He wasn't even a cute Beatle

I got an invitation today from an old friend to enter my info in her online address book at www.ringo.com. [not to be confused with gringo.com, the site for friends of Western Hemisphere Institute for Security Cooperation (yep, that would be the former School of the Americas)]. Since I haven't been in contact with said friend in awhile, I went ahead and filled in the form. As I'm flipping around the site, trying to figure out what's what, I click on the "See Friends" tab, and that's when this encouraging message pops up:

You have no confirmed friends.

Really? Dude, you don't even know me, Ringo. That's harsh. That one really made me think for a moment, thoughts like, "Ah, God is punishing me because I'm using company time to respond to personal email," and, "Oh yeah? Well, at least my name's not Ringo." And I did think about my social situation, too, of course. I mean, I have friends, and, while I don't have it in writing from any of them, I'm pretty sure they're confirmed friends. Yeah, definitely almost pretty sure.

What gave me pause, though, was that, yeah, it's been really fucking hard to make friends down here. I don't know how much of it has to do with where I'm at physically -- south Florida, in the Land o' the Blue Hairs -- and where I'm at (I'm gagging on these words) "in life" -- somewhat fresh from college. I think both factors come into play equally in the molotov cocktail of loneliness I suffered through for my first year down here. I'm really greatful that the wrenching despair phase of living here has passed. Granted, pretty much all of my friends are from work, but they're good people and we would be hanging out together even if we didn't work with each other. And I truly believe that even though I own them -- er, I mean, I'm their supervisor.

I just realized that my other group (if two or three people can be called that) of friends is from my bar. That's enough to make me think a little. Do they like me only because my drinking is likely paying the college tuition of their unborn children? Am I more likable when I'm soused? Do others consider me beach bar trash? Whoa, slow down here; I said think a little. Must...repress...saddening...thoughts.

No, Ringo, I have confirmed friends dammit. We apply sunblock to each other's unreachable regions, we're third wheels on each other's dates, and we hold each other's hair while we're puking. If that's not confirmation of friendship, I don't know what is.