Full Credits

Stats & Data

June 13, 2011

Making friends is a lot like dating, and it proves to be no easier for the matchmaker.

            You think not having any friends is pathetic-- try living with someone who doesn’t have any friends. Though he moved in to be with my roommate and his girlfriend two months ago, Pete sits on the couch hours at a time playing Call of Duty. He essentially has not left the apartment, and has yet to go crazy in an apartment filled with three girls. “What about that guy you met at my birthday party,” I say as I try to distract him away from the television I have set my eyes on in I can’t-even-remember-when. Pete continues to finger the Play Station controller, and stares unblinkingly at the screen. “ You mean John? I gave him my number at that bar-- the balls in his court.” Pete looks down at his phone briefly every two seconds as if he should at any moment be receiving a text or phone call. ??

    In the off seconds of not playing Call of Duty, Pete gets on his phone and lightly fingers John’s number. “Maybe he’s busy?” I offer hoping that that might make him feel better. Before cut short, they had only one night of magic when John came to our apartment for some birthday cake and a game of goldfish. “I thought, you know, we really hit it off. I mean, I let him touch my guitars!” Pete calls from the bathroom as he takes a piss for the first time in the eight hours he has been playing Call of Duty. Pete’s guitars sit sadly in the corner of our living room, as Pete has not touched them since that faithful night. “I just don’t got that music in my heart,” Pete says as the sound of gunshots assault the living room.

            “I think honey really needs some friends,” my roommate whispers as we find Pete dead asleep on the couch surrounded by cartons of Ben & Jerry’s Chubby Hubby. “I mean, he’s not even putting out anymore-- saying he doesn’t feel ‘sexy’ or something.” For the last two months, Pete has also refused to sport anything other than sweatpants, and a brown-tinged wife beater. Maybe it’s the smell of his decaying heart, but the smell of him makes me want to give up eating entirely. Finally, fed up with these games, I call John myself to see what the hell is up with him. After blowing up at him over the phone, I am met with a pause, and a helpless "I’ve just been busy” line. I guess you just can’t force a relationship, even if you just know it’s right because you just might ruin it.