I've Got Friends In Low Places

So there's this minty chickita who buzzes around this blog on occasion, named Becky. And a few days ago, she made this astute comment: "Really? You make friends easily? I would *never* have guessed that about you, Jay. ;)" And yes, that attitude is exactly why I love her. But anyway, I am a lover of people. I count myself lucky to have a great stable of friends. They make life interesting.

I am a friendly person by nature. Definitely a talker. Approachable, apparently, because I'm always having funny encounters with complete strangers. But I am definitely NOT of the Kathie Lee/Kelly Ripa perky persuasion. Ew. I have a scathing sense of humour. I can be a smidge sarcastic. I'm opinionated. I'm boisterous (which I think is a kind word for obnoxious). I say what's on my mind, and I don't agree with people just to be polite. I'm stubborn and I stick to my guns. I'm very tolerant of other people's opinions, but I'm very sure of myself and I don't back down. So the effect I have on people is that they either love me, or they hate me.

And do you know who tends to hate me the most?

Jason's friends.

It's gotten to be funny, in a way. They just don't like me. They think I'm a bossy bitch (well, to be fair, I am). They think I'm snarky and critical, and once that conclusion is reached, I'm a goner. They never see through to my soft, chewy centre (okay, well, we all know I have no inner softness...but I must have some redeeming qualities...like, um, punctuality, and um, good hygiene...right?). The only time I made a somewhat favourable impression, I was hopped up on demorol and percocet, and I just sat on the sofa, smiling like an idiot.

Now, I suppose to outsiders, Jason and I do have a strange relationship. I am not the mushy, loving type. I don't smile and nod in deferential agreement to every third syllable to fall out of his mouth. I give him a lot of sass. I talk back all the time. I disagree just to disagree. I yell at him all the time (though, ironically, not when I'm mad...I just think it's funny to yell stuff like "PASS THE CHEESE!" and "HAVE YOU SEEN MY SHOE?"). And Jason thinks it's pretty funny too. He knows that between us, 'you big nard' is more of a term of endearment than 'sweetie pie'. When I get quiet, Jason gets worried.

And it's not like Jason plays it straight either.

Jamie: I think I'm ready for bed
Jason: Well fuck you right in the ear.

We crack each other up. We think we're funny. And for the most part, we exist in our own little bubble...and when our friends come over, they think we're very entertaining. Karen used to always say that she could listen to our banter for hours and hours. So we don't censor ourselves. I'm not really worried about what others think; as long as we're happy, it's all good.

But every once in a while, Jason will invite a work buddy over, and within an hour, this guy thinks Jason is a battered husband or something.

Anyway, a few years ago, we were having a little get-together, and two guys show up that I haven't met before. Due to my delicious Irish brownies and an abundance of jello shots, I have no recollection of what I could have possibly done to make such a piss-poor impression, but before long, Chris had Jason out in the hallway, and he said "Look, dude, you CANNOT marry that woman! What can you possibly even see in her?"

And Jason, without missing a beat, said "Well, mostly, it's the blow jobs."

And that, my friends, is why we'll be married for 50 years.

Thank you and good night.