Good Advice

Every few weeks, we have a sleep over.  My friend, who I have known for what seems like such a short amount of time, is someone I have come to depend on.  She has, in the few seconds that I have known her, helped me remember the skin I so long ago grew into, and encouraged me to feel comfortable in it again.  Just being in her home, eating the wonderful dinners she cooks and speaking with her and her husband brings me comfort I have not known for many years.  I hold these friends very close to my heart.

The other night, I was speaking to them about my project, wondering what glimpse of insight I might glean from the two of them regarding my failure to get strangers to speak to me.  I summarized what my note said, and detailed a few of my experiences with rejection.  Right away, they both had answers, though of course, they were very different answers.  For the record, they are not one of those couples who speaks at you at the same time, not stopping to wonder who it is you are listening to.  They take turns, and, I have noticed, they are both quite good at letting the other speak first.

Her husband offered that my first blog project, 20 Dates in 20 Weekends, was an easier thing to entice participants into, as there was the possibility of a blow job.  "This experiment", he observed, very deadpan, "offers no blowjob."  Fair enough.  

She had a slightly different take.  I had started to speak of the spark of energy in everyone, the innate ability every one holds deep within them to be exceptional, when she cut me off to enlighten me to the fact that my belief, while touching, was naive.  "Some people have no story, or, if they do, they are not aware that they have one to tell."  She added, cynically, "some people are just boring."

I am sure you can see now why I love these people. 

While their observations were a bit divergent, their suggestions were strikingly similar.  They both came up with going to a local old folks home where she used to teach cooking classes to get stories, which, I had to admit, was brilliant, or standing outside the public library and offering passersby the opportunity to trade a story for a ball, so that there was no "hang time" between ball reception and story delivery.  Both of these I deemed most worthy of my energies, and as my friend reminded me, "the people who go to libraries are going there because they like stories."  Her husband then added, referring to the homeless population which frequent the elegant old building, "well, either that, or showers."