Breaking up is hard to do

Mrs. B and me are fine.

But I am breaking up with a friend. Seriously. I meant to write this last week, upon making this decision. But I forgot, and a good friend - not the one in question - wrote something about it on her blog, reminding me to do the same.

So for the better part of nine years I have had two close guy friends, who have been about as close to best friends as possible for me. I say "as close," 'cause I'm just not 100% sold on that whole best friends thing, not since elementary school anyway. I'm like comedian Rick Reynolds, the guy who used to do the "Only the Truth is Funny" monologue: My friends have to earn their "rank" on a sliding scale. And I'm only half kidding. I don't need friends to do things for me. I need them to be there for me. More on that another time.

Anyway, the three of us have been like the Musketeers, or the Stooges, since the day we met at a journalism conference. The three of us, along w/four others, I think, had been invited as "emerging" writers, whatever that means. We have always been typical in the sense that we laughed over drinks and cigars. We debated women. We occasionally pursued women together. We could talk politics and sociology. We could talk the basest, crudest talk about romance, and snicker like school boys. We could talk religion. If one was physically threatened, we all rolled up our sleeves and prepared to give or take a thrashing, one for all, all for one. And if one of us was down and out, we could count on one another - right along with our girlfriends (at the time), or relatives - for emotional support. Our friendship reflected that biblical principle that says a true, close friend, is "closer than a brother."

I even had one old girlfriend joke that she had never seen guys comfortable enough in their own skin to open up to each other like family, the way we three had. Some guys would get squeamish at her comment. I took it as a compliment. I know who I am.

But our friendship has always had one problem: one of the guys has no filter. He doesn't know when to speak, when to bite his tongue, or how to think analytically the split second before speaking. And his internal issues - those he hasn't really shared - are such that to rein himself in would be "selling out" in his mind.

When he's on, he's a cool guy, a stereotypical good buddy. When he's off, he can be downright mean.

On the one hand he has joked with gradually increasing seriousness that me and the third guy are corporate shills, driven each day by "the man." On the other hand he regales us from time to time with his efforts to climb the ladder at his own company. It's different, he argues, for him, because he's climbing grudgingly and we appear to enjoy "the game."

For years we've made excuses for his untimely comments in mixed company, his insults to us, flung under the guise of him keepin' it real by always, always, speaking his mind. We've always said to each other "Oh, that's just (him) being (him)!" That line even became a mantra of sorts. And when he'd cross a line, one of us would check him. And, inevitably, after a short argument, he'd sheepishly apologize, say something like "I get it now," and then say how good it was that three guys with such different backgrounds could be friends 'cause it kept us grounded. We'd forgive. We'd all have a drink. We'd laugh it off. We'd move on...till the next incident.

But recently, he crossed the line one time too many with me. At a celebratory event, he blurted out some nonsense about questioning the need for us to be friends. It would have been harmless in any other setting. It took the wind out of the sails at this event. It soured the mood in the room.

We had our usual conversation afterwards, in which he insisted he meant no harm but he had to be "real."

Then the following day, at another event, he did it again. And something snapped in me. I've had enough. I'm done. Friendships shouldn't take this much work. I'm married now. And my wife and I don't have this much grief between us.

I spent the next couple of weeks out of touch with this buddy. And I finally reached the conclusion a few days ago. We can't be friends. I share some of the blame for this happening. If I had checked him harder back in the day and told him to grow up already, he either would have, or we would have decided long ago that we couldn't be friends. But I gave him pass after pass, because he always said sorry later. In a strange way I was a little bit of an enabler.

It's weird. I've never broken up with a friend before. I've had friendships that sort of faded into oblivion. But I've never made it a point to end a friendship.

I have to though. I'm too grown and too tired to keep sparring with this guy over his inability to filter himself sometimes and his lack of confidence that compels him to put down other people for trying. If he truly is just being himself, then he's gotta be him around some other friend.

Weird situation. Really, the old breakups with girlfriends? Those were tough. But I always got over them quickly and easily, because, frankly, I knew there was another young woman around the corner.

It's different with a plain old friend though. I don't like many people enough to consider them friends. And not many people other than my wife or my relatives can tolerate me enough to be my friend, my true friend.

I think, for the time being, my friend level will remain the same. I'm not taking applications for new ones. I'll continue to develop friendly acquaintanceships as they come my way. But for now no new friends. Too much work.

It'll be tough. But I'll try

This weekend I will be doing the moral equivalent to brain surgery. I will try to lose a grudge.

This is difficult. You can laugh, but among my many flaws, I have a hard time letting go of anger at people I feel have slighted me in the past.

It's very easy for me to say or write that we should let bygones be bygones and not to sweat the small stuff. But when the small stuff and the bygones are the fruit of personal interactions they're tougher to forget. What I mean is I can forget the words of a dead horse, AKA a talk radio host, 'cause I don't know that dude. But if you slighted me one on one? I will hold onto that like the worst movie stereotype of a Sicilian gangster.

I say all that 'cause Mrs. B has a friend, or former friend, or something - not sure what to call her, who used to hate me. It's possible she still does. But I won't flatter myself. I'm sure she has better stuff to think about these days. But I swear, in the beginning of our (mine and Mrs. B's) relationship, this woman bashed me mercilessly. She called me things that would have bruised the ego of just about any man with a pulse. To be fair she thought at one time that I had done the same to her. But she was wrong, the unfortunate victim of a gossiper who had led her astray. If she'd come directly to me way back then she would have figured out that the gossiper was a jealous loser and that I wouldn't have talked about her, 'cause I don't do gossip. Gossip is like chronic lying. Difficult, I've heard. A headache. You have to keep your stories up and remember which one you told last. You have to constantly insert red herrings so that the subject of the gossip doesn't trace it back to you. It's like playing telephone. And I hate telephone.

So anyway, a few days ago James-hater reached out to Mrs. B. And over the past few days or so they have been reuniting, smoothing out old bumps in their relationship, reconciling, etc. And you might think I'd be angry or pouty about it, but I'm not. Old friendships should not be destroyed over a fit of temper or two. Not worth it. They were friends for a really long time. And being here in Florida, Mrs. B doesn't see a lot of her old friends from the home state very often. Making peace with one of them is a good thing, I say.

And I'll earn good (this includes compassionate and understanding) husband points by encouraging this reunion...unless, of course, this ends up turning into a Thelma & Louise thing.

It is inevitable as the weekend progresses that I will grab the house phone without looking at the caller ID and it'll be the friend on the other line. Or I'll see Mrs. B's cell phone ringing and I'll yell out to her that her phone is ringing and should I get it. She'll say yes. And it'll be the friend on the other line. I will have to talk to this woman.

And when I do, I'm gonna keep it friendly...I think. I mean, I will. I'm pretty sure. Maybe.

My good friend

How good a friend are you?

I mean, we probably agree that if you do nice things for people you like you are a good friend to them. If you say nice things to people you like you're probably a good friend to them. If you think nice things about people you like you're probably a good friend to them.

And we base all this on the assumption that you do all the nice things for people you care about - friends.

But when your friend needs to hear some bad news, can you deliver it?

I have a friend who is a drunk. He gets lit frequently. And it occurred to me in a conversation with him earlier today that I don't think I've ever called him out over his excess boozing. We've talked about the after-effects a million times. I have laughed with him over his descriptions of feeling and looked wretched the next morning. I've poked fun at him for it and teased him about not being able to "hold" his. I've coyly asked him if he remembered who he hooked up with the night before.

The only reason it struck me today that I may be doing this friend a disservice was that he called and told me about his recent wild nights...and then he went on to talk about how bummed out he was about his life.

For all the times this buddy has called me to tell me about his escapades I've never once told him "Go to AA, go straight to AA, do not pass go, do not collect $200."

Nothing. Not even a hint like "You think maybe you should cut back a little?"

Don't get me wrong. I'm not on a soap box. I'm not even on a bar of soap right now. I have had my share of "the day after."

But then I got old...er, and tired of feeling like re-heated crap from late Friday/early Saturday morning till Sunday evening every weekend. And booze got expensive. And I had things to do that required me to be clear-headed, etc., etc. The list could go on. And no doubt some of you could add a few items to it.

My point is you grow up at some point and stop the goofy behavior, just because. If you're 30 or older and nowhere near the goals you've set for yourself but yet you still find time to get hammered every night? You have issues. And if you can't or aren't willing to stop you might have a problem that goes beyond your overwhelming desire to have fun. And if this description fits you, you're not likely to get "it" on your own, which leaves the job of making you get "it" to your friends.

But friends aren't always willing to tell you're goofy and/or you need help. And yet, you may need to hear that more than a joke. I know all the arguments: we don't want to hurt our friends' feelings. We don't want to come off as the bad guy. I've heard 'em all. I've used 'em to rationalize my own unwillingness to put a friend in check.

Still, it's strange to me. It should be easy. The truth shall set you free, and all that jazz, right?

I think I am a good friend to this guy. But I've never told him to get help.

A Bogus Cliché

I don't think I'm a TV junkie. I do have regular shows I watch - Law & Order reruns, Family Guy, Futurama reruns, South Park (do you see the cartoon pattern?), a couple of reality-based home design & rehabbing shows, random news shows, and random reality TV (my current favorite is VH-1's The White Rapper Show). But I don't think I overdo it. All my stuff is normally limited to a couple of hours of evening watching.

While playing nurse's aide to my wife, who is recovering from surgery though, I've had a chance to watch things I wouldn't normally see...'cause I'd be at work.

On Friday morning I got a glimpse at "Surprise, I'm a Ho!" or something similarly titled on Jerry Springer, and updates on outrageous guests on Maury Povich.

I ain't gonna lie. It was all fascinating and funny. But what really grabbed me was a Maury update involving a woman who had learned on an earlier episode that her boyfriend had cheated with her best friend.

When Maury's camera's panned to the woman for the update, it revealed her locked in an embrace with her best friend, the same best friend who'd slept with her man.

The slighted woman then told Maury the friendship had survived because she could always find a new man, but she could never find a new best friend.

And for a moment I nodded approval. My first thought was "At least she got mad at the right person."

But I thought about it a little more and had an epiphany. That cliché is baloney. It's all wrong. Or at least it's not necessarily right.

"Grooming" a new best friend can't be anymore difficult than grooming a new significant other. In theory you love both (in obvious different ways), you trust both, you care about both, etc. I've lost both before - not 'cause of cheating, or anything like it. But either way, both losses sucked.

So why is the best friend less responsible for the cheating episode than the significant other? I'd argue that the best friend may be more responsible 'cause she's been around longer than the man. He was a relative newcomer.

I know, it's stupid talk show TV. But how many of you haven't heard someone use that cliché - or used it yourselves - about keeping your cheating best friend over your cheating boyfriend or cheating girlfriend 'cause Best Friends are Forever? It's a crock. If your BFF hooks up with your significant other he or she is a snake, a weasel, a dirt ball, and you should probably ditch 'em both.

A truer catch phrase would be: "I don't need this crap! I can find a new best friend and a new significant other."