Wednesday, September 09, 2015

Friendly conversation with a writer (with Thranduil's butt as a bonus)

Thranduil: Ass divine. Unlike our good ol' elven king, have one, don't BE one to your friends.

Me: "This pisses me off, you know? There is a friend of mine who has vanished for years now. And you do know how few my friends are. Every time he gets into a relationship, he drops off the face of the earth. Stops calling. Stops meeting with me. And it pisses me off when my friends do that. It makes me sad. Time passes and I may move abroad and never see him again. I am not expecting him to spend time daily or even weekly with me. But for the love of fuck, surely you can find some time once or twice a year for a fucking coffee with me?! I am not asking for the moon, I am asking for maybe two hours every few months!"
Lizbeth: "Let me quote Walter, the scientist, from the series Fringe: 'It's all because of that temptress. She tricked him with her carnal manipulations and he fell right into her vagenta!' (vagina+ agenta). Maybe his girlfriend isn't happy with him meeting his female friends, you know. Most women feel that way and they are VERY manipulative and cunning. They make sure to alienate their boyfriends from their female friends to eliminate possible competition. Men don't realise it until it's too late."
Me: *Laughs* "I don't know if he has realised we have not met each other for at least two, maybe three years now. Men are complete idiots. As soon as they find a relationship nothing else matters. They no longer have friends or other interests. There is the Holy Vagina, and then there is everything else: work, food, sleep and maybe something called hobbies, if her majesty the Vagina allows. These men find themselves alone in their fifties, married to what has become a fat, unpleasant woman, and they drink beer in front of the TV and wonder why they have no friends left. Because you ditched us years ago, you bloody morons, that's why!"
Lizbeth laughs. "You do remember what J. told you about it, don't you now?"
Me: "Yeah. J. said he has so many other, more serious problems in his life, that doesn't have any time or energy left to worry about those who never call and don't keep in touch because they developed a case of severe phone allergy doubled with Procrastinatis and Arseholery."
Lizbeth: "That's why I love that guy. He's right, you know."
Me: "Oh hell, fuck me, I know. That's why I stopped calling my friend and no longer try to reach him. He lives in a new house now, much closer to mine. If he can't be bothered to call and meet up, then to hell with him. I have other priorities too. I can't chase anyone. Let him go. Maybe someone else will replace him. It hurts, but you can't make people stay, you can't make them care or give you their time. Obviously my idea of our friendship was wildly exaggerated."
Lizbeth quotes Mark Twain: "As in 'the reports of my death have been wildly exaggerated'?"
Me: "Yeah. Something like that. How goes the review hunting, by the way?"
Lizbeth makes a face. "I've kissed so much arse in the past one month I am beginning to feel hairs growing on my poor chapped lips. You can't imagine how boring this procedure is. Some of the reviewers are rude, too!"
Me: "Well fuck them. Give them the finger if they are rude." *Raises her middle finger in solemn salutation*
Lizbeth: "You can't give them the finger, even if they are rude. Sure, I've said many 'fuck you too' to my screen whenever I receive a rude email. I don't mind a refusal. If they tell me they are busy and can't do another review, what am I going to do, kidnap them and force them to write reviews for my book? I just shrug and thank them anyway. But the rude ones, oh the rude ones are so much fun. I wish I become famous just so they regret being so unpleasant to me."
Me: "Don't worry about them. Fuck them. Your writing isn't for everyone. You know that, right?"
Lizbeth: "Nothing is for everyone. I just wish humans were less unpleasant to each other."
Me: "Isn't this what makes you write?"
Lizbeth: "Don't you go all Buddha on me now, about existence being painful and this pain being the grit that makes the pearl grow. Being polite is always an option, especially if the other person has been nothing but polite to you. Have an arsehole. Don't be one."
Me: "Yeah, fat chance of that, love. Mutation by proximity."
Lizbeth: "More like mutation by constant association with that orifice and thorough brain alienation."
Me: "I've got an 'alienation' label on my blog. Maybe I should use 'brain alienation' too."
Lizbeth: "Maybe we should stop caring about people who don't care about us in the same way."
Me: "How can you tell how much someone cares?"
Lizbeth: "Easy peasy. They check on you every now and then to make sure you are okay."
Me: "Aw man, I must delete almost my entire list of contacts if that's the case."
Lizbeth: "Don't delete them. Just stop worrying about them, stop calling them, and stop wondering why they don't call. You've got bigger fish to fry."
Me: "Yeah, my glorious self. I will be a feast." (I am Pisces with Pisces ascendant...)
Lizbeth: "Goodie. Am I invited?"
Me: "Of course. Come, eat, this is my body. But you will most likely start fancying elves and vampires and unpleasant characters afterwards."
Lizbeth: "I don't see any discernible difference. I do that already."
Me: "And here I was, wondering why we keep each other such good company..."

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