The Friendship Problem

Finding friends is like dating, except harder. And more necessary.

I had no idea how lucky I was to have people living in the same house as me in college. Living with the girls below was like having constant entertainment and companionship. What I’d give to go back to that big, crazy house…

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When I moved to LA last July, I only had a handful of friends out here. Like any naive college kid with a hefty number of people in her phone’s contact list, I assumed I’d easily pick up more friends as soon as I arrived in my new(ish) city. Having spent three summers out here prior to making the permanent move, I was confident in my ability to find fun people to spend time with in a totally unromantic, strictly platonic way. I thought it’d be easy to make a whole bunch of friends who I could hang out with whenever I wanted, just like when I was in college.

I was wrong.

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Dylan Piglet

There are very few guys that have gotten me giddy based on their photos and messages on Ok Cupid. Dylan was the exception to this rule. To be honest, I have zero recollection of what Dylan himself looked like. All I remember about the man behind the profile was a dude who grew up in LA and didn’t graduate from college. He was shipping off to Navy training in February somewhere far away from the Golden Coast. Sounds like the least attractive man possible at first look, as I am a huge brat about wanting my men college educated and I’m afraid of guns and war. I blame this on my Quaker upbringing and being raised a pacifist. But there was one thing about Dylan that I fell absolutely in love with. See below.

Dylan Piglet

He’s a pig owner. A baby pig owner. Some people call it a piglet. I call it a deity.

While I wasn’t quite buying what Dylan’s profile was selling, I was all over this pet pig. This brings me to a sidebar…

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My love for beautiful, wonderful swine pets began when I volunteered at the country’s largest animal shelter in Kanab, Utah. The pigs understood me there. We both like to eat all day. We expect constant massages behind our ears. And when we get happy, our back hair forms into a tiny, prickly mohawk. It’s like the Kelly/piggie version of wagging one’s tail. From that point on, I knew I had to own one. Or twelve. I’d be the next focus of a TLC show about a single woman and her house full of potbellies. I even stopped eating pork after this trip because I didn’t want to upset my future housemates.

Back to Dylan.

Of course I gave him my number. I named him Dylan Piglet in my phone. We got to know each other via text for a few days. I learned that he worked at a dog shelter (major plus) and spends the rest of his time drinking (ehh) and waiting for his training at base camp (no). Needless to say, things fizzled quickly. We never even met each other.

While Dylan remains mostly anonymous to me at this time, I still haven’t gotten over his pet pig. And the fact that at one point, I was invited to come over and feed him bananas. I realize now that this could have been some sort of weird and homosexual quasi-euphemism, but I don’t even care. I only wish things between the piggie and I had worked out. This was the toughest non-breakup I’ve ever gone through.

Until the next pig owner comes along, I’ll just have to continue to lust after the handsome babes in those photos from the animal shelter. One day we shall be together again, eating fresh salads and snorting with delight in each other’s company. One day…

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