During my first year of college, I experienced the brunt of young female relationships. After being dumped, I secluded myself to the confines of my student apartment with my lesbian roommate and her cage-less chinchilla… and the occasional Food 4 Less outing. I wish I was joking about the latter. I spent more time at Food 4 Less on a daily basis than any of my classes combined. Bagel Bites for a buck fifty? You had me at bagel. Once I had wallowed in my self pity, I decided it was time to start socializing but only in the pursuit of an accidental run-in with my ex boyfriend where I looked BLISSFULLY HAPPY.
I began spending time with a girl I had gone to high school with. She was the type of girl who ALWAYS brought baked goods to class during the holidays and wore knee length dresses to homecoming. A real Pollyanna Purebred.
I found her to be stable and nurturing during my transition period. We would go on hikes, enjoy the pasta buffet at the dining hall, and watch Gossip Girl together. We would joke that I was Serena and she was Blair, and then consequently head to the local disappointment of a shopping center and find low budget outfits to embrace our fictitious lives. It was all so simple and sad.
(Side note: Serena and Blair were a global travesty to female relationships everywhere. They were terrible friends and should never be admired as a duo… they fucked each other’s boyfriends, spoke horribly of one another, and constantly were one-upping each other’s accessory game.)
Soon my Blair started losing her wholesome charm and spreading her legs to anyone with a handle of Popov vodka and an unlimited meal plan. I should be clear the devolution of our friendship had nothing to do with her promiscuity. I live for a slutty friend and envy their free spiritedness. She became awkwardly competitive with me and soon all of our outings became a mission for her to out-dress, out-drink, out-slut, and out-smart me. She always came out 2 for 4 which I thought was a healthy balance. It was only after a classy night at a local frat party where she proclaimed across the room that it must suck to be friends with her because that would make me the token ugly friend. Without sounding like an asshole, I must once again clarify this is not fucking true. I am sure all of my close friends are rolling their eyes and guffawing, given that I will tell the extended version of this story any chance I can (not that any of them really read my blog). Because I am a HUGE pussy, I never confronted her on her questionable character and thus had my very first frenemy. I would cancel plans, screen her calls, and slowly downgrade her from my Myspace Top 8 all while insisting we should “totally get lunch soon.”
Six months later she had defriended me on Facebook (burn), tried to punch and simultaneously bang my ex-boyfriend, rotated through about 63 new best friends and never returned my favorite sequined sweater which is the most tragic of all.
It’s one thing to dislike a person. It’s another thing to dislike a person and then continuing to sustain a façade of a friendship. If life is a game of poker, I find it best to know your players before you reveal your cards. I really am not sure what that means but it sounds deep as shit. Whether or not I reveal my hand, I am acutely aware of who loves me, who needs me, who’s kissing my ass or who’s secretly hoping I gain 47 pounds and end up working the take out window at The Olive Garden in a pair of orthopedic loafers with Type 2 diabetes.
Now that I have matured (slightly), I have learned that it would have been much better for Serena and Blair to have a civil parting of ways before their first semester at Constance. They could have designated separate hang out areas on the Met steps; Blair could have collected any headbands she may have left at the Vanderwoodsen Plaza penthouse and Serena could retrieve the keratin hair mask she kept at B’s.
Keeping friends is best, losing them is sad, but the worst is holding on to a friendship you never really had.
Rhyme so hard, mothafuckers wanna fine me.