BGB Revealed

Yesterday I waited by the phone. And waited. And waited. Why won't he call me? I made sure to sound as unassuming as possible when I dropped my phone number neatly underneath my signature of the email I wrote him.

Dude, pretty kick ass concert on friday if you want to go. I've heard that Animal Collective is pretty boss (i'm bringing it back) live.

j
512.xxx.xxx

He told me he might flake, but I didn't want to believe it. The concert wasn't the same. Where was my buddy who would tell me,"Tall boy time." Or the second pair of eyes for the massive crowd in front of me, "Check that out."

The best guy buddy is a grown-up (slightly) version of your best friend when you were younger, except you now add into the equation booze, girls, work, play and general philosophy. Maybe he's your roommate, a co-worker, or your bartender but never your lover. Nothing wrong with the latter, just doesn't end up being your best guy buddy as much he becomes your gay buddy.

My best guy buddies and I made a split this year, moving to different cities across the states. At times it wasn't pretty and now it's sad. Jealousy arises when some other dude is mentioned as "really cool guy," or if said other guy says something admittedly funny. Damn it, don't do this to me best guy buddy, I thought we had something!

After I put back a fifth of JB and suitably expanded the contents of my stomach into a "how digestion works" diorama, it was time to face the facts. Find a new best guy buddy.

This is a hard job. You've got to tell yourself that asking to play a game of darts or pool with someone is no big deal, and that they have no clue you're on the search for new BGB. This should be your basic template. "Hey man, you got next on ______? Wanna play doubles?" A simple innocuous question that either works or it doesn't.

Sometimes you hit pay dirt, sometimes you hit the sandbar. I knew I was in for a tough sell when I tried to make the bartender, at my neighborhood bar, a new BGB. It wasn't an active mission by all means, but it had the makings. Nothing forced, just an every Tuesday trip down to the bar, some chatty time and a couple of beers on him. "Hey look at that Upper East Side d-bag. You should check this band out. I'm playing at this bar. Hey I might go to that concert you told me about," he said on many occasion. What was I supposed to think? I know the old service industry boundry line, if you're not one of them you're none of them. But I thought he might be different, he could be my new BGB. Maybe FL.

I related my troubles to a friend of mine over pulled pork and brisket on a warm Brooklyn night. "I've got the perfect guy for you," she said. I told her to go on, and I heard her case for BGB matchmaker. She told me this weekend we could "hookup." I quickly told her that BGB's weren't about hooking up and maybe I had given her the wrong impression. She quickly apologized and rephrased it, "Look, he's looking for a BGB too, but don't tell him I told you."

Secret's safe with me.