It's OK to say Happy Birthday to Me

For many years, a friend of mine did the most delightful thing: She planned a week's worth of events to celebrate her birthday every year and dubbed the whole thing her "Fest" as in, [YOUR NAME HERE]fest.

She didn't depend on anyone else to remember her birthday amid busy schedules, and she gave her friends a reason to do something fun every night of the week -- at least part of the time on her tab.

I loved it. I have a hard time keeping track of my birthday and remembering my husband's birthday, let alone the birthdays of friends. So she helped me make sure I lived it up every year on her behalf.

Problem was, some other people didn't appreciate her celebration of self. They saw it as taking the attention away from others who had birthdays in the same month. They discouraged her from engaging in her fest.

She was confused -- for years, her friends had looked forward to her weeklong party. But she toned it down, so as not to cause more controversy. Then she stopped altogether.

And I still think, how sad. Can't we throw a little party for ourselves without incurring criticism?

Guys in search of BFFs

I will admit this is something I haven't given much thought: Men have trouble finding friends, too.

That's what the new comedy "I Love You, Man" is about. The main character is getting married and he realizes he's not close enough to any guy to ask him to be his best man. So he goes on the hunt for a new best friend. (My first thought was, "ask your best female friend to stand up for you instead," but then there would be no movie, right?) I saw the trailer and it did highlight some of the difficulties -- with the inevitable moment where the main character is out with a guy and the dude lays a kiss on him at the end of their "date" (whoops!) -- but the flick looks to be all fluff.

A more substantive discussion of the problem is the recent Salon.com essay by Ryan Blitstein, "Couple seeking couple for good time."

"Until recently, I thought of myself as different, especially when it came to maintaining friendships with other men," Ryan writes. "I am not afraid to ask a guy out on a so-called man-date. I don't need to use SportsCenter or an action movie or an indie rock show to overpower the supposed latent homoeroticism that some men attribute to one-on-one male socializing. I'm as comfortable talking about relationships with another dude as I am arguing about politics. But it seems the older I get, the harder it is to find new people to engage in these conversations."

His problem is a common one as more people move from state to state, often coast to coast, for jobs. Ryan relocated to Chicago to be closer to family and his girlfriend. The couple has plenty of friends, just none nearby. Neither has an office job, and they're having trouble building a new social circle.

"... My girlfriend and I have embarked on a process akin to a platonic version of dating. Parties, for us, resemble nothing so much as speed-dating events. We search for friends of either sex, sending garbled nonverbal signals back and forth, waiting to gush about our new same-sex and opposite-sex crushes on the train ride home. I search for wedding rings on the fingers of women I like -- not because I'm hoping they're single, but because I'm hoping they're not, and that maybe their husbands will be willing to double date."

Finding people you'd like to spend more than 5 minutes at a party with is a challenge. But knowing there are others out there, engaged in the same activity, is heartening.

I slept with him ... now, silence

From a worried reader:

"I have had feelings for this friend of mine for a few years, but nothing has ever really happened between the two of us until recently (we live in separate cities). We actually took the friendship to a more physical level over the holidays. We did speak the day after and he said everything was cool and not awkward, but it's been a few weeks since I heard from him and now I am afraid that our friendship is over. Do you think friendships can overcome a one-night stand? Also, a female friend of his recently wrote on his Facebook wall that she missed and loved him sooo much! Now, do you tell your male friends that you love them? I usually don't. Is this a red flag?"

Alicia: I'm confused about this question. Does she want a romantic relationship with him or a friendship -- and which is more important to her?

Deirdre: I feel sure she wants a romantic relationship. And that's the problem.

Alicia: No kidding. If they haven't talked about that possibility, I fear that ship has sailed.

Deirdre: She's right, Reader. I know you don't want to hear this now, but you should've talked it out with the guy before you fell into bed together. And while I do think friendships can withstand a one-night stand, in your case, I don't recommend it. You want more than he does. If you and he were on the same page, you wouldn't still be waiting to hear from him.

Alicia: Do you think it would hurt for her to lay her cards on the table, though? I know I'd feel awfully coulda-shoulda-woulda if I didn't at least tell him how I felt, knowing that he probably wouldn't reciprocate. But then, I've been known to be a glutton for punishment.

Deirdre: OK. I used to feel the same need for closure. But experience has taught me that when you pursue it, you're just asking to be hurt. People have a tendency to make excuses for romantic prospects when they don't act right. He hasn't lost her number. He's not too busy to call. He just ... won't. Now, can we discuss this Facebook chick?

Alicia: That's a whole other side of putting yourself out there. Sounds like she had one too many cocktails before declaring her looove.

Deirdre: Yes, Reader, it's a red flag. She's totally making a play for him, and in a public, marking-her-territory way.

Alicia: Well, in this case, Reader, you might take comfort in this: I bet he hasn't called her, either.

Deirdre: HA! And as for using the "L" word with male friends, I tell some of my guy friends that I love them. But they know perfectly well I don't mean it THAT WAY. Again, it comes down to communicating, so there won't be any misunderstandings.

Alicia: I've learned that one the hard way. Well, I guess communication is a good way to check the situation -- or soften the blow of disappointment -- before you open yourself up to someone.

Deirdre: But take heart, Reader! You're not in the same city, so you probably won't run into him at a club and get arrested for punching him in the face! Seriously, though, learn from this experience and count yourself lucky that you didn't get involved with him. You deserve better than a man who neglects you for weeks. Now, get a great outfit together -- you're going out this weekend!

What about you, other readers? What's the relationship miscommunication you'll never forget?

'Gimme shelter' may strain relationships

Since we're talking about boundaries (and I vote for Alicia stashing her toothbrush in the medicine cabinet because I, too, am icked out), here's a pretty timely one: people who invite themselves to stay at your house.

NPR's "Talk of the Nation" did an interesting segment on this topic because of the crush of people expected to pour into Washington, D.C., in the next few days for Barack Obama's inauguration. D.C.-based writer Veronica Miller was on the show to talk about all the folks who announced they were coming to her place for the festivities. Miller and her roommate share a tiny two-bedroom basement apartment, and they've agreed to let three people stay with them. Even so, the aunt of Miller's roommate proclaimed that she would be "stopping by" on Inauguration Day. With five people.

The roommate promptly proclaimed that NO, she would not be stopping by. There's no more room in the inn. Kudos to her for not giving in to her pushy aunt.

I admit that I was briefly guilty of this crime. I have a friend who is temporarily living with his friends in D.C. Caught up in the excitement, the day after the election I texted him about crashing at his friend's place for the inauguration. Within five minutes I was texting him back, begging him to forget my request. I realized the serious social faux pas I was committing.

This is a matter of respect. It's just not right to force your desires on other people, especially when it's something as intimate as sharing their living space. Even if you are family, when you stay at someone else's home, you are their guest. They are opening their homes to you. They do not have to do this.

And yet, in the last few months, folks who live anywhere near D.C. have found themselves flooded with calls, e-mails and texts from shameless people they haven't heard from in years, wanting shelter. People who live in desirable locations -- near beaches or shopping/entertainment meccas, or in other countries -- are probably used to random "friends" inviting themselves to stay for free.

Here's a tip: those three people wedged into Veronica Miller's D.C. apartment? They asked. Don't assume, don't insinuate, don't demand. And don't be surprised or hurt if you're told no. But if you're told yes, be prepared to be the best house guest ever.

Gotta love friends

Hi, guys. Sorry I've been MIA; I was on vacation and determined to stay away from the computer. But now I'm back in the saddle. Hope you've had a great couple weeks!

Here's a text conversation between me and my friend Gabrielle, she of the sex party I told you about. A little background: I've had my eye on a certain bartender for awhile now, and I've been trying to decide if I want make a move. As you'll see, the fates haven't been in my favor.

Me: Went to bar; lusty bartender off. 3rd time this happened. i think its a sign i shuldnt mess wid him. (yes, I'm wordy, even in text messages -- I'm a writer; what do you expect?)

Gabrielle: U are being melodramatic.

Me: is there any other way to be?

Gabrielle: not really! :) all my friends live with exclamation points.

Friends -- they talk you down off the ledge when you're overreacting and love you for who you are.

If anything happens with the hot bartender, I'll let you know.

Thumbs down for 'How to Be Single'

I was excited when one of the book mavens at the paper came over with a copy of Liz Tuccillo's new novel, "How to Be Single." Tuccillo co-authored the self-help phenomenon "He's Just Not That Into You," and even though I thought she was the book's weak link, and even though I'm not a fan of chick lit, I was still interested. The protagonist is the same age I am and I thought it would be fun to read a single point of view from the same place I'm in.

Here's the first paragraph from the book cover:

"On a brisk October morning in New York, Julie Jensen, a single thirty-eight-year-old book publicist, is on her way to work when she gets a hysterical phone call from her friend Georgia. Reeling from her husband's announcement that he is leaving her for a samba teacher, Georgia convinces a reluctant Julie to organize a fun girls' night out with all their single friends to remind her why it is so much fun not to be tied down."

I shoulda known when I saw "samba teacher."

You guys, I only made it to page 17 -- and that was out of sheer stubbornness. It's obvious Tuccillo got to write this because of the success of "Not Into You." The start of the novel reads like a first draft before the editors get to it. Like she was just writing to get the story idea out of her head and then she'd go back and punch up the prose, but never got around to it. It's a lazy effort. Sophomoric sentences. Non-compelling, cookie-cutter characters. In short: NO.

I think Tuccillo may be felled by what snags lots of other authors: Singlehood is hard to get your arms around. There are so many angles to take and most of them fail. But I've got to hand it to the author -- the main character travels to find out how women around the world are dealing with being single. That means Tuccillo had to travel around the world for "research." I wonder if I could use that trick on my bosses?

I recommend 'Sex' with friends

Over the weekend I did what a lot of women did -- I went to see the new "Sex and the City" movie. (Don't worry; no spoilers here.) I didn't watch many episodes of the show, but I read so much about it, and had so many friends who constantly made "Sex" references, that I felt I knew the characters well enough to enjoy the movie.

I heard a critic refer to the movie as "the chick flick of the millennium," and he may be right. The complex I saw "Sex" in -- Phillips Place -- buzzed with feminine energy. Lots of women made an event out of it. There were so many cute summer dresses, and THE SHOES. My God. In my jeans, T-shirt (grabbed because it was clean) and flat thong sandals, I felt decidedly underdressed. I passed a gaggle of ladies standing in the lobby and asked a chatty, frock-wearing trio what they were waiting for. Turns out it was the line to enter the theater for a screening an hour later. "We came early because we wanted to get good seats together, and because we're psycho," one of the girls replied. But she was grinning, because her madness was shared.

I decided to go see "Sex and the City" opening weekend because I wanted to be a part of that energy. As we waited for the movie to start, the theater my friends and I sat in hummed like the crowd before a big concert. People clapped when the lights dimmed for the preview trailers. During the movie I laughed, gasped, cried, cheered and applauded with the rest of the audience. There's a reason "Sex and the City" is so popular with viewers. It's amazing how the characters' predicaments mirror so many real-life situations women face. (They fact that they do it while being ridiculously well-dressed is a lovely bonus.) Watching Carrie, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte together made me want to call my best friends and tell them I love them.

The next day, I squealed with glee when one of my closest friends phoned before I could call her. Turns out she had seen the movie as well, and her impulse was to call me, too! We recapped our favorite scenes (I waxed poetic about the sexiness of Chris Noth), and talked about the larger themes the movie represented: the complexity of romantic relationships and most of all, the power of female friendships.

Ladies if you haven't seen the movie yet, throw on a sassy outfit and some lip gloss, grab your friends and make a night of it. I don't think you'll be disappointed.

Thanks, but no thanks, dude

The other day I was walking from the Observer building to my car. As I approached the corner, one of the paper's trucks was in front of me and the driver honked. When I looked up, he waved. I smiled and returned his gesture.

Why couldn't that have been the end of it?

After I walked behind the truck to continue toward my car, I heard a voice. The driver had gotten out of his truck and walked toward me. He asked my name; in an effort to be friendly to a co-worker, I told him. Then he asked if he could call me sometime.

Readers, I took the easy way out, because I was tired and wanted to go home. I told him I had a boyfriend. "What, he won't let you take calls?" the driver asked incredulously. Suddenly, my non-existent boyfriend was a jealous and controlling jerk. As I hesitated, the driver offered to give me his card, so I could call him. He pulled out his wallet, but surprise! He had no cards. (I can hear all of your eyes rolling.) He asked for my office number. I caved and gave it to him. He promised to call, and he may have. I haven't checked my messages. (On purpose?)

Why do we women do that? Give in when we know we're not interested, I mean. Because we don't like to be rude, perhaps, or because giving in is the path of least resistance. In my case, it was both, and I'm not proud of it. But, ladies, isn't this something we wrestle with all the time?

I'm reminded of a story a close friend told me. She'd been dating a woman, but she didn't want to pursue anything romantic. She asked the woman if they could be friends. This is the part I love: She said the woman looked her in the eye and said, "I've already got enough friends." And that was that.

Well, that's how I feel right now: I don't need any more friends. I can barely keep in touch with the ones I've got, and I don't have the energy it takes to make more. That guy is probably perfectly nice, but his timing sucks. Work is demanding and I have other priorities; my social life is waaaaaay down the list. So will I be returning that dude's call? What do you think?

Friendship has no age limit

I was dozing, enjoying a lazy Sunday, when I got an unexpected call. It was my friend Deirdre (yep, same spelling), phoning from her San Francisco home.

Deirdre and I met years ago at a party thrown by a mutual friend. Even though we seemingly had nothing in common but our name -- or maybe because of it -- we instantly clicked. She and her husband, Chris, are both more than 20 years older than me, but they have the look and energy and bohemian lifestyle of a couple much younger.

When I talk to Deirdre, it's as if I'm a student sitting at the feet of a master, and the subject she is schooling me on is Life. I always come away from our conversations feeling invigorated and enlightened. Yesterday, we talked for more than two hours about politics, religion, osteopathy, the business side of art (she's a poet; Chris is a painter) and more. Every topic was spiced with Deirdre's stories -- she's tells the most amazing stories, usually from her own life. A highlight of yesterday's chat: when we talked about early childhood memories, Deirdre recalled a World War II experience. Every family in the neighborhood except hers had blackout curtains (so interior light wouldn't show outside), and one night she opened the refrigerator. A policeman came to the door, Deirdre said, and exclaimed, "you're the only light in San Francisco. Are you trying to get us bombed?!" You don't learn stuff like that in high school history class.

I had another friend like Deirdre when I lived in California, a man who wrote columns for the newspaper I worked for. When Les stopped writing for the paper I would go visit him and Jessie Lou, his beloved wife of more than 40 years. They lived in a chichi retirement community on a golf course, but were close enough to the area's u-pick farms and produce stands that we'd have breakfast or lunch, then go get baskets of fresh fruit and veggies. All the while Les and Jessie Lou would regale me with funny stories of their travels and early years together in New York and Les's stint, decades ago, as a door-to-door salesman in the rural South.

When Les became gravely ill and was admitted to the hospital, one of his sons contacted me. I was there with his family during one of his brief periods of consciousness. Les's gaze flowed over the people gathered around his bed, then his eyes settled on me. I smiled and said hello, and his eyes softened. His son nudged me. "He recognized you," he said with a sweet smile. I never saw Les alive again, but I'll never forget the wealth of stories and advice he and Jessie Lou shared with me.

What I cherish about Deirdre and Les, and other friends who are much older, is that they don't discount "young whippersnappers," but instead embrace people no matter their age and learn from them just as much as they teach. It's the way I want to live as I age, and I think it may be the true secret to staying young at heart.