Thursday, July 29, 2010

According to some old saying, you can pick your friends, but not your family.

My sister recently posted a list of criteria for a new perspective (girl) BFF.

If only finding a new friend were as easy as building a burrito at Chipotle.

I don't think we get to pick our friends anymore than we get to pick who we love or who loves us back*.

I think people show up in our lives and, if we're lucky, they look at our mess and are immediately able to find the pattern that looks like a 3-D picture of Wile E. Coyote**. And they actually like the picture and want to hang it over their couch***. And we like their mess because it looks like a 3-D picture of the Road Runner. And the messes mesh and some part of life makes a little bit more sense.

If you looked at a police line-up of my friends, the ones I really consider friends, the ones I trust knowing about the myriad of skeletons stowed away in my closet, they're not who you would expect. They're not who I would expect. But I wouldn't trade any of them for anything****.

*as evidenced by how my uterus is currently devoid of Simon Pegg's spawn and Paolo Nutini has not yet written fifteen hundred love songs about me

** fun fact about me - I can't see anything but a jumble when I look at those pictures - I can stare at them on a wall or in a book or on my precious iBook, but I never see anything. I still think it's a sham.

*** hypothetically, of course - I do have at least one friend who is openly a Twilight fan, but I can't fathom being pals with anyone who owned or displayed Looney Tunes artwork (yes, I collect dolls, but everyone has her limit).

**** that's not true, there are at least a couple of them I would totally sell out for a pony named Saffron or an iPod Touch...

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