A friend of mine took a ten year cake this Saturday. That's what we do here in Vacation City to celebrate a recovery birthday - we "take a cake." We "get a chip." The tradition is for the person celebrating an anniversary to ask a few close friends and advisers to bring the cake in from the kitchen while the group sings Happy Birthday. Saturday I was in the posse. I like the guy who was celebrating the milestone - he's an inflexible, intolerant know-it-all like me - so I abuse the shit out of him. If you read a transcript of what I say to this man you'd think: "What an asshole." Not him - me. I'm the asshole.
There's a lot of probing of defects that goes on among the guys I hang out with. The birthday man and I share a lot of defects - when he talks to me about his bad behavior I can I-Den-Ti-Fy. This only means, however, that every time I see him I dig around in his shortcomings with a red-hot, razor-sharp poker. He is making a mistake if he thinks he can share his vulnerabilities with me - the only thing he's doing is providing me with fuel for abuse.
Actually, I only do this with a select group of friends. This dude knows I love him and that the critiques are coming from a good place, and he also knows that I dish it out because I can also take it. I never get upset when someone points out one of my many shortcomings - I'm trying to get better and I need all of the help I can get. It was like the torrent of tick disease advice I got - these people know I worry about my health so they're going to try to help me get over worrying about my health with some pretty funny humor.
Last night I sent a couple of texts to a friend of mine. SuperK read them and then made me apologize, deeming them too inflammatory. My friend responded: "Tell SuperK that I am immune to your irony." I thought this was a very nice turn of a phrase. Somehow I'll find a way to jam it back down his throat. Nothing is coming to mind right now - he was quite clever - but I'm very patient and very persistent.
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