arms. legs. blood. guts.

if I could rip apart the pieces of the humans we call friends, I’d have several cardboard boxes with titles written in sharpies that held inadequate body parts waiting to be granted life’s hall pass for continuation.

just joking.
no. I’m really serious.

the dreadful sharpie aroma would conjure up black lines that travel through the air, stabbing your ear drums with the bloody truth: these people are criminals. walking deceivers that take up space on your facebook friend’s list.

fortunately, I have figured it out. there are categories for these creatures. I’ll share.

lushes aka drinkin buddies: this is when the weekend calls come in—randomly and if it’s really bad (borderline alcoholic status) it’s also several times during the week. of course I enjoy drinking and bar time but um…I kind of sort of have a life that requires me to be sober in order to function during tasks. on the bright side, you are always around for people to take advantage of your alcohol addiction and head to the bar (or stay at home) for some good night (or day) drinking.

lackies aka people who constantly need things: jesus christ get a planner, a job, an assistant, a tutor, a handyman and whatever else you need to mend your ridiculous levels of confusion and chaos. sure, helping out is great. I do it all the time, but there is a line that needs to be drawn here. where are your priorities? tossed around, misplaced, and resting on E. there is a difference between being stuck here and there and needing someone to support you and give you some guidance and someone wiping your ass because you suck at it. grasp the word maturity and say it 10 times. now repeat. you should probably write this down for future reference, but that would disappear.

tissue blowers aka people who contact you to boohoo: I get it. your life sucks. every thing is wrong. all. the. time. I’m starting to see a pattern here. I’m just really surprised that you cannot. it’s wednesday, you have opened your eyes, and immediately the day is screwed. every day is a borderline suicidal contemplation over a crooked stop sign on the road, a new homework assignment, a lost pen, boredom. unfortunately, I am no ones cure for boredom and I do not possess the necessary knowledge to take notes on all of the mishaps occurring in your life and diagnose you for medicinal relief. solution: public bathroom roll. it’s easier on the nose.

time-shares aka people who come around every once in a while: last week you and your bf/gf were completely fine and I know this because you never called. this week, you’re blowin my freakin phone up because an argument occurred, the sex got boring, you’re not mentally stimulated, and he/she is annoying the hell out of you. I would entertain this temporary company, but I actually have better things to do. your relationship (or situationship) complaints are no longer entertaining and like the tissue blower, you are also living a destructive pattern that does not create a pleasant image on my moleskine. shut up. seriously.

brain slugs aka people who lack depth: you’re around because I occasionally need someone to tell a good knock knock joke, but the moment I spark a topic that may suggest higher thinking (not to be confused with airheads) I’m struck with the dumb face. silence. blink. blink. I like to laugh, be goofy and playful, but my mind often wanders to a place that demands intellectual substance and I like to obey from time to time. where is your opinion? your own perspective on life? is it even alive? um. hello…?

so, which one are you?