Making friends has always come exceptionally easy to me. I think largely because of my natural aroma–a soothing mix of sausages and cedar. Because of my high demand, I often have to write people a rejection letter of friendship, much like the rejection letter I just received from a certain graduate program I applied to. I hope it inspires them to go out and find other friends, like this rejection letter inspired me to madly apply for interesting day jobs.
Currently, I am in two groups of friends: the Minimalists and the Hygges (hoo gah ees).
I like hanging out with both groups. The American Minimalists usually invite me to parties that take place in either vacant loft spaces or abandoned beaches. I wouldn’t say their parties are “extremely fun,” but they certainly require very little preparation. I never need to bring the usual entry ticket of a bottle of wine or beer.
Conversation at the Minimalist parties often involve a lecture like interaction about the benefits of Minimalism. At the last party, Jaco (he minimized his name) began a power point facilitated conversation on freeing oneself from stuff. I noticed that out of the all the stuff he had given away, he did choose to keep a tie dyed shirt that said “Hilton Head” on it. I questioned this choice and soon found myself more interested in the offshoot group that was emerging: the French Minimalists.
It was led by three French people who subscribed to the French concept of wardrobe. This wardrobe fascinates me. When flying from Lyon to Rome over Christmas, the French minimalists members each packed an incredibly small suitcase. They wore a sweater, jeans and sneakers for every event. Because we were flying on a low cost European airline, I had to share this suitcase with one of these members. I was forced to become a French minimalist. My strategy was simple: black. However, black can get boring so I soon accessorized with socks, the airline’s seasickness pamphlet and a found pen. These came in handy. It should be noted that I grew up in a collective community of TJ Maxximistas which gave out awards for creative approaches to outfit design. Thus, unwilling to let go off my roots, one night at a Roman cafe, I took a wool sock and made it into a Hermes-like foulard. I’m not sure what everyone thought, but I got the impression that I fit in perfectly. Dare I say I was a style leader? I’d feel fairly confident saying that. However, there was a slight sweat problem as I could only bring two pairs of socks and we walked around the city for 8 hours each day, hence why I now smell like cedar foot powder.
Parties with the Hygges are pretty relaxing as they consist of meeting in yurts with roaring fires. We don’t talk a lot–instead we just read books, light candles and eat dark chocolate. Sometimes the parties go on for a very long time. The Alpha Hygge, Lana, asks that we turn off all cellphones upon entry, so last time I was hanging out with them, I hadn’t realized that fourteen days went by and I missed a call for an interview from a high paying think tank in upstate New York. I don’t blame the Lana or the Hygges for potentially missing this incredible job opportunity that would give me a sustainable salary and dental insurance. Instead, I just heated up some potatoes, put them in my socks, chopped some more wood and picked up where I left off in my German novel.
One time I invited both sets of friends to a bar. In retrospect, this was a pretty bad idea. Jaco kept collecting all of the comforters that Lana had brought and Lana told me she found Jaco condescending. She left the bar by giving him the middle finger and shouting “Minimize this.” I get this. Jaco is super annoying, but Lana is also kind of stressful too in that she is always asking me to chop more firewood. Man. How many fires are we going to have. It’s like April and there is this cool class on user interface systems that I want to take. I may have already missed it.
So, I actually just have been avoiding all groups of friends and instead using my time to ceaselessly mock interview myself. It’s going well. I never knew I had so much to offer.