Making Friends Like a Grown Up
Posted on November 20, 2012
I’ve been thinking a lot about the whole game of friendship making. I knew, going freelance, that I’d get a bit lonesome working at home. But I also knew that I would have that comfort blanket of constant social media contact, and that I’d be okay. And I know I will be.
But what I didn’t realise was how much I’d miss the casual exchanges, the easy friendships and the shared experiences I totally took for granted in Sydney. And that’s mainly down to the people who I spent most of my time with – my colleagues at Cosmo. God, they’re a freaking awesome bunch of chicks and I miss them – just all the silly stuff we’d crap on about through the day, you know? The teasing, the oversharing, the boy talk, the food talk, the free-table talk. I MISS IT ALL. I really miss my awesome editor, who is busy and important and crap at replying to emails. And yeah, I’m in touch with my peeps but it’s not the same as working together (although I am working on a project with two of my favourites, so hooray for feeling like a pseudo part of the team again).
I miss the ladies who I’d email randomly through the day about Alex Baldwin. Or Chris Messina. Or kittens.
I even miss my mother’s monologues and the lobby barista who made coffee that didn’t taste like frothy pond scum (burn in hell, American “coffee”).
THEY ARE MY PEOPLE.
So where are my people HERE? Who am I going to go for an impromptu drink with after work? Who can I call to bitch about some slight to my fragile ego?
I love that I can use Viber to talk about my BFF’s day with her, instantly. I love Skype. I adore Instagram. But it’s NOT the same as human, physical contact. The kind that involves gut-clutching guffawing at book clubs and the looks that say a thousand judgemental things in a meeting.
So yeah, the upshot of my pity party is that I need to find some friends, stat. But I don’t have an office. I frickin’ HATE team sports. I freak out when people talk to me randomly. Americans, especially.
But I did something about it. I DID. See, I was at The Polo Lounge (woo-whee, look at me!) and this very cool waitress in very cool cats eye glasses seemed like, well, someone I’d like to hang out with, minus the customer-waitress dynamic. We shared a little banter, and then I gave her my card. I GAVE HER MY CARD. Yeah, it was weird. I felt like a massive weirdo. Like she would think I was hitting on her, or was a crazy stalker or a loser with no friends. Oh, wait… But seriously, I felt like a five year old asking, “Will you be my friend?”
But then, today, she texted me. And we’re having brunch next weekend.
Maybe she’ll be my new, American friend.
Until then, EMAIL ME, CLAIRE!
Mrs C x