Frenemies

I am having a bit of drama with a sort of friend. I say sort of because she was once one of my best friends, and though we are no longer anything resembling close, we were BF4eva (heh) on and off for close to seven years. But I don't know what me and, let's call her Elasticgirl, are anymore.

The history
We haven't spoken, apart from one text, since a group night out at Christmas and that was grudgingly. Elasticgirl and I have always had our problems. I, and the vast majority of our mutual friends, have long moaned about the whiplash engendered from her dumping us for months while she wafted off with better friends. But her friendships never lasted she would come back drunkenly declaring that we were the best friends a girl could ever had. I got sick of being the back-up friend. The one to go back to when her other cooler friendships weren't working out (translation when they got sick of her bull and buggered off). She had very strict rules of friendship which I never seemed able to live up to. Which would be understandable if she operated under the same rules she judged others under. But behaviour that would have been unconsciable in others was fine if it was her. I realised that to Elasticgirl the rest of us were just handmaidens: Elasticgirl was the goddess. And god help you if you ever paused in your unadulterated worship.

There were other things: whenever we introduced new people into the group we were always having to explain her behaviour to them. Elasticgirl can be a bitch, and not always in an amusing Joan Collins way, but in a flat out rude way. But when people responded in kind she would get massively offended. Her skin was like tissue paper, fragile, easily bruised and torn.

I can't help think that a bit of this was our fault as a group. For accepting her as she was, for never challenging her. We let her know it was OK to treat us like that and so she did.

But the thing that really irritated me was the endless times she cancelled on me. Time after time with terse frankly rude text messages. No apologies, no offers to rearrange just 'I can't make it'. For example four new years in a row we would make plans and she would call up depressed on New Years Eve saying how she didn't want to go out. I'd spend hours on the phone trying to convince her for her to insist she wanted to stay in, only to find out the next day she had gone out with other friends.

So I grew petty, I stopped arranging things, cancelled on her once just to see if the friendship survived if I stopped making an effort.

It didn't.

Apart from a tense conversation in a restaurant our friendship died not with fireworks but with a mutual severing of contact.

The problem
Elasticgirl and I are part of a group of friends which means even if I wanted to excise her completely from my life I couldn't. We all live in different towns so mostly I see the friends I want to see one-on-one or in a couple of smaller groups so Elasticgirl and I rarely interact.

This weekend I was heading home so I texted BestestWestest and Shakiraboy to arrange a casual meet up. I've been a crappy friend to Shakiraboy recently and I was really looking to make it up to him. He asked if I had invited Theformerblonde which I hadn't so I texted to invite her. All well and good.

The Shakiraboy posted something on my facebook profile about how he was really looking forward to meeting up. I felt a little uneasy, but reasoned its no big secret. Then when I was talking to Tattoogril I realised in my absentminded way I had forgotten to invite her so I did. So this casual 'hey, I'm back home lets meet up.' snowballed into a big group meet-up sans Elasticgirl publicised on fb. Salt meet wound.

Which undoubtably is a dick move. I know, I know.

So, of course, she passive aggressively comments:

'Awww I am at work
Or would have loved an invite to see you all. Nevermind eh!'

And I am a loss as to how to respond. Because on the one hand, yes it is awkward that I invited everyone else but her.

But, and here's the rub, I didn't want her there. Whatever we are we are not friends anymore and I did not want that stilted awkwardness ruining my time with my real friends. Just because she is close with other members of the group doesn't mean that she gets an automatical invite when I'm hosting. You get an invite, by er, being my friend.

But there's no way I can say that to her without being a bitch.

I've learnt my lesson next time I will try and keep all events private and off facebook. But I spent seven years tiptoing around her neuroses and I don't fancy having to spend the rest of my life doing so. I'm sorry she's hurt. But its not my problem not anymore.

I don't hate her. I don't even dislike her (despite what this lengthly postmorton suggests). When I look at old photos I miss what we had, even as I know we will never get that back. I want her to do well. I want her to be happy. But I also would prefer it if she did that far, far away from me.

And this has been way too long and emo even for me. I've been thinking about whether I should even post this. It seems too personal to put out there. But I keep on thinking that when you break up with a guy there are accepted rituals. Ice-cream. Crying. Long, long conversations with friends. But when you break up with friend, who in some ways knows you better than any man ever could, there is no accepted outlet. And that's wrong.

Buzzing thoughts

Today I am mostly:

• Thinking about secrets in the age of the internet or How twitter helped reveal the truth. It was alarming when I checked the guardian homepage and saw an story saying very little beyond they had been "prevented from identifying the MP who has asked the question, what the question is, which minister might answer it, or where the question is to be found." Within an hour twitter users had identified the MP in question, the company, the sum-sucking Trafigura, and the report they were trying to bury: The injunction about reporting on questions asked in Parliament fell apart. As Bill Clinton once said 'never pick a fight with people who buy ink by the barrel'. However I find it so worrying that not only worries me that people are looking at this Or have I just been reading too many dystopian novels...

• For the last couple of weeks I have very slowly been working my way through Pandora's Star by Peter F Hamilton. Part of the reason I'm so slow is because I'm juggling so many things at the moment and the only time I have to read is in the ten minutes before I fall into a dreamless slumber. The Boy rarely reads so when he recommends a book I feel obligated to give it a go but I have to admit I am less than gripped. It seems that the things that interest him: concepts, science, vast and sprawling world-building, I find less than scintillating. For example he adores SG-1 and thought Atlantis was a little weak. Whereas I found SG-1 boring and repititive with too little ongoing mythology and dull characters Unlike Atlantis in which Rodney quite frankly rocked.
• Is it wrong that I find the fantastic Mr Fox very sexy. The Clooney appeals works whether he is furry or a silver fox geddit? Then again I had a big crush on the Beast. He gives her a library, so romantic!
• The death of the blackberries. It seems like blackberries have been and gone and autumn has barely started.
• Our flat like Mary Poppins is practically perfect in everyway. So even mentioning this makes me feel like a brat of the highest order but I hate our fridge. For the last couple of years my ire has been reserved for the washing machine aka the grand shrinker. It lurks waiting for me to feed it my nicest clothes before turning them the size of mini clothes. At first I thought it was my habit of only using one setting, but no it does it when the Boy master of the washing machine settings feeds my clothes to it too. But not when it's his laundry. I am beginning to suspect that my washing machine is a misogynist. Or that because the Boys clothes made out of titanium, or whatever indestructable force Boys clothes are made of, resist being eaten. Anyway, the fridge. We have an inbuilt mini fridge and freezer side by side. But the fridge has aspirations it longs to be a freezer so at the top taking up valuable freezing space is a freezer. Unpacking the shopping requires long hours of tetris honed skills. If we turn the milk sideways like this and stack the cheese. Items that are rounded: potatoes, cauliflowers, goats cheese ruin the pattern. It makes it really hard to see and plan meals. For the last month or so, with colleague Sara I've been trying to cut down on food bills in a eat my larder challenge. The lentils are gone, but I have enough beans to last until Judgement Day
• I've been dreaming of pieminister pies ever since Beth introduced me to them in a trip to Bristol. Amazing pastry goodness with succulent fillings. As if I needed anymore reasons to be jealous of Bristolians.
  
• Also I've been writing my new WIP progress novel about a teen detective who only tells the truth, investigating the apparent suicide of her former best friend (phew) I'm:
  
• 
  
  15457 / 70000 words. 22% done! Yay me
  

Links-a-plenty Thursdays

A list of the things I found interesting this week in no particular order

• After the rather depressing previous week filled with (Oh Whoopi why?) there have been a slew of awesome posts including Kate Harding in the Salon reminding us that Polanski raped a child, Jim Hines defunking the Polanski apologists and this article in the Guardian about the backlash on Hollywood from their support of Polanski which managed to do the unthinkable. This quote from the awesome Harding made me laugh "Who knew being disgusted with Roman Polanski would turn out to be the ever-elusive common ground between rightwing dudes and liberal feminists?"
• The eternal optimists and article on the probation service
• The pilot for the new Stargate Universe series. I liked: the updated camera-work and visual look and feel. Will be interested to see how they keep the drama dynamic given they have a fixed number of actors (unless it turns into aliens of the week) and resources.
• My colleague had a book of photos printed from Blurb of her travels throughout America. Beautiful photos. I've been wondering what to do with our travel photos for ages. This seems like the perfect solution.
  

Conversations in my sleep

Apparently I talk in my sleep. I rarely remember this because, I'm asleep when it happens. The Boy just holds me until I stop babbling and fall back to sleep

I woke up this morning filled with righteous ire because the Boy had been talking all night.

Me:*smugly* Hah, I'm not the only one who talks in my sleep
The Boy: You started it!

Last night, according to him, we had this conversation:

Me: *grabbing his arm* I thought you were dead
The Boy: Mmmh
Me: But its OK... you were just a spider
TB: Huh?
Me: *lapses back into spider filled dreams*

Whereas last night, according to me, the Boy said:

The Boy: *normal voice* When you call your sister does she answer or does she hang up?
Me: Ugh
The Boy: *satisfaction dripping from every word* Thought so

I want his dreams.
Or at the very least I want to remember mine. Dead people turning into spiders, sounds interesting...