friendship

Okay, so yesterday wasn't the best, but that night, I watched half of High School Musical 2 and just about learned the dance to "Work It Out", so the day was salvagable. Anyway, I called a friend yesterday afternoon and told him I was having a shit day and needed some encouraging words. Did I get them? Of course not. This bastard is what I call a "myfriend". Just like the "friends" we collected on myspace, they were buds in name only. When you're feeling like you can't take one more step for fear that the world will come crashing down around you, real friends step up (or step back-whatever the case may be). At any rate, real friends never do NOTHING.

But what did I expect? He never gave a rat's ass about anybody but himself. Lord knows this life philosophy has served him well over the years (insert sarcastic cackle), so why would he change? Who needs deep, meaningful friendships when you can get your dick sucked by any number of STD-riddled strangers?

Cannot just lay the blame at his studio apartment door, though. I'm a grown woman, right? At the first sign of adversity, I shouldn't run to my friends and expect them to hold me up. It's not their job. Or is it? If it's not, then I will gladly stop making late night phone calls and house calls to friends in need. Gladly.

I've always been a tad on the antisocial side, so forgive my ravings. I'm still trying to navigate this minefield called "friendship".