Enablers or Friends?

There's absolutely a fine line between friends you can count on and those that enable bad habits. Whether it's a mother in denial that her teenage daughter has a substance abuse problem, a girlfriend refusing to see that her guy is a workaholic, or the coworker thinking that her peer showing up with vomit on their designer pants more than once just means he's a partier, we've all tip-toed along that line. It can be due to naivete, denial, lack of interest, ignorance - maybe a combination of everything. 

In my depression escaped only by high-fat foods and Netflix, I've started to consider that maybe my recluse state is something to be concerned about. I was particularly upset last night after being blown off by a friend. Instead of taking my fabulous newly cut and colored hair out to a loft party, I laid in my bed and watched more Sex and the City in boy shorts and a supersoft Victoria's Secret tshirt with my phone on silent so I'm not interrupted from Samantha talking about "funky tasting spunk."  A friend of mine that completely identifies with my "hermit-age," as he refers to it, consoled me about my newly open Saturday night. The night was ruined, as was my hair from taking a nap, and we decided to just meet for Chicago's best cinnamon rolls the next morning. 

Following mimosas at my apartment this morning, we headed around the corner and discussed the pleasant "spring-like weather," which in Chicago means 20 degrees and sunny. As we strolled to Ann Sather, I was mauled by a rabid pigeon, dripped on by ice-cold water from a building, and almost sipped coffee from a disgusting mug.  It was explained to him that this is precisely why I have been refusing to leave the comfort of my cozy apartment. Why leave when I have the essentials? Netflix, booze, and snacks. I walk one block toward the Lake to catch the 146 bus only to be dropped off directly across the street from work. I have a Walgreens a couple buildings down that contains endless bottles of whiskey, gummy worms, and household cleaning products. Finally, I use a grocery delivery service and have befriended the Slavic man to the point that he puts my fresh fruit, Nutella and mixers in their rightful homes. Yes, I'm truly taking advantage in the city where I have endless options to meet new people, find new hobbies and be independent. The Summer of Yes version of me would be quite pissed. 

 So, while at brunch, we discussed our mutual hermitage. The feeling that I can't leave my house without something bad happening  such as a bird attack like Tippi  Hedren in a Hitchcock movie, is not normal for a relatively sane twentysomething. I don't suffer from agoraphobia or any other debilitating psychological disorder. What I do suffer from is adorable, enabling, gay minions. You know those darling little minions from Despicable Me? They are Gru's best friends, closest confidants, and he trusts them to watch his daughters - that's quite the relationship! I have a few gay friends that I tell everything to, spend all my time with and absolutely adore. They have been here through my bad dates, accidental lunch dates, frustrating days at work spent in my unofficial office/fitting room/crying chamber, and offer to take me out after my plans are cancelled. What I'm trying to say is that these boys are the best!! What they aren't the best at is giving me the big slap in the face that I've needed lately. 

I didn't realize it until today when my brunch date pointed out that I have, "gay minions that enable these bad decisions." For example, I was in a bad mood on Valentine's Day. How original, a single girl that's bitchy on Valentine's Day. Not because I'm single but because I've spent the last fifteen Valentine's Days with one of the only people I allow myself to completely love: Peggy. Since I was 11, I've attempted to make dinner of some kind (boxed Pasta Roni in middle school which evolved to coconut shrimp curry over the years, thank you!), watched a movie and played games with my mom. Sometimes girlfriends would join us, gay friends came over and watched Lifetime movies one year, and last year my ex joined us. This year was empty without my mom. 

K&K were well aware of my generally shitty attitude, lack of clothes and newfound desire to stay in. Instead of saying "smell ya later betch," and take their handsome butts to Boystown, they showed up at my apartment with booze, creepy wide-eyed stuffed animals named Smitten and Charming (so cute), and a Seamless order for Pad Thai. Side note: grocery/restaurant delivery service is probably the single best thing about living in a city. Anyway, it was for this reason that I've realized that I have some well-meaning enablers on my hand. No, I don't want them to stop drinking with me - I need someone to join me for extra dirty martinis after work. I don't want to put an end to my Netflix movie nights where we watch Disney movies together. And I most certainly WILL NOT cease my relationship with Grub Hub and Seamless delivery services. Rather, I will get my fatass out of my memory foam bed, crawl out from under the flannel sheets and down duvet, and get my fresh blonde locks ready for a night being complimented by gay men that are prettier than I with some of my favorite men.