Those around me in my everyday life fit this category. Lovelife, my parents, my brother and his wife and of course my “normal friends” are all a frequent enough part of my daily routine to be considered loveable.
MirrorImage and Muscleman are good examples of this group.
Others I consider my friends, while it is not such a logical association to make with them.
Some of these are people normally not associated with me. People like my online friends. Of these individuals, I usually don’t even have a clue what they look like or if what I see of them really represents them well. This clique is rather thin in membership. I don’t spend enough time online to really meet people via this medium, and I don’t easily consider someone a friend whom I haven’t talked to enough to give me the idea that I at least have a rudimentary grasp of their inner workings.
Piilu, gothique and someone completely unrelated to D-land form the entirety of this selection.
Then, there are people of whom I am dead certain that they will never, ever, ever be a friend of mine.
These individuals do not necessarily have to be bad persons or anything, there’s just something about them that I do not like.
For instance, there’s a guy at the bar I meet frequently. He;s a cabdriver and, in general, a decent enough bloke. However, he is friendly in a slippery, I’ll wash-my-hands-after-that-handshake, kind of way. I have a feeling that this guy would not hesitate to take advantage of me if the opportunity arose. A small pointer for that: I know that he has taken some free beers when I wasn’t looking, or helping someone at the other side of the bar.
The ultimate example of this category however is, yes, he’s back, BankruptDick.
Here’s the next chapter in the sickening tale that is my forced relationship with that bloke.
I tended to the bar today. Instead of finding me two bartenders to help me get through happy hour and the rest of the busy Friday night, he decided that Lovelife, him and me could fix it. After happy hour, Lovelife and I would have to fend for ourselves.
Never mind the fact that LoveLife never even intended to join me in the bar tonight.
Well, anyway. I enter the bar and, what a surprise, BankruptDick had changed the bar somewhat, so that we now have a huge dancing area. Never mind the fact that all the volunteers who join in managing the bar agreed to not do it. He felt like it and did it.
But hey, it happens. However, when I turned my head, I saw that he decided to paint a part of the bar in the colours he wanted them in when we re-did the paint this summer.
Oh well, it happens. After learning that we’d have to do the bartendering together, we got to it. I did the bouncer part during happy hour, while he did the bar. After this, his girlfriend called, she wanted him to come pick him up. “Sure,” he says. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes.
I haven’t seen him after that.
How fucking uncaring and unthinking can you get? Force your own ideas on the bar, cause hey, what can we do? Undo the shit he did? No fucking way. Call your fellow bartender to tell him that you’ve decided to go to bed early in stead of just slipping out with a probably lame excuse and to hell with them!? Nope.
He’s an asshole.
My frustration of the day: To top a great day of, the beer-draught broke during happy hour. I couldn’t use the damned thing normally all the fucking evening.
Here’s to a new hobby. Maybe I can start harassing BankruptDick. Or kill his wife and rape the dog.