Ways In Which I Am A Terrible Friend

Alternatively titled: Adulthood! How do I do it?

Most of my bad friend moments come from lack of income. I really do want to meet you at the bar, or see your favorite band play, but sometimes there's only $7.50 in my bank account. Sometimes my only way to be there with you is to text love and send emoticon smiles.

Every year at Christmas, my friends Jamie, Sokha and I get together to have a Dirty Christmas party. It's Christmas, but with more booze and tasteless jokes. This year we wanted to try The Wine Palette or Cajun Canvas, two of Charlotte's drink and paint studios. You bring your own snacks and drinks, and learn to paint a picture. Fun, right? But even after suggesting it, I had to balk and back out when I saw the $35 price tag. I have markers and sketchpads at here at Casa B. We'll have our own drunk drawing party at my kitchen table.

Back in April, my darling Ashley had a birthday. I bought the book Downpour in advance to send to her in London, along with a Vampire Eric necklace and a birthday card. I also wrote her a nice, long letter and included a badly drawn little comic. I was set. Super Friendship Participate badge earned. I wrapped up the whole thing in brown paper and took it to the post to find it would cost $50 to send overseas. No biggie, I thought. Next paycheck. I tossed it on the floorboard in the backseat of my car. I ran some errands, drove home, parked my car in my driveway, and forgot the package in the backseat. That happened to be the night my car was robbed. (Broken into right in my OWN DRIVEWAY.) Of course, Ashley's package, with all its love tucked inside, was gone.

Over the next few months, my steady writing gig ended and I was back to paycheck begging. My other main source of income is a company that, while wonderful and lovely in all other aspects, was in a period of transition that meant they were notoriously late in paying freelancers. (Happily, this is a thing of the past and they are currently nothing but lovely and wonderful.) I easily found the book online, bought it again, and searched for something quirky to replace Vampire Eric. By the time I managed to find the right gift, I was in limbo with checks. Once again, Ash's lovely little package sat unopened, tucked safely in my closet.

No biggie, I thought. Come September, I have a big story due. I'll get a fat check that will cover both my bills and Ash's gift in one fell swoop. Dust off hands and whistle on. Friendship badge will still be metaphorically earned. Expect, of course, the check didn't come in time. My bank account was low from paying off other bills, and I still accrued late fees. When the big check finally came, it was eaten up by bills. Ashley's gift sat on my shelf.

Now it's December, and I finally, finally have another steady (albeit temporary) small source of income and have pinched together my pennies for the holidays. I can send Ashley a birthday gift! Finally! Bless her heart. She's waited so long.

Which is why, after months of waiting, I don't blame her in the least to see that her latest purchase was Downpour.

Don't worry. I'm still sending her something surprising. (But if anyone wants to buy -- or donate to FitC in exchange for -- a brand new, wrapped, hardcover copy of this book, it's yours.)

I hate to be a bad friend. I hope that my friends reading this will sigh at my hopeless, headlong, arms-flailing attempt at adulthood, but still forgive, as friends do. All I have by way of riches is love, and that I will give to you endlessly and freely.