I was thinking about getting a job at a local strip club. The club sign advertises three spots that would be perfect for someone like me. I could do it…I mean, I get along well with people. Strippers make tips! Here’s the sign:
Ah, self-depreciating humor. Where would I be without it? Probably crying into a cheesecake somewhere.
The other day my best friend was passing through my city and invited me out to dinner. Where did he want to go? Olive Garden, of all places. He’s constantly on my ass about eating healthy and exercise, and he chooses the Olive Garden. “Just order soup!” he tells me. Riiiiiiight. Have you seen me? I’m overweight for a reason, stupid! I ended up ordering the shrimp alfredo with whole wheat pasta and it was…awful. I guess that ended up being a good thing because I took more than half of it to go.
So when we first sit down we chatter away about mindless BS. Then he drops the bomb I’ve been waiting to hear since we got there: “Let’s talk about YOU”. Ugh. My best friend makes Dr. Phil look like Jerry Springer. He’s totally into talking about your problems until you’re beaten over the head to death with them. He knows me well though, and he knows that unless my true feelings are poked and prodded out of me I’ll keep them underneath the surface until my head explodes and I have an episode where everything around me falls apart and I have to start over. Kind of like where I am now!
He asks me about my marriage. Something I don’t want to talk to him about, because I already know in advance what he is going to say about what is going on between me and J (FYI-no divorce or anything. We’re having some problems in regards to our future and where that future is supposed to take place. It’s hard and it’s going in circles, but I love my husband dearly and J is fiercely loyal so I know everything will work out…I hope…). Turns out he did a stealth move and intervened on my behalf by pulling a Dr. Phil on my husband without my knowledge! Hubs said pretty much the same thing I said, except from his point of view. Even though the BFF has these great ideas and solutions (and seriously cares more about his friends than himself), sometimes it’s hard to explain what YOU are feeling about things. So even though I love him and thank him for his
nosiness concern, it’s something that has to be dealt with between me and the hubs.
He asks me about my state of mental health. He says, “the best thing you can do for yourself and J right now is to go back to your doctor and start treatment. And DON’T STOP even if you are feeling better!” I have a tendency to see a therapist a few times, feel better about myself and decide there’s no need to go back since I’m fine this time! Things will be different! Eventually things fall apart and I have to start over. It’s a vicious cycle that I’ve restarted so many times it’s kind of my thing. I tell him I’m poor, that I’m too busy looking for a job, trying to just eat better, trying to just focus on those things-when he chides me for making excuses.
I ask him, “don’t you read my blog?” He says, of course I do, but sometimes it’s hard to, Hed. There are times where your writing is like ‘everything is fine, look how great I am, blah blah blah’ and it’s just bullshit”. And he’s right. I am like that on my blog sometimes. You don’t think I’ve wanted to rip my heart out and show you all how much I’m hurting? You don’t think I want to talk about my marriage and how I don’t deserve my husband because I am a waste of space and will end up ruining his life? How I can’t sleep most nights because there is so much on my mind? That I often think of suicide and it brings me to tears? Of course I do. But I also know that reading a “woe is me” blog sucks ass, and if I really need to let things out, no matter how ashamed I am of feeling them, I will.
Then we get around to weight. You took me to OLIVE GARDEN and you want to talk about weight? I hate you so much right now. What am I doing for exercise? What about cutting out foods? And then he plays the fat card: “You know, you’ve gained weight, but you’re still pretty!” Where’s the dessert menu so I can bury my shame in a tiramisu?
By the way, BFF’s body isn’t buried in a shallow grave somewhere. After dinner we got frogurt and he dropped me off. I love him to death. He’s the haloed guy on my shoulder that tells me all the things I shouldn’t be doing. Sometimes I call him “Dad”, to his dismay. But he really does make me want to be a better person. I have told him numerous times that he should go into counseling because he really knows how to make an impact and he doesn’t mince words, which so many of us tend to do.
My best friend loves me for all the things he knows I can be, whereas my husband loves me for who I am. So I feel lucky that I have a motivator and an unconditional lover in my life. Even if he is a dick!