Pardon me while I Kvetch

Awhile back, I casually introduced my best to a friend of mine.  I’ve known this other friend longer than my best, and have honestly flirted with him a bit in the past. That, however has little to nothing to do with this… but it’s part of todays ramble.

My best friend lives in the middle of abobinamable snowville… also called igloo town.. you know it as by it’s common name however-Alaska. How in the world does someone from Southern California manage to have a best friend up there you ask? Meeting her was actually a very odd tale. But not too too odd given that this is a digital age.

Yes, I seem to be a repeat masochist in long distance relationships. It has to do with some underlying issues, and I know exactly why. But once upon a time, I used to date a fellow Alaskan. One that used to be friends with her.

Now I love my best friend to death. I call her my wife. She is the first person I go to with most anything. She is my confessional, and I’m hers. We have a very strong relationship. Even people that do not like us both understand the kinship.

Something important about her that should be out there. She is one of a handful of whimsical people still in existence that I know. She is a rare breed. She is well versed, and grounded, while her head is in the clouds at the same time.

However… I’m not very thrilled right now about her.

When not involved with someone, she is the most wonderful and die hard loyalest friends. However once there is a guy in the picture, she seems to poof.

Enter my guy friend- cross country even. It was pretty casual that I introduced them. He’s one of those guy friends that I seem to know almost too well. He’s one I’d flirt with, probably even sleep with and date if he was local, but I’m not sure about serious. Not that he’s a bad guy, but he’s young.

Good guy friend. Best of gal friends. I knew she’d be into him. Why did I do that?

“You’re the best Yenta matchmaker ever!” she says after returning from the first trip she’s made cross country to see him.

I want to be happy for her. I really am happy that they are happy. However… it’s a bit frustrating. I feel like I’ve lost my friend to vagina filler.

Here I am in one hand all rooting for my friends. In the other, I’m walking the line very carefully worrying that it’s going to blow up and then I’m going to hear about it.

The timing for this is all bad as well. I’d been talking to the person I met her through recently as he lives nearby, and was really excited about possibly seeing them again. He’s moving back to Alaska next month. I made a promise to myself that I was going to stick to within the state long distances tops ha.  So there goes that.

For me, those long distances just don’t work… not to that extreme. Cross country? Um, how the hell do people do that? I thought that was the stuff that only works out in fairytales and movies.

And honestly, I really don’t want to be the matchmaker. Call me selfish but if I get to kiss frogs awhile and all that.. I mean, I have a blast dating frequently. I enjoy committed relationships as well. I don’t need them, but they’re enjoyable.

Am I jealous that she’s possibly found Prince Charming at 21 versus me being a “puma” and having firecracker romances but no “afters?”  It’s too soon to tell.  The main thing that bothers me is that I feel I’m losing my best friend… and what’s worse, is that it’s to another one of my friends and my own damn fault.

What I’m getting at is this: Why do women blow off their friends the moment that a guy comes in the picture? It annoys the piss out of me. Am I just getting old?

I think I have a little bit of a reason to vent here. If you’re with someone, fine. Just don’t go making promises to people and have them thinking you’re all going to do x thing, and then blow them off for a cock or a vagina.

Be real.  Be honest.  I don’t expect to have your attention every waking hour.  But phone calls that happened daily turned into happening once a week… to twice a month.. to.. catch her on x social network because she may reply faster there.

What I’m saying is, I want the cake, but found out it was a lie. My foot tastes like chicken.

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