Good Company

Most everyone in my NYC circle is an acquaintance.  There are benefits to this, but there are cons, too.  Namely, when I'm in the mood for some company, it's a downright chore to find an impromptu date.  (To clarify, by find an impromptu date, I do not mean go down the booty call list.  A lot of women have one - and good for them because it works for them - but it's not for me.)  Social calendars here are scheduled far in advance.  Joining a happy hour, while not my cup of tea, is the typical result of pinging someone last minute.  I'll go with a smile and open mind, but more often than not, I tear away from the joint not having particularly enjoyed myself.  After hours of making small talk, it's disappointing to walk away feeling unstimulated and well, bored.

It's also not fun being allergic to alcohol.  By my third sip, I get so warm that I think of doing strange things, like walking home in 30-degree weather in just my camisole and jeans.  It's unnatural.  When I finally get home, I'm still burning up.  It's all I can do to strip down before collapsing on my bed.  Alcohol makes me crazy drowsy.  This is why I can't have a drink at lunch.  I'd be a useless mess for the rest of the day.

When I crave good company, I don't want to meet for a drink; what I really want is to see friends who live four states away, not a subway ride away.  These are the folks with whom I've managed to forge deep, meaningful relationships.  These are the people I naturally think about when I feel lonely.  They have all moved on with marriage, home ownership, children, and / or a Ph.D.  They are tremendous people who live very different lives from mine.  They have all patiently accepted me as I am over the years.  Impromptu dates are logistically impossible, what with the distance and all.  When I miss them, I go to my favorite bookstore and select a book for one of their kids.  Or, I spend an afternoon putting together a small care package full of random things.  They think it's because I'm being thoughtful, but the real reason is entirely selfish.  I miss them and want to stay connected.

...Before you even think about suggesting it, let me say for the record that I detest online dating.  I reluctantly tried it once.  I can e-mail witty quips all the live long day, but of the men that wrote, do you know how many could write well?  Very few.  Half decently?  Still the minority.  How many had a command over basic English grammar rules?  Exactly one.  How many knew how to use a comma?  One (the same guy).  Or had manners?  Shockingly few.  "Hello, I see from your profile that you are Christian.  My faith only allows me to date virgins..."  True story.  He, and the women who would respond to someone who would choose to start an e-mail conversation in such a frightful manner, are the reasons why the internet is scary.

A pet, you say?  Last year, my siblings pushed and pushed and pushed me to get a small dog.  They were clearly concerned that I was turning into a cuckoo old maid.  Soeur, never the subtle one, kept citing studies that showed canine companionship positively correlating to happiness.  My brother, who is quiet unless he has a sarcastic joke up his sleeve, offered up practical solutions to my paralyzing fear of walking dogs.  Train him to use a litter box!  Um, he's not a cat.  Hire a dog walker!  I can't afford that.  Then just pick up the poop!  You've changed a lot of diapers, it's no different!  Listen, it's true that I wiped your bum and changed many diapers in my day, but I can't wrap my mind around canine poop.  I just can't do it.  It's warm, it's gross, and in the city, it lands on concrete.  I'm nauseous just thinking about it.  Also, there is a good chance that I might turn into one of those crazy ladies I make fun of.  You know the ones with dog strollers, the ones that look like baby carriages?  I might get my dog manicures.  I might cover his paws in booties.  I might pin a bow on his head.  I don't want to turn into that lady.

So then there is the cat.  I like cats very much, in fact.  Little kittens?  They make me squeal with delight.  Unfortunately, I am pretty allergic.  I've cat sat many times before, but that's because it's just a half hour of cleaning the litter box, checking on eats, maybe a little medication, and then playing for a little bit.  A little itching and sneezing discomfort that's gone by day's end.  But you don't want to see me if I accidentally touch my face with my hands after we play.  Or touch one of the upholstered couch cushions where the cat took a nap that afternoon.  No.  Cats.  For.  Julia.

I am not suggesting that I am unhappy or anything less than fine.  I'm just saying that sometimes it's hard to find new, easy friendships.  I wish finding good, compatible company would come more naturally.  As with many good things, a little work has got to go into it.  (But one could also argue that the best relationships are the ones where you don't feel like you're putting any work into it at all!)