And then I realized something: 20-something girls are just fabulous, until you see one with the man who broke your heart. –Carrie Bradshaw, Sex & the City

I’ve got a lot of male friends and I love them all very dearly. Primarily because they offer a variety of different things that women do not. They somehow have this inherent, incessantly clear head and for whatever reason, they always seem to know what looks good on a woman fashion wise. I swear to goodness, men are the best individuals to shop with. They provide the most honest opinions and they save you time. And the majority of them are super helpful in a pinch, like when you have a flat tire or need to open a jar.

But if you’ve ever had a male friend, you also know how frustrating it can sometimes be. I’ve often heard girls boast endlessly about how they “hate other girls” and “how they can only successfully maintain friendships with guys”. This might sound harsh but when I hear cute little quips like that, I just want to throw my head back and laugh because I’m sorry, but have you ever actually encountered a male? Have you ever tried to hold an intelligent conversation with them while simultaneously having breasts? They’re like giant children! They can’t do anything for themselves and for whatever reason, they’re missing a sensitivity chip. How could you possibly choose an overgrown man child over a sensitive woman? It’s beyond me because that’s just nonsense. 

Listen, men are great. I’m actually relatively fond of them (especially bilingual, brown-eyed ones) but there are just certain areas where they are lacking. For example: Handwriting, patience, listening, and sorting laundry. And that’s okay because after all, women have their faults too, most certainly. But I have found, in my 28 years, when befriending men, women should tread lightly. For a multitude of reasons.

 

I could give a rat’s tutu about your emotional distress. –Judge Judy

I have this gentleman friend who has been what I would call “a best friend” for about two decades. We grew up together, in and out of each other’s houses, a fixture in each other’s families. We had both certainly been through our fair share of goddamn terrible relationships (more especially, me) and we always knew that no matter where these relationships took us, the other one would be there, waiting on the other side. With an alcoholic beverage and an ear in which to whine in.

So whenever bad things happened to me, I knew that he would be there, attempting to set me up with yet another one of his idiot friends. (If I’m being honest, I went through quite a few…) And likewise, he knew that when some awful broad dumped him, I would sip my drink and tell him how much I never really liked her, how unattractive she really was, in all honesty, and how he shouldn’t even be sad about losing someone who couldn’t hold her liquor. I would just get so frustrated because all this guy ever wanted was a good relationship with a good girl. He just wanted to love somebody. He just wanted someone pretty to take care of. 

And then, one day, he found her. 

And to this day, years later, I stifle a shudder. I will never, friends, never for the life of me, understand what it was that he saw in her.

He became painfully serious with this woman who was, to her limited credit, relatively attractive. I want to say that she had even modeled (but it’s hard to remember because I drank a lot back then…). She had mediocre style (if you’re into that whole Abercrombie look) and apparently had made awesome grades in school (although she had never advanced or done anything of note with her life.) She seemed alright, I guess, but I thought she was a little cold and stuck up. Regardless, he was head over heels in love and I kept telling myself, he was my best friend, like my brother. If he was happy, then I was too. I didn’t have to like her because I wasn’t the one who had to sleep with her.

Thank Christ.

Listen, I tried. Really hard and numerous times. I told myself this over and over: it doesn’t matter what you think because it’s not your relationship. Not to mention that I had my own crazy boyfriend to deal with. (And again, I stifle a shudder.)

But that bitch was miserable.

I started to notice it right away but I thought it was just me. After all, we all know how sensitive I can be. But she hated everyone, most especially me because for whatever reason, I posed a huge threat to her. I remember when they first got engaged (their engagement lasting something like 5 years with absolutely zero plans to marry), she picked this enormous fight with me, claiming that I had “made puppy dog eyes at him” when they told me. I told her that contrary to whatever it was she believed, I was no threat; that I was happy for them. But for whatever reason, she just never liked me.

When a man gives his opinion, he’s a man. When a woman gives her opinion, she’s a bitch. –Bette Davis

A few years later, in some warped twist of fate involving my psychotic ex-boyfriend, I ended up moving in a two bedroom apartment with them. Which, I later found out, was something that she had never really agreed to for obvious reasons (as I’ve said, she despised me). And let me tell you, every goddamn day was an argument. Literally every day.

How could I have had cats in the apartment? (I had two that stayed strictly in my room only.) What kind of vagrants was I bringing home for recreational activities? (I was dating an African American corrections officer who worked all kinds of weird hours.) Why must I insist on making coffee every single morning? (The smell had apparently made her nauseous, which I personally find ludicrous.) Why had I gotten so angry that she had stolen/borrowed without asking my black and white polka dot Madden peep-toe pumps? (She claimed to be researching my shoe size for an alleged Christmas present that I never received.) Why was I so anti-social? (Even though I worked two jobs and she refused to even make eye contact with me whenever we were in the same room.)

I could go on, but we all have lives and honestly, who has the time? All you need to know is that “I was the problem” but she instigated absolutely everything. And I’ve got plenty of people to back that shit up. Way up.

One of the really obvious things that bothers me about being friends with the opposite sex is that no matter what, you’re immediately a threat. As with this case, it didn’t matter that I was blatantly NOT physically attracted to him. It didn’t matter that I was juggling men and going on dates every night and therefore, clearly NOT colluding in some sort of side shenanigans with him. It didn’t matter that I made it very clear that I didn’t want either one of them in my room, ever, if I wasn’t there. And it didn’t matter that I took care of her one night because she was a drunken mess and her fiancé was too wasted to even walk. (Ugh… amateurs.)

None of that mattered. All she saw when she looked at me was someone who was ruining her relationship and she made it very clear how she felt. (I remember one night, she slid a note under my door like some kind of incognito “You’re a Jew and you’re lucky we’re even hiding you,” gesture. Maybe that joke was in poor taste but come on, who passes notes? If you feel that strongly, why don’t you come and say it to my face.) 

I mean, let’s be real: It’s not like I was Carmen Electra, lounging around in crotch-less panties and red patent leather pumps while I nibbled on strawberries and sipped expensive champagne. What kind of threat was I really posing? They fought because she was miserable at human interaction. They fought because for whatever reason, she was insecure. Not because I locked myself in my bedroom watching Robert Downey, Jr. movies and guzzling VO and Diet Coke. Seriously.

But what was even more annoying was his incessant defense of her. I always told him how I felt (including telling him that since she hated me so much, the bitch needed to stay away from my closet and out of my expensive shoes. That STILL pisses me off every time I think about it. I cannot even express to you the amount of garments that were lost/stolen/ruined/washed incorrectly. Including a two carat diamond pendant that an ex-boyfriend gave to me. But that’s neither here, nor there.) and he would come back with, “She was working all day. She’s wiped.” (Oh, I’m sorry, and I wasn’t?) Or, “She doesn’t like how close we are. You know how insecure she is.” (IDGAF.) Or sometimes, “Give her a break. She was abused as a child.” (I’m sorry, who the fuck cares?)

Moral of the Crazy: Maybe I’m old-fashioned but “I don’t like your girlfriend” is a phrase that I don’t want in my repertoire of daily language. Life is just so much smoother when everyone gets along and for the life of me, I tried with that girl. I really did. You think I wanted to take care of her while she was completely inebriated and crying? God, no! I wanted to leave her there in the center of the Round Up floor, hugging the enormous trash can, and go rummage through her closet to find all my missing items!

But did I do that? No. Because the day I’m awful to somebody, I’ll walk out in front of a bus and get killed instantly. That’s just the kind of luck I’ve got.

But the truth is, it frustrated me how my feelings were just never considered. He knew how horribly she behaved and he knew that none of us could stand her, and yet, I was the bad guy. I was the one who couldn’t get along. I was the one who was being difficult and hard to live with. Even after they broke up (finally!) and she married someone else, he STILL defended her. She had dumped him and left him in this weird, dark depression and he STILL took her side.

I will never understand.

Maybe if he had just said to her, “Look, you don’t have to like her but she’s my best friend (and for a year, my roommate). She deserves respect and if you love me, you’ll at least try to give her some.” I mean, it would have been different if I was awful to her, but I wasn’t.

We’re still friends and we talk every now and again but to be honest, I never got over that. I don’t know why it ever became two against one but I didn’t appreciate it. I didn’t appreciate feeling like an outlaw in my own apartment. But that’s just the way it was.

To this day, I don’t have many male friends because I feel like it’s just a natural thing to be shifted to second. Of course that’s going to happen to a certain extent because hey, the wife trumps everybody else, right? But if I’m going to be friends with someone, male or otherwise, I don’t want to be their secret friend. I don’t want to be competing against their spouse or significant other for a minute amount of attention. I don’t want to have to curb my language in text messages and not hear from people for days because their significant other doesn’t know we talk. That’s ridiculous. It’s dishonest. And it’s not a friendship.

Listen, I hate to put this guy friend of mine on blast because he really is an awesome guy. We’ve known each other for years and we’ve been through a lot together. But no matter how close a friendship I have with ANYONE, I will not stand for being disrespected. Especially because someone’s girlfriend doesn’t “like me”. I also won’t stand in the way of another person’s relationship. It’s just not my style.

So if you have a male friend and he gets a new girlfriend, try to charm her upon meeting her and let her know you aren’t a threat. And let your gentleman friend know that he doesn’t have to put you above his girlfriend (because a classy, sophisticated broad like yours truly would never ask for that) but you still deserve a place in his life. And tell him not to forget that you were there long before she was.

An intelligent woman has millions of born enemies: all the stupid men. –Marie Von Ebner-Eschenbach