Tuesday, July 15, 2008

My Friend, The Oddball

Today’s post is going to be about Christine. Yes, Christine – the friend that I probably hang out with the most. She’s also the one that probably (okay definitely) drives me nuts the most. But it occurred to me, as we were hanging out on Friday night, that she’s gotten kind of a bad rap around here. And I’m the first to admit that I’m the one who gave it to her. But in the interest of honesty, I have to say she does have her redeeming features. Christine’s just…an odd duck is all (which I’m willing to bet is one of the reasons I like her so much). She’s entirely too outspoken, she has absolutely no tact, she says hurtful things ALL the time, and she couldn’t be more judgmental if she tried. But she is also a great friend. We have so much fun together.

From the day I met Christine, she has stood by me – there I was, at a party with my (now ex) boyfriend, and I was all alone. As was his M.O., he took me to a party where he knew everyone (and I knew no one), and promptly disappeared. Now I don’t really mind being left on my own, but this was a habit of his that truly pissed me off. So, knowing that the best place to meet people and make inane conversation was always by the booze, I made my way over to the keg. And that’s where Christine was. Upon introducing myself, I learned that she already knew all about me (my ex was from a really small town – the same town Christine is from – and apparently everyone was talking about the new girl J was dating…awesome). Anyway we got to talking, and drinking, and it turned out we had a lot of fun together (I ditched my ex at that party, went to another party with Christine, and the evening didn’t end until she had been invited into a threesome with this couple I knew – I think you probably had to be there, but her reaction was very amusing).

Wait, where was I? Doesn’t matter, the point is we became friends a long time ago, and for whatever reason the two of us (normally) get along really well. And despite the road bumps along the way, she is one of those people I can always count on. When I was laid off last year, it was Christine who showed up at my door that night with food (score), a bottle of scotch (double score), and a bouquet of daisies (my favorite). She then promptly took me out and got me shitfaced. It was a shining Friend Moment.

Still, she is a weirdo (which, as I said, is one of the reasons I like her so much). And while that normally translates into good times, when things get bad with her they get…really bad. This has never been more in evidence than the past year and a half – in that time Christine has been fired twice, got offered a job and then promptly (after she’d told everyone) had the offer rescinded, she’s been dumped twice, and she was evicted by her asshole ex-roommate (after she refused to date him). Essentially, all of this kind of broke her. She just fell apart. And while I truly don’t blame her for that (I’m a bitch, but I’m not that big a bitch), it did make spending time with her…difficult. She was hard to be around – and as luck would have it I was the only person she could stand to talk to during this time. So I vented – to you fine people. I did not take it out on her (well, at least not until she royally pissed me off back in…December?…I’m not going back and finding that post and linking to it). Either way it’s been a tough stretch, but lately (I’m happy to say), she seems to be getting back to normal. She’s starting a new job in a couple weeks, she doesn’t seem nearly as depressed and negative now, and she’s been giving me my space (thank God). This makes the time when we do hang out much more enjoyable (not surprisingly). And this return to form has really reminded me just how much of a trip Christine can be. So without further ado, below you will find a taste of my friend Christine – these are all stories she told/opinions she gave while we were out drinking on Friday night – my strange friend who is truly an acquired taste. Enjoy:

-While waiting to start her job, Christine has been focusing on keeping busy. This translates into many things – daily yoga classes (I have a good story below on that), joining a weekly book group (these people are hardcore and apparently are all over the age of 45), cleaning out her closets (which it seems is much more involved than I ever imagined), and…fixing her dresser. Her Ikea dresser – which cost her about $100 6 years ago. You know, the kind that you get straight out of college, use until you can afford something nicer, and then fucking throw out. But oh no, not Christine. When she noticed that her dresser was literally falling apart – according to her the bottom kept dropping out, thereby dumping all her clothes onto the floor (which is, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you fine people, pretty inconvenient in a dresser) – she didn’t think ‘time for the trash heap,’ she thought ‘project!’

So, as she tells the story, she contacted her super. She needed, in her words, a ‘rolly thing.’ I would now give you the technical name for such an apparatus, but…well, I don’t know what they’re called either. It’s just one of those stand things that has 4 wheels on it so you can move heavy objects around.

Anyway, upon receiving a rolly thing from her super, Christine emptied her dresser out, somehow maneuvered her huge dresser (this bad boy is BIG – it’s wide and it goes up to her neck) onto it, and hit the streets. Of Harlem (yes, Christine is currently living in Harlem). But just in case this picture doesn’t strike you as odd enough, Christine decided to top off her look with a huge straw hat, because…(drumroll please) the ‘sun seemed really strong that day.’ Yeah, like I said – weirdo.

So Christine started wheeling her way down the street, ostensibly looking for a hardware store, with her dresser in tow (playing the part of, I don’t know, her dog or something). Apparently everyone she passed looked at her like she was nuts (they weren’t wrong). And upon finding herself a little corner hardware store, Christine deduced that she wouldn’t be able to fit her dresser inside the shop. So she went in, got the manager, and made him come out onto the street to look at her dresser. He was…confused as to what she needed from him. And when she explained that she wanted him to fix said dresser (on the street it seems), he looked at her – flabbergasted – and said, ‘But…it’s made of particle board! Can’t you just buy a new one?’ It seems the answer to that question was, ‘No.’

4 hours later, Christine took her new (fixed) dresser back to her apartment. On her trusty little rolly thing. And let me tell you something – she is damn proud of herself. In her eyes, she really accomplished something that day. And let me tell you, she is not even a little embarrassed by this story (no matter how much you laugh at her – trust me, I know).

Repeat after me – an odd duck.

-The yoga story – actually, it’s not really a story so much as a prime example of Christine being…well, Christine. OK you know what, this is really best told through a reenactment of our conversation (picture us sitting at the bar in our favorite neighborhood pub – we were both a little drunk at this point):

Christine: …And I’ve been taking 3 different yoga classes.
Redhead: Why?
Christine: Because it gives me something to do during the day while the rest of the world is working.
Redhead: Yeah, but yoga? Why?
Christine: I like it.
Redhead: Why?
Christine: Shut up. So anyway, my Friday yoga class is by far the hardest.
Redhead: What makes it so hard?
Christine: Well, I think it’s taught by a yogi…
Redhead: What exactly is a yogi?
Christine: I’m not sure. But this guy is clearly super good, because the class is made up entirely of yoga instructors, and so I’ve decided he’s a yogi.
Redhead: Huh. Why are you there?
Christine: Because there’s no rule saying I can’t be.
Redhead: But can you keep up?
Christine: No.
Redhead: Can you at least do most of the moves?
Christine: No.
Redhead: Huh. Okay, well do the other students – since they’re actually instructors too – help you out?
Christine: Oh no, they hate me.
Redhead: What do you mean they hate you?
Christine: Well, they all seem to know each other – they hang out before and after class, they talk about yoga, etc. etc. – and I think they’re a little pissed off that I’m crashing their party.
Redhead: But you said there’s no rule that you can’t be there.
Christine: There isn’t, but that doesn’t mean they have to want me there. And they’re mean! I fell over trying to do a handstand the other day, and someone laughed at me!
Redhead: In yoga? Are they allowed to do that? Doesn’t that go against EVERYTHING that yoga stands for?
Christine: Exactly! But to be fair, I really am bad.
Redhead: I don’t care, that’s just wrong! You need to stop going.
Christine: I can’t do that, I need to break them first.
Redhead: You need to ‘break’ your yoga class?
Christine: (Nodding her head) I have to win. They may hate me, they may be mean to me, but they can’t stop me from going and they can’t throw me out.
Redhead: I get that, but doesn’t it suck being there? This is supposed to be fun for you.
Christine: It kind of is. I just go in with a big dumb smile on my face, sit there acting oblivious, and try to do the moves without hurting anyone. I’m like a puppy. Who can be mean to a puppy?! Eventually they WILL like me.
Redhead: (At this point just doubled over in laughter) I…you know what? I can’t argue this – I think it’s genius. If you break them in the next two weeks, I’ll buy you dinner.

-Damn, this post is getting long – let’s keep this story short and sweet. So Christine and I were sitting in a bar on Friday (as I already stated), and without warning she blurts out, ‘East Coast guys have small dicks. I mean it, on the whole they all have huge egos and small dicks.’

Cue me, choking on my drink. As I quickly looked around, I found more than one shocked male in the vicinity (mind you we were in Manhattan, New York, aka East Coast Central, at the time). ‘Where the fuck did that come from?’

‘So I was having sex with this guy a couple weeks ago,’ she went on to explain (at this point I think my head hit the bar), ‘and the condom fell off. Inside of me! I had to fish it out. And according some friends of mine, I’m not the only one this has happened to.’

Shocked. Speechless.

‘This prompted me to do a little more asking around’ she continued, ‘and it seems to be a uniquely East Coast male thing. No girls have had this problem with a Midwestern or West Coast boy.’

Me, still speechless.

‘Between all the girls I asked, I feel like I have a pretty good sample size here to make a hypothesis. So I’m comfortable calling this a scientific fact. East Coast guys have small dicks.’

Yes, she really does speak and say things like that. Now, I’m not going to get into my responses to her here (you know, once I’d regained the power of speech), but I will say this – I got us the hell out of there pretty soon after this bombshell; I was afraid for our lives. You just don’t imply that a bar full of men are inadequate, and then stick around. That’s a life lesson people.

-I also had another story about a guy (I think the small dicked one from above actually), sending her a dirty email but accidentally sending it to her brother instead, only I’m tired and need to get back to work. Long story short, Christine and her brother have very similar email addresses, her brother got an email that was clearly meant for her, he forwarded it on to her, and she feels she may never be able to face her family again. The end. Let me leave you with this though – Christine may be a pain in the ass, she may drive me nuts, and she may be needy as hell a lot of the time, but man does she make me laugh.

Oh, I also want to give a shout out to Josh Hamilton – the Home Run Derby was insane last night! Two enthusiastic thumbs up.


One More Dying Quail said...

Oh God no - I think I'm a "Christine Friend". I can be just as needy and tough to deal with, and I constantly get the feeling that my best friend is sick of it.

Mr. Thursday said...

I adore the dresser story. Also, that kind of behavior is about the best way to spend your free time. I wouldn't be embarrassed to own that tale, either.

Redhead said...

omdq: OK, two thoughts here - 1) tough to deal with is one thing, needy is something else; drop the needy, and 2) you're automatically not a 'Christine Friend' because you realize you're a pain in the ass; Christine has no clue.

mr. thursday: You'd do that? Seriously? Because while I'll admit it's a great story, I'll also admit that I'd never, ever do that. I'm more of a 'time to go buy a new dresser' type, or to put it more succinctly: lazy.

Jack Cobra said...

Is Christine your friend who's like really gorgeous or am I totally confused? If so, the weirdness kind of makes her hotter.

Also, I believe those 'rolly things' can be called hand trucks, carts or even 'rollers', at times.

Bruce Paine said...

Look out, Jack! (He says as he hitches up his breeches like a fat, old man), better let me handle this one. Let the old Painster, former high-school furniture mover extraordinerrant, take a swing. If the said rolling thing had handles with which to lever it around, then it would be, as Jack has so eloquently surmised, a hand truck. If, however, it has no handles and is just four boards shaped in a rectangle with wheels on the bottom, seemingly for the purpose of placing a large object completely on top of, then it is a "4-wheeled dolly" or, in the vernacular, a 4-wheeler. (he says, completing the sentence with a smacking of the lips a la Holmes on his trusted pipe sitting back in a high winged back chair having just offered the aghast Watson the glorious and bonded truth of an unsolvable case.)

Tell your friend guys from the Midwest are hung like elephants. Its a lie, but we do have high pain tolerances and we never forget anything.

Redhead said...

jack: Yup, she's the one that's been approached by modeling scouts. Glad you like her too.

paine: I think it was a 4-wheeled dolly then (she didn't indicate there were any handles involved. Pretty impressive, right?

Actually, we decided that the largest dicks come from the West Coast (we both agreed on that), the smallest come from the East (although I argued against this - it seems I'm outvoted), and Midwestern boys are the best in bed (both of us admitted that our best sex was with good old corn-fed Midwesterners). So there you have it - a totally inaccurate breakdown of American men.

Bruce Paine said...

Well, I suppose midwesterners are all hopeless romantics. We are more familiar with the unflinchingly honest things about life, death, and the functional enjoyment of things in between. A harder life in the flyover states can send a sensitive man to pining for the more tender experiences. And, of course, our mothers taught us how to gentlemen. You may not get a lot of that in New York. I guess we are all of bunch of Mr. Darcys, without the money and the big houses and trout streams and jodhpurs and such . You know, all the stuff that makes Darcy attractive to Mrs. Bennet.