“You’ve got a friend in me.”
Name that song. If you don’t know it, you are almost pretty much dead to me.
Nah, I’m just kidding. It’s the theme song from none other but the orignal Toy Story, and the song was written by the wonderful Randy Newman. In case you don’t believe me when I say he’s wonderful, also check out “Strange Things (Are Happening to Me)”, also found in the first Toy Story movie. That is certainly one movie I will love with all my heart until the day I can no longer sit in one place for the duration for the entirely of a 1.5 hour movie (Let’s face it, the bladder is going to lose function at some point during my old age.)
Woody the Cowboy and Buzz Lightyear. Whoever thought they could become friends, let alone the best of friends? They come from two entirely different backgrounds, and they live in opposite settings of each other. A ranch versus a space ship. Moon boots versus cowboy boots. Yee-ha versus To Infinity and Beyond!
You get the picture. But when they got past that original sense of hesitancy about each other, they not only had amazing adventures with each other. (The scene I’m thinking of…”Buzz, you’re flying!”, “This isn’t flying. It’s falling with style.”, “To infinity and beyooooond! Hah hah hah!”)
As other holidays rolled around and Andy grew older and older until it was time for him to go to college, Woody and Buzz remained best of friends through all the changes taking place.
I can only hope I can say the same about some of the people I’ve befriended in the past year or so as new changes not only rock my world, but theirs as well.
For instance, I’ll be leaving the job I’ve worked for the past 1.5 years, and I’ve gotten to know pretty much everybody on the staff here. Some are friends, others mere acquaintances where we say ‘hello’ and ‘good-bye’ when appropriate while making other polite small talk. A handful of others I would say have become good friends of mine. Be it a good work friend or an actual We-Talk-About-The-Big-Stuff sort of friend, we’ve connected on a level that goes beyond work mates. We’ve hung out, we’ve called each other to vent, we’ve done lunch/drinks/dinner, we’ve started drinking in the middle of the afternoon and continued well into the night, we’ve seen movies together, and we text more often than we should.
How much do you want to bet most, if not all, of these things will change the day I start my Big Girl Job?
“Friends are just enemies who don’t have enough guts to kill you.”
You’re words ring too true in my current state of being, Judy Tenuta, a lethal lampooner.
One such friend, upon learning from me that I got the job I’ll be starting next week, she had very specific words for me: “I want to be happy for you.Really, I do. But I’m going to be mad at you and hate you instead.”
This is also the same friend who bailed on grabbing drinks on my the eve of my birthday because she needed to “go home and bake. Yes, I’m an old person. But I don’t want to be tired in the morning.” I’m sorry, but it was 9:00 pm and you could have had water with lemon, especially after promising me for the entire previous week you’d come out with me. Or, how one night we decided to go out for drinks after work because we wanted to catch up with each other, but then she decided a beer on her porch would taste better. Instead of even doing that, she then agreed to go out with other coworkers for beer instead of going for a drink with me (which could have been a beer. I didn’t care what we got, I was just excited to spend time with her. Guess I was wrong again.)
From that point on, all I’ve received is attitude from a handful of reasons. When I voice a concern or make a comment about how I can’t do something because I have a handful of tasks to do, the response I most often get is, “No one cares. You’re leaving, anyways.”
Again….thanks so much. Don’t complain about me then when I never make an effort to call or text to try to get together. If you didn’t care about me in my last days as a coworker, you’re sure as hell not going to care about my well-being if we’re actually friends outside of where we work.
I’m sorry I’m moving on and making changes to my life after complaining about my current situation. Get off your butt, and make things happen instead of waiting for them to happen because you “deserve it.”
I’ve deserved a lot of things in my life, but did I get them? Not every time. Did I take it out on my friends? Maybe at first with a few sarcastic remarks, but if what happened (or didn’t happen) wasn’t related to them in any way, shape, or form, I didn’t bother them by taking it out on them. I’m sorry life isn’t what you wanted it to be like at this point in your life, but I, nor my friends, had any part in that.
Don’t burn the bridges before they’re capably built.
It doesn’t help that about an hour ago I caught the ‘Friends’ ultimate finale on TV while eating dinner, and watching them all say good-bye to each other on the show (and in real life, as the show was ending its 10th and final season) made me tear up more than once in 10 minutes time. They were all moving on to new chapters in their lives, and now, so am I.
With that in mind, I want to spread a little Vogue-spiration that bears this thought in mind:
“Want to know a secret? Obsessing about your age, and your “flaws,” is never chic. Don’t-give-a-damn is the most fashionable quality ever known. A seventeen-year-old from East L.A. with a strict budget and a stellar sense of self can be just as fabulous as a 36-yeaer-old Parisian style-maker with a charge account at Colette. She knows how to fully embrace this self, this day. She knows what shade of turquoise or amber brings out her eyes.
In this Vogue-spiration, we give you: One thirteen-year-old wise to the ways of the Chanel atelier. One 96-year-old in a leather jacket. Four 20-something cousins with shoulder-high legs and a penchant for Mugler. Mega-sequins and shearling for the under-30s; mega-sequins and shearling with an over-30 spin. Two hundred and twenty-eight pages of inspirations that span the generations.
Age? Sure, it’s just a number. But that doesn’t mean you should pretend you’re a number you’re not. Dressing like a club-hopper when you’re a woman of substance undermines your own power. Being a conformist when you’re in your 20s would be a sin.
When we write about dressing through the decades, we’re advocating that you embrace the individual. Take possession of your unique personal style. Because how many women can be you?”
To sum it all up? Seize the day. I can’t help it if my friends don’t reciprocate when I reach out an invitation to get together. If they deny the chance, I can at least say I’m doing my part in this friendship. See, that’s the tricky thing. Friendships are two-way streets. Don’t complain to me about how I’m going to be the one “too busy” or “too whatever” to have time to hang out or see you.
The more you put the blame on me before it’s even happened, the less I want to put in the effort.
Seize the day. Pick up the phone, and stay in contact. On both ends. Be the woman (or man) you’re meant to be.
As Mufasa would say, “Remember who you are. You are my son, and the one true king. Remember who you are…”