When is it okay to come out and tell someone what you really think of them?

I’m in my late twenties and have…an acquaintance. Let’s call her Lola. For
several years, Lola and I have belonged to a close-knit social
organization that is spread out nationally; we interact online daily
and see each other about twice a year when this group gets together.
She’s smart and can have a biting wit. We had fun at a group meeting
and looked forward to seeing each other again, chatting online every
day for hours at a time.

Then I attended a conference in her hometown, and she pleaded for me
to stay with her so she could show me a good time. Despite this, she
displayed an astounding lack of consideration for me in every area. To
give you an idea: I think I picked up an infection from her bathroom,
given that she neglected even a cursory wipe of the filth. She picked
her nose constantly, and gave herself a bikini wax while I was reading
across the room. (I was rather taken aback when I lowered my book to
check the time.)

Furthermore, the entire week’s conversations could be
summed up in this lovely exchange:

Lola: Just look at this pillowcase that we bought specifically for
your use. YOU are wasting my purchase because YOU decided to use the
wrong pillow. [menacing glare]
Me: Oh…I’m sorry. You didn’t have to go buy it, though; I had my
own. It matches your sheets, though, right?
Lola: I won’t use it. It isn’t my brand.
Me: I thought you said that was your favorite store, and anyways I
don’t know any of the stores around here.
Lola: They don’t sell my brand at that store.

I somehow managed to get home without killing her (though I had to pay
$100 and break my cardinal rule of Never Fake A Family Member’s
Illness in order to get home early), and tried to remain calm while
carefully cooling the relationship. We met at the next group meeting,
though, and it soon became clear to everyone that much of what we had
thought was biting sarcasm was actually deep kvetching. She feels —
in her own words, mind you — that being “bitchy” is not a feeling but
an acceptable lifestyle choice (and resisted our attempts to remedy
things that bothered her). She made continual rude comments about our
locale and didn’t prepare adequately for any preplanned activity.
(Five minutes into an extended hike: “My feet hurt.” “You’re wearing
heeled dress shoes. Do you have any hiking boots or sneakers?” “Huh?
It’s not winter; why would I ever wear those? GEEZ. [eye roll]”)

At this point, you might be asking why we don’t just cut our losses
and back away. Here’s the hitch: we can’t kick her out. She’s a
long-term member of the group who has held several leadership
positions and controls certain assets. Moreover, she has expressed
several times how wonderful the group is, and how truly blessed she
feels to be a part of it. We know that she doesn’t have many other
friends – hell, that’s her problem in the first place. Believe me, I
KNOW I’m not obligated to hang on for her sake, but if we kick her to
the curb, she’ll not only stay awful but get worse.

So one night she cornered me and demanded to know my opinion on
something. As expected, an argument broke out. “WELL!” she huffed, “I
had no idea I was sooooooo unpleasant!” Well…that’s just it. She
either truly doesn’t know, or knows but thinks she’s completely
justified. But the first rule of personal relationships is that when
someone says, “Seriously, don’t hold back. What do you really think?”
you kindly DO NOT SPILL.

Or do you?

Tell me what we do about this girl. Because whether it’s initiated by
me or not, I’d love for her to have a magical epiphany sometime soon.
Like, before our next meeting. For which she hasn’t yet bought
tickets.

Thanks and best regards,
Bribing People With Baked Goods Does Not Constitute A Close
Friendship, Especially When I Found Your Hair In That Pie (Which Was
Way Too Sweet Anyways)

It’s hard to come up with a reasonable order to lay this out in, but I’ll try to keep it clear.

A few years ago, I moved to a new city. All alone and friendless, that sort of thing, and then I met this guy I’ll call John. We dated for a while, and I met all John’s friends, and they became my friends too, and when we broke up, fairly amicably, I stayed friends both with John and all our mutual friends, a large-ish group of twentysomethings who get on pretty well and are usually pretty low-drama.

Background to the group: as far as I know, it started out as a bunch of university friends who stayed close after graduation. The rest of us came in as boyfriends, girlfriends, friends-of-friends, etc, and became part of the network, but usually how long you’ve been hanging out with us isn’t treated as an issue for anyone. I’ve been friends with them for about three years, and they’re fun people.

You knew there was a “but” coming, of course, and it’s this: but about two months ago, one girl, whom I’ll call Jane, was injured in a workplace accident. Not her fault, and she still has some health issues that aren’t resolved from it, so it sucks for her, and we’ve all been really sympathetic about it.

But Sars, she’s killing my social life.

It started because, due to the accident-related health issues, she can’t deal with noise, pretty much at all. She started turning down invitations to large gatherings of the group because she couldn’t handle being around too many people at once. I thought that was a shame — she’s usually a really interesting, witty person, both in person and on her blog (most of the group have blogs, and everyone reads everyone else’s as a matter of course), and she’s hilarious at parties.

Then suddenly the “original” group, the university buddies, stopped having parties or large gatherings at all, and started doing small-group things, just them or maybe a couple of other people, so that she could come. I was invited to one of them, and it sucked — a bunch of people in their twenties playing cards and board games on a Saturday night. It really reinforced the high school feeling I get from them suddenly being so cliquey. Most of the others in the group who aren’t them have just been doing stuff with other people, but I don’t have any other friends in this city.

I pretty much feel like the group have abandoned me. I don’t see anyone hardly at all lately. Jane’s blog stopped being funny or insightful. She’s mostly just been posting updates about how her recovery is going and complaining about how much it sucks, when she really isn’t that badly injured. It’s dull and repetitive, and I’m socially obliged to read it still because everyone expects me to have done so on the rare occasions that I get included in group activities.

I want to take a stand to get my life back, but I want to do it in a way that doesn’t make me come across all high-school-ish myself. I feel for Jane, but I want my life back. How do I do it?

I Grew Out Of Monopoly About Ten Years Ago, Already

I’m an engaged woman in my early thirties — an only child with a single parent. I’m very lucky that my mother and I get along (for the most part), and I’m even doubly blessed that my fiancé likes my mother. There’s only one small problem — distance. Not that there’s too much of it, no; the problem is that there’s too little, and I can sense a cycle starting that I have no idea how to fix.

Let me back up a little. Mom and I have always been one-on-one. Lately we’ve been able to become friends in addition to mother and daughter. And this is great. But sometimes it feels a bit like a co-dependent relationship. She’s always said things to me like, “You’re my whole life,” which when you first think about it, sounds sweet. After you meditate on it for a while, it starts to sound (and feel) a bit daunting.

When I went to graduate school in DC (about 1000 miles away, give or take), it was wonderful. I am, by nature, an independent person, and I loved living in a city, I loved being on my own, I loved that distance. However, after two years of school, I had to figure out what I wanted to do next. The neighborhood around my apartment was getting sketchier and sketchier, and I hadn’t been able to find a job yet (fiancé was doing some contract work, but it wasn’t enough to live on). Our savings were running out, and I was getting worried.

Enter Mom. She offered to pay to move me back home, so I could find a job and get settled “back home.” Sounds great on paper, aside from the fact that I’d just earned a graduate degree in English (intending to teach at a private school somewhere before going back for a PhD), and “back home” is a suburban nightmare somewhere in Florida. I worked for three years as an adjunct instructor at a community college, teaching composition. Mom lives with my grandfather, who is in his mid-eighties and needing more and more supervision (he’s a spry smartass, but his memory’s starting to fail, and he’s got health issues — which, at 84, is kind of a given). My mother has started to assume that my fiancé and I are quite happy in FL, despite my telling her quite frequently that that’s not the case.

Here’s the thing. I want to move back to the mid-Atlantic area. Or, hell, ANYWHERE ELSE that isn’t HERE. But every time I’ve brought it up to Mom as “an eventual possibility,” I feel like I’m kicking a puppy. I realize she’s alone with my grandfather constantly, and she’s pretty much given up her entire life to care for him (seriously — no friends, no outside hobbies, nada), but I’m starting to feel as if the same thing is going to be expected of me. I mean, it’s already been established that whenever we live where we want to settle down, she’s going to be there. But she’s starting to talk like I’m going to be making the same sacrifices for her that she’s made for her father. And while I respect that she’s done that — I’m thirty years old, and am stuck living in an area that hocks loogies on my career path. Fiancé is slowly getting frustrated with his job, and has been talking about doing a job search further north.

Is there any way I can live my life without feeling like an ungrateful, selfish bitch?

Signed,
Or Maybe I AM An Ungrateful, Selfish Bitch…

This is a relationship/self-esteem issue, as if you haven’t seen
enough already.

I started dating a guy last summer. He was charming, sweet, and a
good match for me. Our relationship wasn’t perfect, but it was worth
it. I believed in him.

Fast forward about eight months, and it’s obvious that his heart isn’t
in it anymore. His actions became impersonal, automatic. I felt
lonely and unappreciated. Sick of it, I called him out how he treated
me, and his response to “I feel unloved” was “That’s cause I don’t
love you.” At that point, I walked out the door and out of the
relationship. I would have lost all respect for myself if I had
stayed.

Do I regret doing that? No. Good Lord, no. I am fully confident
that leaving was the right decision. Things were done, it was time.

That being said, Sars, why am I so goddamn blue? I’ve been in a
complete funk since I walked out that door, and I’m struggling to get
out of it.

First, I miss him, as a person. I miss his voice, with the sexy
accent talking to me late at night. I miss his infectious enthusiasm
at simple things, like a new episode of Lost. I miss his goodness.
Secondly, I profoundly miss having a boyfriend. I miss having a
standing dinner date. I miss sex and kissing and all the things that
go with physical intimacy. I miss knowing that someone is on my side,
and knowing that I can back someone up if they need it.

Before we started dating, I hadn’t had an “official” boyfriend in
years. I had “friends with benefits” and spent far too much energy
trying to stay emotionally detached. I hated it. I’m afraid of going
back into that void. I’ve always projected myself as the happy,
boisterous, independent girl who is going to go my own way, torpedoes
be damned. But I faked my confidence, for years, hoping that putting
myself out there and having a smile on my face would bring me out of
that cave. Sometimes, it worked, and other times I could only keep up
appearances until my BAC reached .10 and then desperation reigned. I
feel myself slipping back into that girl again.

I’m doing the right things, spending time with friends, getting out of
my house, trying to stay away from being overly mopey. My friends are
helpful, but it’s hard to admit how sad I am to them (they’ve always
seen me as stronger than I am), and we usually end up trying to work
out their own relationship issues, with me as the advice-giver.

I need new words. I need new words to roll around in my head the next
time I pass by the store where I bought that candle for him, or the
next time I see a news story from his hometown. Something other than
“This too shall pass” or “Snap out of it” or any kind of clichéd
overused phrase that is easily dismissed.

I don’t understand how I can be so confident that leaving him was the
right thing to do and still have my heart hurt so much.

M

I love the site and you are the reason I own and use Garner’s on a
daily basis, so I’d thought your thoughts would be helpful on this.

During a dinner party, my roommate and her friends from college who
were in town visiting got on the topic of having kids (e.g. whether
it’s a good idea to have them in law school [it is!] vs. working as a
baby lawyer in a NYC sweatshop, I mean…”firm”). Anyway, I weighed in
while doing the dishes and mentioned that, for my girlfriend and I
pregnancy and having a baby is a manner of being in the right place
with the right person…blah blah mature-cakes. Well, her friends were
kind of stunned and didn’t say anything until one dude was like…uh,
aren’t you gay?

Well…I just sort of smiled and told him no, I wasn’t gay. And quickly
changed the topic to something more interesting…Lost.

This isn’t the first time this has happened.

Due to my voice (I think…since it’s pretty high and soft), people
assume I’m gay pretty often.

In fact, exes of mine has argued the whole “maybe you’re repressed”
road…and nope. Dudes don’t do it for me. Never have. That doesn’t
mean I’m not supportive of all of the gay friends of mine in college
that came out or that I don’t support equal rights pretty actively,
but being called gay when you’re not is kind of annoying since it’s
just that person applying his or her prejudices and coming to a
conclusion without getting to know me at all. I usually go with the
whole “correcting the person” thing…but people are so closed-minded
about what being gay is about that they sort of lump me into the bunch
without…you know, asking my opinion.

I’ve worked really hard at being happy with who I am and the way that
I sound, but situations like that dinner party happen and I’d like a
classy, polite response that doesn’t put the person out, but also
makes them realize that judging people based on how they sound is
stupid.

Wishing I were Barry White…