Friendly Fire

I hate to crib from a fellow blogger, but I, too, have an issue with a friend and, like my fellow writer mentioned in their latest entry, the issue is really neither mine nor is it any of my business.

And yet, here I am writing about it.

So, let's set things up. I have a friend who has, let's just say, not had a good track record with men. In fact, except for a few exceptions, here and there, her taste in men could be considered as abominable. Some of them have stolen from her. Some of them have had weird pedophilia tendencies. Some of them have been drug addicts (which goes back to the aforementioned stealing). Needless to say, yeah, not exactly a sterling reputation when it comes to picking the best and brightest of gentlemen callers.

For the most part, I have been there for her when it comes time to pick up the pieces when her relationships reach their inevitable doom. I do it because that is just what friends do. They stick together, try and help pick up each others' broken pieces, and help glue said pieces back together again.

In the last two months, my friend began dating a guy who most would consider as a giant Fucking Loser, drinking everyday, smoking pot and doing G-d knows what else. The guy, sweet though he may be, is, in fact, just that: a ginormous Fucking Loser. Pure and simple. She knows this, too, because she has told me, straight up, "he's such a fucking loser!!"

She made that statement after she broke up with his ass about three weeks ago, which occurred directly after he drunkenly threw her across her living room in front of her two-year-old, my godson. When she informed me of what he had done, any good will I had toward the man flew right out the window. So, for about two weeks, she went on and on about what a loser, what a friggin' zero this guy was (all the while e-mailing back and forth with him, telling him that if he changed, someday...maybe...they'd get back together). I was there for her when she needed to cry, when she kept calling herself stupid over and over, asking me why she keeps picking such horrible guys as boyfriends (I told her that, like me, she wants to see the best in everyone...even if the signs are right there in front of her telling her otherwise).

So, yeah, she was a mess.

Now, that pretty much takes us to last Thursday. Keep in mind that the whole break-up thing took place over the course of two weeks or so. Anyway, she calls me up, the other day, and says "don't be mad at me, Hal. But Shane and I are back together. He's really changing."

Grrrr...argh!!

It was less than a week or so before that he was lying to her about his drinking habits, making prank calls and passing up an evening with her in order to go throw back some brewskies with his buddies. And he's "really changing?!" Are you fucking kidding me?!?!?!

And the thing is, my Gal Pal is so smart!! When I was going through my little rough patch, she had the best, smartest advice for me. It angers and frustrates me to no end that she's being such an idiot. She's so much better than this "man." What the hell is she thinking?!

She's done this dance before!! Many a time, in fact!!

But of course, I don't tell her any of this. Instead, I listen to her, nod my head and politely agree with what she's telling me. Normally, I would have yelled at her, but for some reason, I just placated her. Don't ask me why. Maybe it's just because I'm so very tired of watching her go through the same self-destructive motions, over and over again.

I just can't do it anymore. I just can't watch her hurt herself anymore. She's always said that I'm the best friend that he has. As disgusting as this sounds, part of me wants to just draw a line in the sand and say, "him or me, sweetheart. Him or me."

No, I don't have feelings for her. What I mean is, if you stick with him, I will not be there, this time, to bail you out as you endure emotional--possibly even physical--hardship after hardship. You dump him and I'll be there for you when you're feeling alone and sad. To some, that might make me sound like some manipulative, put-upon sonofabitch. I, on the other hand, think of it as tough love. I mean, who wants to stand by and watch someone that they love dearly knowingly jump into something that is bound to tear them into little pulpy shreds?

Apparently, me.

Of course I'll be there for her. Alas, as Dionne Warwick, Stevie Wonder and Elton John once sang, that's what friends are for. Anyway, like I said, this is her bag, it's her life and it's her issue. I can't tell her who she can and cannot date. She's a big girl. I just wish she'd start acting like one.

For her son's sake.