Infallibility and the selling of Canada's secrets
The great thing about friends is their extraordinary ability to listen to the latest stream of verbal diarrhea, where you talk a bunch of smack and make idiotic, repetitive statements about something that you (and only you) find infinitely intriguing, and then, because they have known you for more years that you care to point out since that would make you feel old, they can easily write it off, or feign forgetting what it was you had been talking about in the first place. It's kind of like going to confession, except you don't have to say a bunch of Hail Marys afterwards, instead you have another glass of Lindeman's Bin 65 and tell them how much you love them.
Such was the case last night as I met up with two fabulous (effervescent, even) ladies with whom I have been friends for many moons. I remember the look on my friends' faces when I apologized that they had had to put up with my idiotic antics in the past. I think that up until that point I had thought of myself as being infallible; not being allowed to make mistakes. I don't know why I was so hard on myself: certainly I have seen the majority of my friends in various circumstances that perhaps didn't showcase their character in the best light, yet I have never judged or thought less of them, so why would they judge or think less of me? I do make mistakes, and I'm quite sure I will continue to engage in acts of incredulous stupidity as time passes. It's what being fallible human is all about. To err is human, to forgive divine.
Before I continue, and because this drivel is about to get even sappier, I will confess that I am not drunk or high, and am aware that such a glorious and uplifting blog about friendship is out of character for this author who fingers Hummers in her spare time. Instead of studying income tax.
I think that somewhere, betwixt bad perms, home economics, loser boyfriends, bad fashion choices, embarking on careers and engaging in post secondary education certain relationships become elevated. Up until now I have believed that only my family was immune to the situations in which I find myself entangled, and that only they had the good graces to roll their eyes, yet again, as they helped clean up the aftermath of some overblown drama. Now I understand that my friends offer this, and have offered it for longer than I have been aware, and in this they have become my family.
And because this blog has now reached a level of sappiness that is starting to make me queasy, I will leave you with this: what is up with people that cover their mouths when they're talking on their cell phones. I mean, what, are they selling state secrets? Are they calling plays in a football game? If the conversation is so confidential that you actually have to cover your mouth for fear of lip readers, don't have the conversation on the #16 bus, or at the Tim Horton's in Pacific Centre. You look like a dummah.
Such was the case last night as I met up with two fabulous (effervescent, even) ladies with whom I have been friends for many moons. I remember the look on my friends' faces when I apologized that they had had to put up with my idiotic antics in the past. I think that up until that point I had thought of myself as being infallible; not being allowed to make mistakes. I don't know why I was so hard on myself: certainly I have seen the majority of my friends in various circumstances that perhaps didn't showcase their character in the best light, yet I have never judged or thought less of them, so why would they judge or think less of me? I do make mistakes, and I'm quite sure I will continue to engage in acts of incredulous stupidity as time passes. It's what being fallible human is all about. To err is human, to forgive divine.
Before I continue, and because this drivel is about to get even sappier, I will confess that I am not drunk or high, and am aware that such a glorious and uplifting blog about friendship is out of character for this author who fingers Hummers in her spare time. Instead of studying income tax.
I think that somewhere, betwixt bad perms, home economics, loser boyfriends, bad fashion choices, embarking on careers and engaging in post secondary education certain relationships become elevated. Up until now I have believed that only my family was immune to the situations in which I find myself entangled, and that only they had the good graces to roll their eyes, yet again, as they helped clean up the aftermath of some overblown drama. Now I understand that my friends offer this, and have offered it for longer than I have been aware, and in this they have become my family.
And because this blog has now reached a level of sappiness that is starting to make me queasy, I will leave you with this: what is up with people that cover their mouths when they're talking on their cell phones. I mean, what, are they selling state secrets? Are they calling plays in a football game? If the conversation is so confidential that you actually have to cover your mouth for fear of lip readers, don't have the conversation on the #16 bus, or at the Tim Horton's in Pacific Centre. You look like a dummah.
posted by Duder at 1:45 PM
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