawings, illustrations, photographs are awesome, but I need them to be at least 450 Pixels wide.
What I’m looking for, which is REALLY convoluted sounding, because I’m not exactly sure how to explain, are pictures, drawings and illustrations that are riffing off the titles of Choose Your Own Adventure stories. NOT the covers. Just pictures that might be sort of like the titles.
I can’t explain more than “I’ll know it when I see it.”
If you have anything, you can leave a link here, or send me something to email@example.com. I’ll love you EVEN MORE than I did before. Which was a lot.
I’ll give credit, of course, I just don’t want to be stealing them from Google to get my bitch ass smacked down.