Friend 1: “You know it was a productive therapy session when you immediately get cheese fries afterwards.”
Friend 2: “Nice. I’m going tonight as well.”
Me: “Ha, I’m going tomorrow.”
Friend 1: “Awwwww…we’re on the same therapy cycle.”
Friend 2: “That feels more important than syncing our periods.”
I mean, I already knew, from that clusterfuck with That Guy and a few experiences since — I’m going through one now, actually. I am clearly a shit judge of friendship, but knowing there’s science afoot doesn’t make it any less depressing.
Thanks, Internet. You are NOT my friend. At least I know that.
You could probably tell I didn’t have the best emotional time over the weekend (fuck the entire Venn diagram of the holidays and PMS, seriously). Male BFF was concerned and invited me over for alcohol and merriment with him and his lady, one of my Female BFFs.
I declined but texted my thanks, and man, I tell ya, the My Little Ponies are right — friendship IS magic:
Sure, OK. I’m at work, hopped up on coffee, haven’t eaten yet, hormonal, feeling other pressures about family and money issues…
This seems like a great time to argue with a male friend over email. That GOOD argue, too — the kind where you’re shaking with anger and feel like, if you were arguing in person, it might end up either in a fistfight or fornication.
Why the fuck not?
By the way, dude is fine, I’m the crazed one: What? WHAT? I wish a motherfucker WOULD say some shit.
P.S. What? Oh, it’s just me that has this issue? Well, shit…