Drama Queens

Everybody enjoys drama. Just look at TV. We have scripted drama, comedies with dramatic cliff hangers and even reality shows aren’t worth watching if there isn’t an element of drama involved. Couch potatoes of America know... drama is what sells.

Aside from entertainment, though, drama is present in everybody’s life. Even if you’re a hermit, drama will find you. It’s inevitable. Yet, when drama comes knocking at our doors, we all act surprised to see it. And at some point, no matter how much drama tends to be your guilty pleasure, everybody claims to hate it. But we don’t hate it... we love it. We’re just afraid to admit that we love it so much.

It’s been my experience that when a person says they don’t "do drama" they are often the main instigators of drama. It goes back to that old saying of when you’re pointing your finger at somebody, you have three more fingers pointing back at you (or if you prefer the playground saying that involves rubber and glue).

Big time drama instigators will blow things way out of proportion. They’ll over react to something mundane or down right silly. Their over reaction will cause a battle of insults and blame which may or may not turn into an all out war where rules are cast aside and grudges last forever. Friends will be lost, sides will be chosen and lives can be changed.

Another instigator of drama is gossip. Don’t look so innocent... you know you’ve partaken in a juicy secret or two. Who’s sleeping with whom? Who got fired and why? Why did they break up? Why did they show up or go home together? Who’s she and why’s she with him? All in all, it’s rarely any of our business, but we make it our business because we’re bored and have nothing better to talk about.

When secrets get out, fingers get pointed and blame gets passed. Sometimes the reaction is granted and sometimes it is not. But when it gets piled on thick, we all blame drama because it is the easiest scapegoat.

To every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, right? That’s one of the basic theories of life. Drama doesn’t just happen. It’s a reaction to events that have been happening over a long period of time. Drama is a direct result of your personality clashing with somebody else’s. It’s the epitome of our darker selves rattling the cage and wanting to get out.

Drama is a mirror into your soul and a lot of times you don’t want to look into that mirror. If we accept drama into our lives and utilize it to figure out how to become better people, perhaps we won’t hate it so much. But it is the human condition to not want to see those things about ourselves that aren’t so pretty... and these are the things that drama usually centers around.

The answer to your drama problems, people, is love. Love yourself and love those who deserve it in your life. Nobody’s perfect. Nobody’s ideal. We all try to put our best foot forward, but sometimes, it’s inevitable that we stumble over that best foot and land face first into the ground.

Violence

I’ve never been in a physical fight. When I fight, I use my words. Being a writer I like to think I have a pretty good vocabulary (there’s always room for growth), and I tend to use words that will cut right to somebody’s core.

Also, for some reason, people always confide in me and I know a lot of deep dark secrets. God help the person who really crosses me and is looking for a confrontation. Because, if I’m left unchecked I will pull out those deep dark secrets and throw them in their faces. I usually only do this, though, as a defense mechanism. Somebody has to hit me below the belt before I’ll reciprocate those actions.

When Nola and I had our argument that night I moved out three years ago, I hit below the belt with my words. Beyond that, I can only think of one time I pulled information out of a file I promised to keep confidential. It was with my ex boyfriend after he told me he had hoped I would get mad when he was making out with Julie after we broke up.

I told him he doesn’t deserve two women fighting for his attention until he becomes a man worthy through his actions. Then I brought up the child he doesn’t support (and refused to admit actually belonged to him), and another dark event from his past to prove my point. He cried. I walked away and left him to cry alone. I told you... I fight verbally.

No matter how angry I get, though, I don’t think I’ll ever throw a punch. Beyond that, I don’t think I’ll ever emotionally abuse somebody just to keep them down. I don’t believe in tearing others down in order to feel better about yourself. If you’re in a confrontation and things get heated, that’s one thing, but to constantly remind somebody of their faults is a sin with a hefty fine.

I love my friends, and I’ll do anything for them. I have a mamma bear instinct that makes me want to protect those I love even if they don’t think they need protecting. This is the instinct that kicked in when Jenn called me last week and confirmed the fears Julie, Laura and I have had about her ex-fiancé all along. He’s been beating her.

Jenn was drunk when she told me, and then said she’d never had told me when she was sober.
Her ex still lives with her because of a strained financial situation. In a perfect world we’d all be able to pick up and go when things got rough, but that’s a luxury not all of us can afford.

She still has to live with his ridicule. He tells her she’s ugly, fat, and unlovable (all of which aren’t true). He tells her that she made a poor career choice, and she should do something that makes more money.

He still tries to control her. If she has a date and it doesn’t go well he uses it as proof that she won’t find anybody else to love her the way he did (let’s only hope).

Anybody who raises their hand to somebody else deserves to be ass-raped. Anybody who uses tactics of control over those they supposedly love doesn’t deserve to find love or be in love. Any body who uses physical violence to make a point is obviously unintelligent and needs to be re-educated on how to handle themselves when they have a problem.

This guy needs anger management, and he better hope he never sees me face to face again. I’ll tear off his balls and show them to him. Treat my friends with respect, or you’ll have the same fate.

Battle Lines

It would seem that the Nameless Roommate and I have re-entered the battlefield. That’s just great. I just love walking on eggshells in my own home.

The difference between this fight and the last fight is that I’m deciding not to deal with it. The last time we went through this I was apologetic and open for communication. I wanted to face it head on, fix it, and move on. This time, however, I frankly don’t give a shit. If she wants it resolved (I don’t think she does), then she’ll have to put forth the effort. Until then I’ll continue to be the roommate who pretends to live alone.

Let me lay out what this means, exactly. This means when I come home from work early in the morning, I’ll clean up any messes that are the direct result of me. While doing any dishes that are mine in the sink, I’ll make sure to bang the pots together loudly. When I’m digging cleaning products out from under the sink, I’ll slam the cabinet doors shut. When scooping the litter box, I’ll dig and dig and dig loudly around the bottom of it until I have every last clump out of there. I’ll clean my room and vacuum thoroughly (especially by the door that connects the two bedrooms. I won't worry about waking her up, as I'm sure vampires sleep soundly.

When I’m in the common living space, and she walks into the room I pretend I don’t see her, hear her or feel her presence. She does the same. I let her mess accumulate until I can’t stand it, then I pick it up and pile it outside her bedroom door in hopes that she’ll step on it and pick it up. This includes any empty cups or soda cans, empty cigarette boxes, wrappers left strewn by the computer, old fast food bags and cups, and the dog crap her dog left on the floor that she neglected to remove.

Oh, and if her boyfriend doesn’t quit leaving the toilet seat up, I will speak up about it. But it will be an announcement (if we had an intercom that would be great) along the lines of, "I don’t live with a man. I live with a woman. If men visitors cannot put the toilet seat down, then the female occupants of the apartment need to check behind them to make sure it is done." By the way, Dave has spent the night several times and he’s never left the toilet seat up. It’s nice to know I can pick a guy I don’t have to clean up after.

What the fight started over, to me, is stupid. I spilled a soda in her car when I swerved to miss a jackass on the railroad tracks. I told her about it. I apologized. I even offered to pay for carpet cleaning materials and to clean up the mess. She took her keys back.

I don’t have a car. I moved in with her because she had nowhere to go when her ex kicked her out on her ass. The agreement was that I got to use her car for work and errands. It would seem that she’s gone back on that word.

So I am living with somebody who doesn’t keep promises. Essentially I’m living with somebody I can’t trust. I can’t believe anything she says.

The family downstairs is getting fed up with her, too. Her dogs shit in the backyard, and she doesn’t pick it up. In the lease it says they are responsible for maintaining the yard, and I don’t blame them for not wanting to mow over piles of dog shit. But, hey, if she can’t even clean it up off the carpet inside the house, what makes you think she’ll clean it up out of the yard?

The piles of shit in the back yard aren’t the only complaints they have. Her new boyfriend and her have a lot of sex. Good for them. At least one of us is having a lot of sex. But she does it loudly with lots of banging. The little kids downstairs can hear this, as can the pregnant woman who’s been ordered to bed rest. She’s politely told her that she can hear everything they’re doing, and perhaps they’d like to keep it down when it’s late at night. The nameless roommate usually responds sympathetically and promises she'll keep it down only to return in full force even louder the next night. The result of this has knocked pictures off the walls downstairs and has caused the pregnant woman to become enraged with anger. The last time she confronter her, the nameless roommate claimed she wasn't even home that night. So she likes to lie, evidently.

Nobody’s telling her to stop having sex, just stop doing it so loudly so late at night. You know... it’s a respect issue (and she seems to know a lot about respect because she won’t shut up about how I've disrespected her car).

The solution, to me, is simple. Grow up. Take responsibility for your actions and your pets. And quit blaming everybody around you just because you can’t control everything around you. Oh, and maybe get your head examined... I'm starting to think you're crazy. And honestly, I don't know how long I can live with crazy before I kick crazy out.

The Return of Nola

Imagine the loudest friend you have. Imagine the most inappropriate friend you have. Imagine the most promiscuous friend you have. And also imagine the one friend you’ve seen naked most frequently. Roll all those into one and you have Nola.

I’ve known Nola as long as I’ve known my other friends (Julie, Felix, Nameless Roommate, Laura, Jenn.. the whole gang). The only difference between Nola and the rest is that I haven’t spoken to Nola in over a year. Well, I didn’t speak to her until last week, that is.

In true Nola fashion, she popped back into my life out of the blue. After a hiatus because of something I wrote about her on a blog (gasp), Nola decided to return as if she weren’t ever angry at me. The blog was a mirror... a mirror she didn’t want to look into. She didn’t like seeing the truth spelled out for her (as most people don’t).

Nola used to live with me. Back when I lived in a sprawling metropolis (my one attempt at city life), Nola, her boyfriend at the time, and I co-habitated together. Things ended badly when she tried to pawn my cat off to somebody else while I wasn’t home one day. Screaming ensued, and, like most fights, it wasn’t just about the cat. I moved out that night at 3 o’clock in the morning. We didn’t speak for three months until her boyfriend broke up with her (called it) and she came back home to small town life.

Once upon a time Nola was the life of the party. She was known for wearing her bra on her head and flashing her tits for everybody to see. She went through a spell where she swore she was a lesbian (or at least bi-sexual), but I think she only said that so she could sleep with women and not count them in her total number of people she’s fucked. She was always the drunkest, the loudest and the most emotionally disturbed member of the social crowd. And every time she moved away (lost count), she left a dent in the dynamic of the group.

Julie never liked her (shocker), and Jenn didn’t care much for her either. Laura loved her and still does. Felix thought she was awesome but could only handle her in small doses. Most people can only handle her in small doses.

If you’re going to hang out with Nola, there’s a few things you need to be prepared for. First of all, you’ll learn WAY too much about her sex life, her former sex life and her fantasies. Second of all she’ll reveal too much about her home life. She’ll tell you about her financial situation, as well. She’s an open book. Really, she’s an open book on tape and you’ll hear it read out loud whether you want to or not.

She’s funny, though. She always has me laughing. We feed off of each other’s energies, and sometimes the funny comebacks turn into bitchy squabbling. From an outsider’s point of view we look like two bitches going at it, but we both know when it’s joking and when it’s serious. And when it’s serious, look out. Hiroshima had nothing on us.

During our hour long conversation last week, she told me a few things that shocked me. For one, she’s engaged. Her days of sleeping around are over, it seems. Two, she’s in AA. She’s been sober for a year and a half. Her days of wearing her bra on her head are also over, it seems. Three, she’s forgiven me for writing that blog about her (just wait until she hears about this one... shut up, Laura). She supports my idea of writing a book about my friends, but she wants to make sure I clear it with her before I publish anything about her. I hope I can stick to that.

All in all, I’ve missed her presence in my life, but I’m leery about letting her in again. It seems she’s cleaned up her act, but back in the day she was on a path of destruction. I guess she finally got tired of destroying herself.

Let's Have a Sleep Over!

Remember the excitement that came from spending the night at a friend’s house?

Julie and I used to inhabit her basement and play make believe. We’d dress up in her sisters’ old prom dresses. We’d invade her mom’s beauty salon and do our hair and make up. Then, when her parents were asleep we’d raid the junk food drawer and watch Rated R movies until we passed out on the fold out couch. That was enough entertainment for us.

I think those little slumber parties were a good way for us to prepare for being good hostesses when adulthood hit, but there is one kind of sleep over where the rules for being a good hostess are a bit fuzzy. I'm talking about those impromptu sleep overs that happen when the guy you like is drunk and staying at your place, of course.

A few blogs back I mentioned Dave. Dave was the class clown in high school turned into a (mostly) mature adult. I ran into Dave a few nights ago while I was out with Julie and Jennifer.

Jules and Jenn remember Dave from high school, and they remember how his group didn’t mix with ours. When I told them he was my date for a wedding coming up next month, they were a bit shocked. Then when we showed up to Jan’s Bar and he was there, they got to see, first hand, the dynamic that happens between he and I.

First of all, he was super excited to see me. Despite the fact that it was probably the alcohol talking, I never get tired of a guy yelling my name to get my attention, and then cutting through the sea of people to give me a hug.

Dave and I have a kind of chemistry that’s hard to contain when other people are around. We dance, drink, talk, laugh and flirt with very little inhibitions whether we’re being watched or not. I like the fact that he’s a bit wild; it makes me look more tame than I am. I feed off his energy, and it’s nearly impossible to stay in a bad mood if he’s around to crack some jokes.

There’s been a trend ever since I moved into this apartment. It seems Dave and I can’t hang out together without him coming back to my place to stay the night. In fact, the very first night I lived here, he showed up to hang out. He couldn’t figure out which house my apartment was in, so he decided to stand out in the street and yell my name until I came outside to shut him up.

Looking back that story always makes me laugh (and when it’s retold I always get a chuckle out of people), but at the time I was very concerned that my neighbors would hate me. Here it was, day one, and at 1 o’clock in the morning this guy shows up screaming my name out in the street. That’s the kind of thing I thought happened only in movies.

The other night the trend continued. He came back to my place, and he opted to stay in my bed this time, instead of the couch. And I have to be honest, I kind of wanted him to stay in my bed instead of the couch.

When it comes to Dave, I’m not really sure what I want. One thing I know is that I’m in the middle of a really long dry spell, and a warm body in my bed isn’t an unwelcome thought. Naturally, I did what any girl in a dry spell would do. I refused to make the first move while trying to make myself as appealing as possible.

I spent half an hour in the bathroom making sure my breath was up to par. I slathered on this expensive cream that makes my skin silky soft and offers a wonderful aroma. I made sure I was properly prepared for the adventure that might be. When I entered my bedroom, he was sleeping while sitting up on the side of my bed. So much for wishful thinking.

The care giver in me simply laid him down while I crawled in next to him.

I will admit that it was nice just to even sleep next to a man. Sharing my bed is still sharing my bed whether I get any or not, and I kind of enjoyed waking up the next morning.

Like a good hostess I let him sleep in and I smiled and offered him some coffee (which I always forget that he doesn’t drink the stuff) when he woke up. If the neighbors pay any attention, they’ve gotten used to seeing him leave my apartment on occasion. I know what everybody thinks when two people go home together, but I have yet to receive the perks of any rumor that might be started because of this.

I’m not sure when sleep overs changed from stolen twinkies and midnight movies to frantic preparations and hoping to get laid, but they still have one thing in common... the excitement factor.

BITCHES

Julie’s wedding day is over a year away. It’s going to be a long, long, long 15 months.

Allow me to introduce myself a little, here. So far I’ve told you about my friends. I’ve offered you an unprecedented view into my life and my friends’ lives. I’ve attempted to de-construct their personalities and their tendencies. Yet, the only thing you really know about me so far is that I’m chock full of opinions.

Back in the day I verbalized my opinions left and right. I didn’t give a shit whose toes I stepped on. It’s cost me some friendships, and I had a little growing up to do. I’ve learned how to pick and choose my spoken opinions around certain individuals, but just because I’ve learned how to take use of my filter, that doesn’t mean the opinions have stopped forming.

While there are plenty of things I love in the world (the scent of lilac, fresh cut flowers, dancing to ABBA... you know, the simple pleasures), there are also plenty of things that I really have a low tolerance for. For instance... I can’t stand it when a child is throwing a fit in the check out lane at any store. I don’t care if it’s a grocery store, a toy store or the local Wal-Mart... if you’re going to bring your kids out in public keep them in line. My mother had a way of gritting her teeth and threatening to spank me right there in the store if I acted up. And you know what? I believed her. She never did it, but I never tested the theory. In fact, I can only remember being spanked once or twice in my life. But, that’s all it took.

That’s just one thing I have a low boiling point with. I could easily have a bitchfest on a whole range of topics, and I figured out more items to add to the bitch list: wedding plans, wedding planners, future brides and women who’ve recently been a bride.

If you’re one on one with a BITCH (Bride In The Conversation Hemisphere), it’s not so bad. She’ll offer small updates about her planning thus far, but really only if you ask (unless she’s too close to the date... then it’s no holds barred). She might fill you in on a color scheme or a church location. She might vent about loopholes she has to find or plans that fell through or the nasty vendor she had to deal with, but she generally keeps to topics that you can somewhat keep some interest in. Any more than just one, though, and it turns into wedding planning mania.

I sometimes feel like I’m the only person I know who’s not planning a wedding. Like I’ve previously mentioned, I’m not in a hurry to walk down the aisle. I don’t mind waiting for the right guy. I’m not financially ready for anything like that either, so even if I did find Mister Right, it would be a long time before I married him. Because I’m not at the point in my life yet, I really don’t share the interest of these conversations with my friends when they start talking about preparations.

Laura and Julie are getting married a month apart from one another next year. Naturally they’re both at similar steps in the wedding planning process. When they’re in the same room, the conversation will inevitably turn down Wedding Road. I’ll pay attention at the beginning, and I might even ask a few questions. And I will admit, sometimes I get swept up into the conversation and I start thinking about what I’d do differently or what I’d do similarly. But after 20 or thirty minutes I go into la la land. If we’re at the bar, it’s at this point that I find somebody else to talk to or I go outside to smoke.

Julie by herself will be guaranteed to talk about it. Laura by herself will only talk about it if asked... she’s more low key. Jennifer will only talk about weddings if she’s around Julie or Laura. She did have one completely planned, after all. Just because she didn’t walk down the aisle doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a story or two about planning the big event. Since I have no stories to add, I end up staying silent and getting drunk faster because my drink turns into the only thing I’m really interested in.

I’m not in either one of my friends’ weddings. I don’t mind, really. I couldn’t afford to take on the commitment, anyway. Laura has informed me that I will be handing out programs and taking care of her Unity Candle. That’s cool with me... as long as I don’t have to cut the cake. I won’t do that job. I think that job should be saved for the cousin or aunt you really don’t like. In my family, I think it would be my Grandmother... or my Aunt Beth. I’m glad to help, really.

I realize it’s natural to talk about something so important to you, and that’s why I don’t stop them. I understand why they talk about it all the time, really, I do. I’m happy for my friends and I think they should have the best day possible. But I have a fear.

Their weddings are so far down the road, that I know this is only the beginning. I fear as the date draws closer my friends will turn into Bridezillas. Laura’s laid back enough that she’ll probably be okay, but Julie will allow the stress to get to her. She does, after all, strive for perfection.

I’m just not looking forward to mundane details. I don’t want to be a bitch, but sometimes I just don’t care... at all. On the other hand I don’t want to alienate my friends, so I’ll smile and nod or find somebody else to talk to when they get to clucking about dress material, caterers and flowers.

To Laura, the only friend who might read this... Sorry honey, and no offense. But please don’t become a Bridezilla on me... I’m afraid I might bitch slap you. And if I bitch slap you, who’s going to stop me from bitch slapping Julie?

The Roommate... Nameless.

I'm a 25 year old woman living with another 25 year old woman. We live on the top floor of a big house in the middle of a small town. Downstairs from us lives a family in which the mom stays at home with the young kiddies and prepares to pop out another baby come November. If you made the setting more urban and had the eligible handsome brother of the stay at home mom move in down stairs... you'd have the makings of a sitcom.

But life isn't a sitcom.

I love my apartment. It's cute, eclectic, roomie and it's a great place to pass my time. It really feels like home to me.

I love my roommate, too. She's a friend of mine from Junior High. She moved away in high school, but came back to the area after graduation. We crossed paths about two years ago after not seeing her since she moved away at age 15. We hit it off and picked up where we left off in high school.. and then some.

She was engaged. And, I had a hard time deciding if I liked him or not. When I'd come over to hang out, he was always polite and seemed hospitable. The three of us would engage in long conversations, and he seemed witty and funny while entertaining his fiance's friends. He seemed alright.

It was when she called me after they'd been fighting that I started to have feelings of dislike for him. About a year ago he told her she was too fat (the girl's average sized). Instead of telling to shove it where the sun don't shine (my opinion), she went on a diet and started exercising.

When she lost her job last November he hounded her to get a new job, telling her she was worthless unless she was bringing in some cash. I agree that women should have their own money, but he made enough for the two of them... and if you love somebody they're never worthless, right? He even went so far as to tell her that until she got a job she wasn't allowed to tell him she loved him. She wasn't allowed to kiss him. She wasn't allowed to hug him. And she wasn't allowed to sleep in the same bed with him. This is when I would have left (scratch that... I would have left when he called me fat).

She stuck it out.

Fast forward to April. She calls me one night, frantic and crying. He'd given her two options. One... he pays to fix her car and gives her 500 dollars in start up money and she moves out by the end of the month. Or two... He'll have her forcibly removed. Great.. get out, or get out.

She took the former deal... regretting not having put her name on the deed to her great grandmother's house the two of them shared. She took the money he offered and moved in with me... and here we are.

To say the least, this girl is insecure. She hasn't been on the dating scene since high school, she's used to having her identity spelled out for her, and she's in a really, really, really fragile state right now.

It's been less than three months and we've had a few issues, and they all boil down to the fact that she doesn't love or respect herself.

I fear that she'll continue to let men walk all over her, because she's not giving herself any time to heal after this horrific break up. In fact, for the first month after she moved in with me, her "fiance" was coming over every weekend and fucking her brains out. He finally broke it off when he met a chubby, unemployed girl at a bar. She now lives with him... she's bigger than my roommie and she doesn't work... that's enough to make a girl go insane with questions, too.

I hope she grows up, soon. Because sometimes I feel like I'm living with a teenager. She has mood spells where she doesn't speak to me. During these spells she insists on communicating through notes. It seems she has a new crush every week, and she's constantly on the phone. Doesn't that spell out teenager to you?

I will admit, though, she is working and she does more than her fair share of work around here. Yesterday we had a good talk and I feel like she's growing everyday. In reality I'm proud of her. I hate that things had to get so bad with her ex for her to realize her own needs, but I'm glad that she's finally aware. That's what quarter life crises are for, right?

Jennifer... Aped Perfection

When you get a group of girls together, there are certain dynamics that take over the relationships. Some of them are spoken of, relished, celebrated and displayed. Others, however are sneaky, kept in the dark, silenced and kept at bay as long as possible.

Every one of my girlfriends will tell you they love me. They think I'm unique, fabulous, beautiful and sexy. And if they get you alone they might also tell you that I should really consider losing some weight, my attitude towards men will never land me a husband and on occasion I tend to drink too much. That's the faithful girlfriend though... she knows you inside and out... she might even know you better than you know yourself.

Underneath the appearances there are quiet pots burbling under pressure. When they burst, it's bad... but until they burst there's an unspoken race to see who can get whom boiling.

I know I make it sound evil, but on some level we are all evil.

When we were little girls the race was about grades. We were the goody goodies in school. Whoever landed the solo in choir, whoever got on honor roll, whoever landed the lead in the school play, whoever was the biggest teacher's pet... that person won the contest. More often than not it was Julie. She was always so determined.

We'd never admit we were competing with each other, but we were. Well, I take that back. Those of us who routinely lost the contest would admit that others were still in the race. I dropped out of the race back in junior high. Since then I have been a mere observer, but I will admit that every now and then I'll temporarily vie for something. But usually it's because I'm bored with every other aspect of my life.

Julie's main competitor was Jennifer. Though Jenn's mom couldn't afford it, she took her to the best beauty salon in town. She bought her the best clothes from the best stores in the mall. And she routinely told her she had to be better than everybody else. Jenn never really believed she was better, but, because of her mother's influence, she believed she should be.

Jennifer has the ability to see everybody's faults, including her own. Over the years she's managed to see the greatness in others, but her mother still tells her she needs improvement. The result is a really low self-esteem covered up by an aped cheerful attitude. She'll have you believe that she still believes in fairytales when she's broken hearted. She'll make you think that endless optimism is the way to go, but underneath it all she's the biggest pessimist I know. She's a walking paradox of personalities... and those personalities are kept under great control.

She used to vie with Julie over grades and achievements, but when Julie got her first boyfriend in junior high the competition really heated up. Suddenly Jennifer was flirting with boy after boy, and when she couldn't land a date, she'd flirt with Julie's boyfriend. This is a trend, that, really never died.

In college Jennifer finally got the attention from the males that she wanted. The guys in high school wouldn't touch her because she was branded as the good girl. When she went away to school she created a whole new persona for herself: slutty sorority party girl who can't hold her alcohol. She was still determined and she still maintained a good GPA. Afterall, she still had mommy dearest to impress. But when the sun went down she was doing keg stands and sleeping in a different bed every night.

Through the years Jennifer always let other people tell her who she was. She never really got to know herself. Anytime she came close to finding out who she was, she'd decide to switch gears and change all that. One month she'd be party girl. Another month she was student body president. Then the next month she was practically engaged to the love of her life. Well, to one of the loves of her life.

She desperately wanted that fairytale ending, but she couldn't keep her mind from wondering if she couldn't do better than this (whatever this may be). The downfall from having a mother tell you that you should be better than the rest is that you believe her... and it kills you to see somebody else be better than you at anything.

She met Guy last summer at a party. Guy convinced her she was in love with him, and then she tried to convince me of this. I didn't buy it, but I told her to do what she wants. She moved in with him after two months of dating, and another two months after that she was engaged. Her parents spent thousands of dollars to plan a wedding within six months. Two months before the nuptuals were to be held, he broke it off. Coincedently, he broke it off the day before Julie got engaged. Consider that competition lost, Jennifer... you almost walked down the aisle before Julie.

Now poor Jennifer has to sit idly by while Julie plans a wedding... the wedding Jennifer was supposed to have. She calls me constantly, afraid to confide in anybody else. I don't know what to say to her, because all advice I've ever given her has never been taken. It gets overpowered by her poor self-esteem and her determination to act like nothing is wrong. But something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong.

Julie/Perfection

Fresh out of law school, Julie can’t wait for her life to begin. Ever since she was a little girl she was certain about her future. She had no doubt she’d always get good grades. She knew she wouldn’t only graduate high school, but she’d also go to college and become successful. She planned on meeting Mr. Right during her college years, and, if things went her way, she’d be engaged by the time she graduated. After that she’d work no more than four or five years before having her first child. She’d want to be well on her feet and established in her career before bringing a child into this world. Her husband would also be a college graduate, and eager to have kids, as well.

That was Julie’s plan, and unlike most of her friends, her plan is still on track. Her boyfriend of almost a year, Mitch, proposed on graduation eve as she was settling in for the evening. She was wearing an eye mask and just got done smearing her face with night cream when he came into the room. With the cool May night air coming in through the sheer curtains, he got down on one knee and presented her with a ring. Julie started crying behind her eye mask as she said yes. Perfect, right? She was engaged by graduation.

True, Mitch isn’t what she always pictured, but she’s spent the last 11 months (seriously, like right after they met, she started grooming him for marriage) telling everybody that she didn’t mind being the breadwinner of the family. She also said that he didn’t mind, and that was hard to find (implying most men would be jealous of her large paycheck). I suppose it’s true. I mean I read an article about it in Cosmo once. But when she stated this fact to me, I remember wondering if she was trying to convince me... or herself.

Mitch didn’t graduate college. It’s only a slight blemish to her perfect plan, because he can always go back to college. And if it meant having her plan, Julie was willing to put him through on her dime once she was a big-time lawyer.

If you want my opinion she saw that it was getting down to the wire. And, unless she wanted to spend more years in school chasing another degree, Mitch was her last ditch effort on not settling for less than she thought she deserved. And she deserved that rock and that wedding. She’d worked very hard on that.

They met on a dating website, flirted over the phone, went on a date or two, and the next thing you knew she was no longer available to do anything unless it included Mitch. There were the occasional nights when he had to work late (and she could sneak away with her girlfriends), but after a couple of months even those disappeared. For the last 11 months, my friend Julie has been virtually non-existent in my world.

When they first met she tried diligently to keep her girlfriends in her life. She really thought she could do it. She made attempt after attempt to have a social life that somewhat resembled the carefree life she had before meeting Mitch, but it never worked. He’d text her constantly, or call her and pick a fight whenever she was out without him. She’d either be talking to him all night, or in a pissed off mood and not having a fun time at all. Eventually every time she came out, he had to be with her. And that whole time I never saw him pay for a single drink.

She bought a new car, and he got her old one. She took him out for dinner a lot, and she was constantly staying at his place, which was nearly 50 miles away.

One night after partying with Laura, a friend of mine and Julie’s, she drunkenly confessed something to me. She had it on good authority that Julie and Mitch had recently gotten a credit card together. One of their first items bought on it was an 800 dollar suit for him. Laura asked me point blank, "Do you think he’s using her for her money and future money she’s going to make? Because, I kind of think he is."

I honestly couldn't say yes or no. I knew how badly Julie wanted to be married, and I knew how much she said she loved him. But I also knew that Laura wasn't the kind of person who liked to judge people or take a side. She always wanted to be the mediator. She often referred to herself as Switzerland... neutral on all subjects on which people might get upset. So for her to come to me with such a sensitive subject as this, knowing my strong opinions of men I, myself, hold dear, was quite shocking. I sat up and took notice. She was really, genuinely concerned. Worst of all, she feared that Julie might not really love him, but has convinced herself that she has.

At Julie’s graduation party, Laura and I exchanged glances as the happily newly engaged couple announced that they were closing on a house in Mitch’s home town. That’s when I knew I’d lost Julie. From that point on I’d only see her on special occasions, and I’d only hear from her via email or phone once a month. Julie, I fear, has officially been friend-napped.