When I lived in New York City and wanted to meet a friend for a drink, our exchange, which would take place over the phone, email, text or IM, would go something like this:

[on Tuesday, February 2]
Me: “Dude, let’s grab a beer and some food.”
Friend: “Cool – when?”
Me: “Thursday?”
Friend: “Done. Let’s do somewhere in Gramercy. This way it’s like a $10 cab for each of us.”
Me: “Nice. See you then.”

Alternatively, I remember when I first moved to LA. It was the first week of June and I emailed a buddy about meeting up for drinks. I sent him one of those “Hey, I’m here, so let’s get drunk immediately”-type messages. He agreed, said he was looking forward to it, and suggested a Wednesday in the last week of July – seven weeks in the future.

We still haven’t had that drink.

And so it goes. I have a very good friend from college who lives in Pasadena who I not only have not seen since I moved here nine months ago, but who I have a better chance of seeing at our ten-year college reunion in 2011 in Boston than in the next few months in our shared home county of Los Angeles. I saw a good buddy last weekend for the first time since my move because I randomly ended up at bar down the street from his house. There are a number of people who, when my roommates and I have a party, I don’t even bother to include on the evites anymore, since I know there’s a better chance of at least two members of the Zulu nation showing up than those friends making an appearance.

(And I have never even seen a gay person or a black person in the entire South Bay! It’s extraordinary, really.)

And in the case of those friends who I’ve actually spent some time with, we were able to hammer out some time only after extensive negotiations:

[on Tuesday, February 2]
Me: “Dude, let’s grab a beer and some food.”
Friend: “Sounds good. I’m open Tuesday, May 14.”
Me: “Ok…I’m not sure if I’ll be living in LA or even alive at that time, but as of now, I can do it.”
Friend: “Cool. Since I live in Burbank and you live in Redondo, let’s do Diamond Bar.”
Me: “Um, ok.”

[on Monday, May 13]
Friend: “Can’t do dinner tomorrow. How are you looking post-summer?”

It would be easy (and logical, considering how bitter I am) to say “I need new/better friends.” However, I am just as much to blame as they are. Aside from work, I am prepared to leave my home or leave the three-block radius around my home for any one of three reasons: 1) guaranteed sexual encounter; 2) some sort of giveaway at Ben & Jerry’s or Chipotle; and 3) fire and/or imminent werewolf attack. Otherwise, you are going to need a van with a good set of shocks, a handful of industrial-strength horse tranquilizers, and a willingness to touch or otherwise drag a man who has more than likely urinated on himself to get me out of my house. After eight months of living here I can’t say that I like it, but I can say that that’s how it is.

************

I plan on coming back to NYC – as in, living there again – in the fall. Until then, I have only two plans: 1) go to Vegas as much as possible; and 2) go to NYC as much as possible. If not for these options, it’s going to be another long eight months.