2001-04-1 - 12:03 a.m.

The Thing With Shelley

I wrote quite a while back about how my friend Tish helped me get a handle on my problems dealing with my attraction towards women whom I'm friends with. In the spirit of that, I want to go on to talk about another person that got me into trouble once and then helped me out.

My friend Shelley and I have the sort of friendship that I don't expect to ever have again. I'm not sure I'd want to have it again, as long as I got to keep this one. I met her my freshman year of college and liked her a lot right away, although we disagreed on many things and had pretty harsh fights from time to time.

Aside: Shelley and I have such totally different fighting styles that I still remember these fights well. She loses her temper and unleashes deadly blasts of anger that sear your soul, then repents. I squeeze out my anger in villainous little driblets over the space of, oh, forever, unless I declare victory. If Shelley hadn't been such a nice person, we probably would never spoken again after Desert Storm.

Sub-Aside: I'm really talking about Shelley ten years ago. She may fight differently now.

Anyway, by my sophomore year, Shelley and I had mostly stopped fighting and gotten to be very close friends. By February of 1992 I was convinced that she was The One. I asked her out, figuring I'd drop my then-girlfriend if she said yes. She said no.

Aside: Yes, that was a slimey as hell way to treat Kristen, my girlfriend. I felt ashamed about it for a while, and even more ashamed when I lied about it. On the other hand, given the way me and Kristen ended up, I figure no autopsy, no foul.

Anyway, I didn't take "no" for an answer very well. I had problems with a number of things. For one, she went out with a lot of people who just plain didn't treat her as well as I would have, and it pissed me off. For another, I was totally into logic and argument at that time, and I couldn't handle her inability to explain the reasons behind her decision or my inability to change her mind. And finally, she was a mad hottie, and I loved her, and it was just too hard to see her and not be with her.

We didn't speak for about six weeks after that, and then I apologized. I give her a lot of credit for making me apologize. It would have been nice of her to do it, but nobody should ever apologize when they're right. She was damn right.

It all went down again when I visited her that summer. Only it was worse, because I wanted her even more, and because I was her guest. That time, when we fought about it, and she told me where to stick my irritating insistance and patronizing attitude, I still had to see her. I had to sleep in her parents' downstairs bedroom for four more nights. Ooops!

We didn't talk again until after Kristen left for Japan and I faced the realizations that a) I needed Shelley more than she needed me and b) When I say "more", I mean *bad*. She accepted our renewed friendship without even bothering to make me promise not to be an asshole this time, which was quite charitable of her.

Since then we've had a couple of weird periods on our lives, but we're still close friends. On my better days, I can still read her mind. She's married now, but I still think her wife doesn't treat her as well as I would. If I could. Which I can't.

Anyway, I love Shelley. I always will. I love her because she's not like me. I'm one of my favorite people, but I know my limitations. If every single person in the world was just like me, I think it would run along just fine, but it would be a pretty cold-blooded and boring affair. If the entire globe was populated by people like Shelley, it wouldn't run especially smoothly, but it would have a lot to say for itself nonetheless.

It would be a world where people didn't do things to hurt other people.

It would be a world where people who had ideas could talk about them, even if they weren't always the best ideas.

Not everybody would be happy, but at least in Shelley-world, people would feel bad about that.

Now, this isn't to take anything away from my love for my current love, Julie. Aside from being smart and beautiful and a good mother for our daughter and all that, Julie has the strong advantage that she's someone I can love well. She doesn't let me get to the point where I ruin things by being a patronizing jackass. She keeps the feedback loop open. As a couple, I think Julie and I work better that Shelley and I ever could. So Jules, if you're reading this, be cool. :)

But here's the other thing: I love Merrie for the same reasons I love Shelley, and to like degree. So Mer, if you're reading this, I feel bad about that summer where I trod on your self-esteem. I'm not saying this to make you feel better, because you're already over it. I'm saying it because it's true, you might not already know it, and it's maybe a little important to me: In many ways you're a better person that me, and if either of us *should* feel bad about that whole scene, it's me. It took Julie Smith five years to get the basics of how to actually love another person into my head, and she started when she was 32 at the time. Putting an 18-year-old into that ring was probably abuse on my part.

Not that I'm apologizing for that. You were cute and affectionate, so obviously you had it coming.

OK, um, how about some content that isn't all directed at Mer? Maybe something that might be of interest to someone who cares? Um, lemme think...

Ah! Here we go!

Liralyn, you're probably going to fall in love with a boy for the first time somewhere between thirteen and eighteen. He'll treat you like crap, and you'll wonder if the problem is you. I'll give you sage advice about how your broken heart will mend, and you'll think I'm a tedious old fart who doesn't understand. Then, when you're in your late twenties, you'll start talking to me again. You'll admit to yourself that I was right, although you'll never admit it to me.

When that happens, I'm going to say I told you so. And not only did I tell you so, I told it to you on April 1, 2001, when you weren't even three yet. My moral superiority will be unassailable.

Love, Dad.

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