5 Types Of Toxic Friends
The belittling, backstabbing big-mouth you’ll never trust. This bitch keeps you up at night like a colicky baby who happens to know all your business. She’s the type of person who ‘accidentally’ reveals classified information at completely inopportune times, oops! She totally didn’t mean to mention that abortion to your Catholic in-laws, forgiveskis? When you’re ready to leave the bar, she’s the friend who will hang back with the guy you’re crushing on because she’s not ready to go home yet, only a child would go home this early, she wants to keep drinking, she hopes you get home in one piece and that you don’t stay up too late thinking about how she’s boning your ex-future-boyfriend this very moment, sorry she’s not sorry. Even thought you capital H-A-T-E HATE her, you unconsciously rededicate all of your time and resources toward spending time with her just to make sure her snakey ass doesn’t get a free second to betray you.
The Jekyll/Hyde. This insane monster is perfectly likable during business hours, but give him a few shots of tequila and he starts acting like someone slipped PCP in his Patron. Before the night is over, he’ll a) break his phone b) break your phone c) cock-block you — both willfully and by way of oblivion d) get you kicked out of whatever bar or party you stupidly invited him to, and e) vomit on your couch. In the morning, he’ll cook you breakfast and gently dismiss any allegations you make against him.
The friend who can’t suck it up for two seconds and be happy for you. Oh, you got a raise? I know you’re paying for this celebration dinner, but I just want you to know? You shouldn’t brag about money to people who are less fortunate than you are. I mean, you got a raise, awesome! GREAT FOR YOU! I’m still unemployed, in case you were wondering. But yeah, go you! I’m sure you totally deserve it, at least in your own mind! Seriously though, let’s talk about something that doesn’t make me want to stab you in between the freaking eyes. Famine, maybe?
Chief justice of judging everybody. After regularly getting shat on for breathing, speaking, and living in general (You sort of look like a fashionable cow in that shawl/ Your boyfriend is too skinny/ No, not everyone has HPV), you’ve learned that the only conversation you can have with this friend is about the weather, people you mutually dislike, and how to live a life impervious to judgment as told by her, Queen Earl Duke of Ne’er Do-Wrong.
The friend who only wants to hang out to tell you what a terrible friend you are. You’re like, a really bad friend. You’ve been MIA for months, and you haven’t come to brunch, and all the time you spend with your other friends who don’t badger you constantly about the invisible obligations you’ve left unfulfilled should be spent with ME, listening to MY PROBLEMS, half of which are YOUR FAULT because you’re just never there for ME anymore, because you’re a BAD. FRIEND. Like, really, really bad. Now get your whore ass up off of my couch, we’re going to get coffee.
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It started with a right swipe, a little green heart. Tinder of course.
Though I acknowledge and appreciate the differences in human experiences, and while your heartbreak is (and always will be) uniquely and completely your own, I must urge you to consider that I have been where you are.
With his hat cocked back, body tilted away from his cane, and right forefinger pointing directly at his audience, Joseph Ducreux commands the attention of those viewing his self-portrait.
I was born in 1990; he was born in 1973. I’m 23; he just turned 40.