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Overprotective Parents

If you are an overprotective parent or a helicopter parent, and proud of it, PLEASE BE WARNED!

THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS TO THE CHILDREN OF OVERPROTECTIVE PARENTS!

Overprotective Parents

As an only child, all my life my parents kept me locked up in the house so I never played with other children or talked with any people other than my parents. My parents were isolated socially, they had no friends so they never left the house either except to go to work and they never talked on the phone. The result is I never learnt how to talk on the phone and even today it’s hard for me to hold a phone conversation.

No one ever came to visit us and we never went to visit anyone. My parents forbade me from having any friends. They were against friendships, which you can see as they themselves had no friends either, through their own choosing.

When I was a child at school kids soon learnt to stop inviting me to playovers and parties, because they already knew what would be my generic response: “I can’t, my parents won’t let me.” I could have spent my entire childhood with that logo pasted to my forehead, and saved people the bother of asking me if I could go to their party or sleepover.

University was just as hard because for the first time I had the opportunity to talk to other people who weren’t my parents. But I didn’t know ANY social rules.

If I was in a group I didn’t know how to figure out when I was supposed to talk and when I was supposed to be quiet, or what were the appropriate things to say or not say. The only time I’d ever spoken in groups before was in supervised situations at school where the teachers chose the person who was going to speak, and gave guidelines as to what you could talk about.

I couldn’t understand gestures, looks and expressions, take a hint or understand hints or know what you were supposed to do or not do in different social situations, since my parents had always kept me locked up at home, so I’d never had any sort of social relationships with anyone except my parents.

Finding a job was just as hard. My parents found my jobs for me. They forbade me from getting a job by myself and if I ever tried to get one, they forbade me from going to work.

Need I say they didn’t let me study what I wanted, either. They chose the career I would study, and forbade me from studying anything else. The result is that I studied a career that I hated and could never find a job that I liked, because I always hated my career, since I hadn’t chosen it.

But as I was saying, it was hard for me to find a job as well, because I had no social skills and because if I did find a job and my parents didn’t approve of it, well, I simply wasn’t allowed to go to work.

My parents found my jobs for me, and made me go to work in the places they had chosen for me. Fortunately, I actually enjoyed one of these jobs and worked there for 3 years. After that I left because it was only a student job, and I finished university. I wouldn’t have liked to work at that job for the rest of my life anyway though.

Finally after university I left the country because I had the opportunity to do so. My parents idolized university professors, so a professor from my university took me abroad on an exchange programme. I never returned home, and that is how I found my freedom.

But even so even today sooooo many things are still so hard for me. Every time I have to make a decision, be it something as difficult as the next right career move or as simple as what to wear each day, I still look around expecting my mother to give me the answer, and I STILL feel lost even today when of course there is no one around to tell me what to do.

The learning curve for learning things at the age of 40, that you should have learnt at the age of 14, is just soooooooooo much steeper and it is just sooooo much harder than it would have been at the age of 14.

The saddest thing is no longer having my mother there right next to me telling me what to do whenever I don’t know what to do. Of course I hated it and it certainly is not healthy, to have a person constantly by your side constantly telling you what to do, but there is a strange comfort in it.

You feel like you’re always going to be taken care of and you never have to worry about anything. Even though it’s only an illusion, of course, because your mother doesn’t have all the answers and she is also certainly not always going to be right.

The hardest thing is still trying to learn all the things that I don’t know and I SHOULD know, because all other people know these things. It’s like the wiring in my head is all wrong and things are just not connected, that are supposed to be connected and are connected in other people’s heads.

As if connections that should have been made when I was a child simply weren’t made, and now I’m too old for those neural connections to grow. Like there’s a certain age in which the brain is prepared to learn certain things, and after that age, it just can’t form the right connections anymore.

Like the age for learning language, you must learn a language by the age of 5 and if you miss that window, you will never learn language. The brain changes somehow after the age of 5, something hardens in it so it is impossible to learn language if you haven’t done so by that age.

They’ve done studies with feral children so they know that the right age for learning language is before the age of 5. Feral children who hadn’t learnt language by that age were never able to learn it throughout their entire lives.

Or I’d read a study done with people who had been blind as children, but they received an operation that restored perfect eyesight to them as adults. In spite of the fact that their eyes worked perfectly, they were unable to SEE using their eyes, because their brains were unable to process or understand what the eyes were seeing.

They received lessons on how to use their eyes and identify the objects that they were seeing, but they were still unable to learn it. The neural connections just simply had never been made in their brains.

Connections that in seeing children went from their eyes to the processing area of their brains, in blind children, the connections were formed between the processing area of the brain and other senses, like hearing or touch, and the neural connections with their optic nerve never occurred, because they just couldn’t be formed as adults.

Well, this post is real. But if you’d like to read some of the ravings and imaginings of a mind that grew up in social isolation,  I’ve written a few thrillers so, if you’re into creepy, scary, suspenseful novels, I’d love it if you’d check them out here: Thrillers by Moi.

If you enjoyed this post (I really hope you do!), maybe you will also like:

The Meaning of a Friendship

How Much Do YOU Value Your Friends?

…And It’s a Rainy Night In Malaga

Anti-Vaccinations: Dying To Be Natural

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I Wish!

I Wish

I just received a letter from a company I’d applied to work for. They told me they’d be happy to consider me for one of their positions if my circumstances changed and I acquired my own means of transport (a car, motorcycle or motorbike). But I know I won’t be able to get a car, not at any time in the foreseeable future (and the way things are going, probably not as long as I live either).

I’m really really really sad I couldn’t work for that company. I really liked that company. But I guess you have to work with what you have, not think of all the things that you want that you can’t have.

Like a friend of mine, Maria*. She also wanted a hotel job and they told her, the job is yours if you had a car. But she didn’t have a car and she couldn’t get that job. In the end she had to resign herself to working at jobs she could get around the city. Well today she still doesn’t have a car, but she has a much better job. Maybe it wasn’t the hotel job she wanted but it’s still a good job, today she manages a tearoom.

So what she did was she just decided she’d do the things that she COULD do where the lack of a car wouldn’t be an impediment. So I guess I just have to do the same thing. There’s no point in even talking about something that’s not going to happen.

I guess that would be a bit like saying: “Oh I wish I would grow 5 more inches so I could become a flight attendant”, because you’re 5 feet tall and you need to be at least 5 feet 2 to be a flight attendant, but you’re an adult now and you’re never going to grow anymore.

Or saying, like I do: Oh I wish I’d grown up with a whole bunch of brothers and sisters (I’m an only child). That’s something that’s just not going to happen. It’s not! Not ever as long as you live. So there’s no point in even thinking about it.

BUT OH I STILL WISH……….!!!

And if you’d wish to read some exciting thrillers before bed tonight, not to sound like a sleazy saleslady but I’ve written a few, so if you’re into creepy, scary, suspenseful novels, I’d love it if you’d check them out here: Thrillers by Moi.

If you enjoyed this post (I really hope you do!), maybe you will also like:

How Much Do YOU Value Your Friends?

The Meaning of a Friendship

Everyday Scenes From Everyday Life in Spain

Poetry by Hermenegildo: Bienvenida Sea La Primavera

*not her real name

Rain

I love rain.

Rain

And there is no better time for a night-time walk than when it’s raining.

The streets are sooo quiet. Even on a Friday night there’s room at the bars and restaurants, unlike a normal Friday night, so you don’t have to wait for a table or fight with other hungry people hehe.

Rain

If you enjoyed this post (I really hope you do!), maybe you will also like:

…And It’s a Rainy Night In Malaga

Walking in the Rain

A Hike in the Rain in the Montes of Malaga

The Orange Trees

Harira Makin’

Well I did say I didn’t want to run a food blog or turn this blog into a food blog. But I AM a foodie: I LURRVEE to eat—preferably GOOD food, of course!

But I made some Moroccan harira tonight, and it was soooo good, I just couldn’t resist blabbing on about it a mite bit.

If you’ve never read this blog before, I will tell you that this is not a blog about Morocco and I do not live in Morocco. Having said that, perhaps one day I might expound a bit on the memories I have of the trips I made to Morocco, in the past…… when I was young and single and swingin’ and all that haha.

So, I’d gotten onto the internet looking for neat harira recipes. I remember when I was in Morocco I had harira practically every day. It was filling and extreeemely flavourful and tasty and zesty and spicy.

Since then I had tried so many times to find harira somewhere that matched the harira I had tasted in Morocco. But outside of Morocco, it never came out the same. Dunno why.

Every family and locality has its own versions of harira. But the basic ingredients tend to be the same. I wondered that people over there had so much time every day to cook up harira from scratch + make a tagine or couscous as well for the whole family. I wondered how they did it.

Someone explained that in Morocco, it seems that they sell powdered harira in marketplaces. And what most housewives do is every morning they go out to the marketplace and buy the version of powdered harira that they like. Or they can buy a large quantity and store it in airtight jars. Then all they have to do, when they want to serve it, is mix it with boiling water.

So I also started searching for powdered harira in Moroccan stores. Needless to say I always came up empty-handed.

In the end I turned to internet—that handy dandy universal encyclopaedia where you can find out about EVERYTHING under the sun—and dug up a few recipes and mixed and matched a bit.

So this is the harira I made. It’s a vegetarian one, because we just had a meat overload (well, a meat overload in my opinion anyway, although my carnivorous son could’ve eaten more!) with a dish with bacon and chorizo.

  • 1/2 jar cooked chickpeas (you can of course use dry, raw chickpeas and cook them up, I’m lazy)
  • about 1/3 of a small package of yellow split peas (called lentejas peladas here, or the kind of lentils they refer to when they say dhal in Indian cuisine) (you can get them at Mercadona, I use about a third of a package of the ones that they sell at Mercadona). I have now discovered the secret: this is the ingredient that imbues the harira with its mysterious, characteristic earthy flavour that I was never able to reproduce before!
  • olive oil
  • 2 carrots, chopped
  • 1 large leek, chopped
  • 1 onion, chopped into large pieces
  • 1 can of chopped tomatoes
  • different spices: I like to use lots so the list would be quite long, but you can throw in whatever you like. Remember, the more the spicier! I use turmeric, cumin, coriander seeds, chilli, garlic salt, ginger, salt and pepper. And I also threw in a VERY generous portion of Moroccan harissa, a spice mix that is quite hot. And a large quantity of curry as well
  • different herbs: if you can get them fresh, so much the better. Chop them finely. I didn’t have any fresh herbs and I couldn’t be bothered to run over to Mercadona for herbs, so I just used dried herbs. I used thyme, parsley, basil and oregano.
  • bunch of fresh coriander leaves
  • chicken stock or chicken broth
  • flour

1. So, I left the yellow lentils in water overnight, but they can cook just fine if you don’t do this. It’ll just take a little longer to cook them.

2. So then I started by cooking up the lentils. Until they were cooked, I couldn’t do anything else. Just cook them in water until they are like a puré. DON’T USE SALT, or they will get hard.

3. Once the lentils were cooked, I cut up the veggies. In a large soup pot I put in a bit of oil and all the spices. I toasted the spices, then threw in all the veggies except the tomatoes. Stirred the veggies around a bit until they were coated with spice.

4. Then I put in lots of water and boiled the whole thing. It doesn’t take too long, maybe 15 minutes. After that I threw in the tomatoes and chicken stock and gave it a simmer for another 5-10 minutes.

5. Finally tossed in the cooked chickpeas and cooked lentils. Another good long simmer, until the chickpeas were completely done (they don’t come quite completely cooked from the store).

6. At that point I wanted it thicker. I remember the broths I had in Morocco being thick and hearty, almost like thick cream rather than soup. So I took out a cup of soup and dissolved flour in it until the mixture was quite thick. (The recipe I was reading said it should be like a thick crêpe batter consistency, but I made it a lot thicker.)

You pour this thick batter thing VERY SLOWLY back into the soup, stirring all the time so it doesn’t stick to the bottom or form lumps.

7. When the flour is cooked, it’s done! Ta-da!

Serve into bowls. Harira makes a strong first dish if you don’t serve a lot. Or it is so filling you can just have it by itself.

I boiled some eggs and cut up the boiled eggs into each bowl. But it’s like gazpacho, you can throw in anything you like on top: fresh herbs like parsley or coriander, diced ham, pieces of bacon…… (Remember however that Moroccans don’t eat pork, so if you put in ham or bacon it might not be exactly very authentic haha!)

Boiled Eggs For Harira

I know you have seen eggs before, so no mystery in this photo! Just felt like throwing in a silly photo

We just had it with some ordinary crusty warm Spanish bread, but you can serve it with Moroccan bread if you’re lucky enough to have access to some. Moroccan bread is very tasty.

If you’re not into vegetarianism and you’re into meat, you can cook it with pieces of meat like pork (although as I said that wouldn’t be very authentic) or beef or lamb.

I used to love lamb. But I swore I would never touch lamb again after having babies. Remember that lambs are BABIES! They’re innocent little baby things that the only thing they have ever tasted in their lives is mother’s milk. And the only thing they have ever known is a mother’s love.

And the lamb you are eating never had the chance to run around in a field (okay I understand sheep don’t exactly do a lot of running but, well, say, to WALK ABOUT in a field, then) and enjoy life. And it was taken away from its mother, who like all mothers probably misses it a lot.

If we all chose to never eat lamb again, people who slaughter lambs for food would have to stop doing it.

Now, I realize that a beef cow or a chicken is also an animal, who used to run around. But I dunno, grown cows and chickens don’t really speak to me as lambs do, I guess. I don’t like beef at all, but it’s because I really hate the taste and feel of the meat, not because I really care anything about the cow, hehe.

Oh well, end of rant. Like I said, if you’re not a vegetarian and you’re into meat, you can also cook harira with pieces of meat.

Okay so this photo is really clunky and graceless. But we don’t have a soup tureen and if we did, I probably wouldn’t use it anyways: just another heavy dish I would have to wash up afterwards! I always spoon the food directly out of the pot and into the serving bowls, so here is ze pot of our homemade harira:

Harira Moroccan

And while we’re at it, not to sound like a sleazy saleslady but I’ve written a few thrillers so, if you’re into creepy, scary, suspenseful novels, I’d love it if you’d check them out, here: Thrillers by Moi.

If you enjoyed this post (I really hope you do!), maybe you will also like:

Pizza Makin’

Paleo Paleo Boom Boom Boom

Abandoned Sugar Refining Factory at El Tarajal, Malaga

Thrillers by Moi

Pies

I love pies. And they are so easy to make, too!

I remember as a child trying to struggle my way through pastry crust made from scratch. Fighting to get the butter through the flour without the whole thing clumping up all the time. Fighting to roll the whole thingamajig out without having it stick to half the objects in the house.

Well, one day I was visiting with my friend in France, and her mother showed me HOW FAST AND EASY it really is to make a fruit pie:

SHE USED READY-MADE PIE PASTRY!

Yeah. Why should us busy working mothers struggle at home for hours making a pie crust from scratch, when it’s so easy (and cheap) to buy one already made from the store?

I mean, goodness knows we already work hard enough as it is. What with our jobs, and the kids, and the housework, and the shopping, and our blogs…… Oh, well maybe not everyone has a blog to worry about.

So I armed myself with ready-made, store-bought pie pastry on the one hand, and a basket of cherries on the other. And it was as easy as 1-2-3!

1.I rolled the pie crust out into the pie dish. Stuck a few holes in the bottom with a fork to let out steam.

2.I washed and pitted the cherries (don’t eat the pits! they’re poisonous!), cut them in half and dumped them into the pie crust. Scattered a few spoonfuls of sugar over the whole thing. I’m not one to ever measure anything out so let’s just say, put in enough sugar to lightly cover all the cherries.

3.Pop into the oven. I also never pay much attention to what temperature I put the oven at, but usually around 180º Celsius. I turned on just the flame at the bottom of the oven for about 30 minutes, then around 20 minutes with both top and bottom flames on.

Oh, well I guess I forgot there is a fourth step:

4.EAT IT!

Pie Cherry Fruit

The pie turned out SO DIVINE that the very next week I ventured to make one with a tray of red fruits from the supermarket. I made it the same way I’d done with the cherry pie.

Super cinch!

Enjoy!

Oh and while we’re at it, not to sound like a sleazy saleslady but I’ve written a few thrillers so, if you’re into creepy, scary, suspenseful novels, I’d love it if you’d check them out, here: Thrillers by Moi.

If you enjoyed this post (I really hope you do!), maybe you will also like:

The Blueberry Fiend

Pizza Makin’

The Orange Trees

Thrillers by Moi

Currywurst

A friend spent his summer holidays in Germany, and he was telling me that Currywürst is all the rage right now over there.

It’s street food, most especially associated with Berlin, and every street stand owner has his own secret recipe for how to make the Currywürst sauce.

But basically, the sauce is made with tomatoes and curry.

I made my own version of Currywürst.

I fried onions with paprika, chilli powder, ground cumin, turmeric, ginger, salt and pepper and a good handful of curry powder.

I threw in a dash of white wine. I’d read that people usually use vinegar. However, I didn’t have vinegar. So I used white wine.

Loaded in quite a few spoonfuls of sugar too. Honey would’ve been ideal, I suppose, but I don’t like honey. So I put in unhealthy refined white sugar. (After all, with all that wine, vinegar and tomato, I’d bet you anything that without some sort of sweetener the whole thing would turn out sour as a lemon.)

Supposedly they put in Worcestershire sauce too, but of course I didn’t have that either.

(And please don’t ask me the amounts of everything haha, I just throw things in by eye.)

I fried up some chips (French fries), fried up a few German sausages (Bratwurst) and cut them into pieces.

Then I smothered the whole thing with my special homemade Currywürst sauce.

And here you have the result.

Currywurst

Okay, admittedly perhaps I went a bit overboard in the amounts. Certainly my son, who is notorious for having 4 stomachs, wasn’t even able to finish the whole plate.

But it was still delish.

Yum!

Okay so now here I’ll even make a (hopefully passable) attempt to present things like a conventional recipe should be presented. Enjoy!

Currywürst Sauce

Oil for frying
1 onion
1 can of ketchup, tomato sauce or tomato puré
Paprika, chilli powder, ground cumin, turmeric, ginger, salt and pepper to taste and a good handful of curry powder
Sugar or honey
White wine or white wine vinegar
Worcestershire sauce
Fried chips (French fries)
2 Bratwurst sausages per person

Sauté the onion in oil. Add all the spices, salt and pepper. Stir in the tomato sauce.

Let simmer on low heat. Stir in the sugar.

Pour in a dash of wine or vinegar. Pour in a dash of Worcestershire sauce.

Let simmer on low heat until the tomatoes are cooked and the wine has evaporated, about 15 minutes.

Fry the Bratwurst lightly in oil in a frying pan, or roast on a grill. Cut into pieces. Fry the chips in deep oil. Place on a plate with the sausages on one side and the chips on the other. Pour Currywürst sauce over both.

Sprinkle a spoonful of curry powder lightly over top of the sauce to serve.

This is street food in Berlin, so people don’t usually eat it with anything else. In fact, it’s customary to see people simply standing about with the Currywürst on a plastic plate and eating it with a plastic fork as they chat.

Oh and while we’re at it, not to sound like a super sleazy saleslady but I’ve written a few thrillers so, if you’re into creepy, scary, suspenseful novels, I’d love it if you’d check them out, here: Thrillers by Moi.

If you enjoyed this post (I really hope you do!), maybe you will also like:

The Blueberry Fiend

Fried Aubergines Lite

Pizza Makin’

Thrillers by Moi

Rant About How Tough It Is to Make New Friends

I’ve always had a lot more difficulties making friends here in southern Spain than in Barcelona or Madrid. Everyone thinks it must be easy to make friends here because southern Spaniards appear very friendly and open. But that is only superficial appearance. In fact my impression is that southern Spaniards are much more closed minded (in general and also when it comes to making friends) than people from Madrid or Barcelona. Or maybe it’s just cultural differences, but I’m from a place where you don’t make friends the same way people do here.

Red Flowers for Friendships in a Field

I made a ton of friends when I lived in Madrid, unfortunately I didn’t keep in touch with most of them when I left. Those were the days before email and Facebook, and people’s phone numbers (landlines, because those were also the days before mobile phones) change and they move. But I’m still really good friends with some friends from Barcelona. I found it easier to make friends in Barcelona than here in southern Spain.

Once someone who had lived in France, who said she’d lived in France for many years (she was American), said that in France people have 3 groups of friends: childhood friends, usually from the same elementary school they went to, high school friends and university friends. Once people got out of university, they lost interest in making friends and if you wanted to be their friend, they didn’t. I find here in southern Spain it’s very similar.

Most people here have lived here all their lives and they only hang out with people they’ve known all their lives and grown up with. They are very friendly, they’ll chat with you for a long time. But then after that they are not interested in taking the relationship any further. They don’t want to hang out with you, they want to hang out with the kids who went to grade 2 with them. They don’t want to go to the bar with you, they want to go to the bar with their circle of friends from university.

Some people are very open and not in the least bit shy, like my friend Maria*. And even she can’t make new friends. All her friends are people she’s known in elementary and high school. Which is a major problem for her, because in high school she hung out with the drug addict crowd, and most of them are still on drugs today. She is not on drugs but you know what it’s like to have a friendship with someone who is on drugs: violent behaviour, unreliability (they say they’ll meet her tomorrow at 11 and they don’t show), you can’t count on them (they say they’ll introduce her to someone who is looking for a receptionist and then they forget and the person hires someone else) and worst of all they pressure her to take drugs again.

She’s tried over and over again to get away from them, because she knows they are no good for her and she knows they only use her. As in, let’s go out tonight. But then they only wanted to go out with her to try and get her to take drugs. But when she really needs someone, for example she needs someone to pick her son up from school, all of a sudden they are not available.

She can’t live in Marbella, her hometown, because every time she is in Marbella all her old druggie friends drop by and try to turn her house into a drug den. So she keeps moving away. But then she can’t find a job anywhere else, or she has a family emergency and needs to return to her family in Marbella, and she just can’t get away. But when she does move away, she can’t make any new friends. And she’s the least shy person I know. I mean, she could sell air conditioners to an Inuit person.

Marbella Street With Flowers

In Barcelona, there are a lot of outsiders, it’s a big city, new people are constantly going there for different reasons. For work, or to go to the university or to study something else (not university). Or for personal reasons. So there are tons of people who didn’t grow up in Barcelona and don’t have a circle of childhood friends there, so there are tons of clubs there to meet people. So it’s easy to meet people and make friends in Barcelona.

But here in Malaga there are hardly any clubs. I asked someone once, let’s say you want to make a hiking club, or a sewing club, how do you do it here? And they told me, you ask your childhood friends if they know someone or if they know someone who knows someone who likes to go hiking, and you go hiking together. In Barcelona, you join a hiking club. Here, you ask your childhood friends if they want to go hiking with you. That’s just the way it works here.

Which really sucks for those of us who didn’t spend our childhood here!!!

I met a lot of people in Barcelona by going to meetings of things that I was interested in, or even just with classified ads. That’s how I met my great friend Pippi* and my friend Morche* and my former friend Enid* (we fought because she became a radical vegetarian and stopped having any contact with people who were not vegetarian).

But I just can’t seem to meet anyone this way here in Malaga. In fact I couldn’t meet anyone in Almeria either, things work there the same way as here, as Almeria is also southern Spain.

I met my friend Jessica* at a secretarial course we took together once. During the course many of us hung out together but once the course ended most just simply kept making excuses for not meeting up again, and finally they just simply stopped having contact with other people from the course. Only Jessica continues to be my friend. I met a few people at a hotel entertainers’ course too, but I’ve changed a great deal since taking that course and we just drifted apart due to having very different interests.

Also people who have never worked before are hard to make friends with, which was the majority of the people at the hotel entertainers’ course. It’s just impossible to get on with people who have never worked before. My friend Lucinda*, from the course, who had never worked before, told me things like, why are you so worried about being able to pay the water/electricity/phone bill? It’s only a few cents, right? And if you can’t pay them, just go back and live with your mami and daddy like I do, or get them to pay your bills for you.

Lucinda is over 30, has never had a job and has lived with her mother all her life. Now, I’m in favour of kids living with their parents, I want my kids to live with me. But I still also want them to work. And to know what life is like and that you have to pay the bills and that mami and daddy aren’t always going to bail you out. Or at least not at age 30.

And I’m just finding it a bit hard to jive with someone who at the age of thirty-something has never paid a bill in her life or had to run to get to work on time. I dunno, somehow I just can’t.

Oh by the way Lucinda is not disabled in any way, neither physically nor mentally.

Another example: one year I subscribed to the blog of a makeup blogger, and I also joined her Facebook group. So I chatted on the group for a while, and commented on her blog for a while. But then one day she organized what was supposedly an open party at her house (she lives in Malaga) and on her Facebook she said, Hey girls come on come join the fun, come to my party! Bring some drinks and your bikini cos we’re all gonna jump into my pool. Leave a comment below if you want to come. So of course I commented too and said I’d like to go. She answered my comment (on Facebook) and said, I’m sorry Serena but this party is only for my personal friends, that is, followers of my blog who are also my personal friends, I thought it was clear and understood. I wanted to say, well if it was only for your personal friends why did you announce it on your open, public Facebook group that I’m a member of?

So you see, here people make a very clear distinction between FRIENDS (ie. people they have known all their lives and probably went to the nursery with) and friends with tiny little letters (ie. people they’ve chatted to online or maybe even met in person, but meeting someone in person and having a good time with them doesn’t make you their friend).

I dunno maybe it’s that way everywhere, I’m not like that though. For me, you are my friend if I have met you a few times and we got on great. I don’t need to have known you for 30 years to admit you into my circle of friends. You don’t have to save my life to prove your loyalty and honesty to me before I will admit you into my circle of friends. But other people don’t agree with me. And I’ll admit there aren’t too many people in my life whom I’ve known for 30 years or whose life I have saved haha.

I always think it’s so hard for me to make friends cos I’m so shy, I’m too shy to just come right out with someone I just met and just say, hey I really enjoyed chatting with you, you wanna meet up again for coffee sometime?

But Maria is the least shy person I know and she can’t make new friends either, only her old druggie ones. (Although I admit she would probably not be pleased with me referring to her old lifelong friends as “druggies”.)

And while we’re at it, not to sound like a sleazy saleslady but I’ve written a few thrillers so, if you’re into creepy, scary, suspenseful novels, I’d love it if you’d check them out, here: Thrillers by Moi.

So how about you? Got any suggestions as to how a shy, wall violet like me might make new friends? Please leave me a comment. As you know I LURRVE to receive (positive, non-spammy) comments!

*not their real names

If you enjoyed this post (I really hope you do!), maybe you will also like:

Best Friends

How Much Do YOU Value Your Friends?

The Meaning of a Friendship

Thrillers by Moi