Given the prohibitive expense of operating a car in Toronto, you’d think drivers would be crazy-cautious and studiously focussed on the task at hand to avoid anything that might involve either a mechanic or an insurance broker. But no. Want proof? Ask a cyclist.

Anyone who has ever powered about town on two wheels has at least one grisly tale of a near-miss collision—or worse, a not-so-near-miss—and the ensuing, profanity-drenched squabble with a distracted/aggressive/knuckle-headed motorist.

Indeed, when we recently took cyclists to task for bad behaviour such as ignoring stop signs and riding on sidewalks, we were (somewhat expectedly) slammed with complaints about car drivers, with many readers pointing out that so-called bad cyclist behaviour is almost necessary in a city where key politicians unabashedly favour four-wheels and dedicated bikes lanes are maddeningly few. Cyclist blunders may be vexing, but vehicular ones can be fatal.

So, in the interest of fairness, we hereby point the finger and cry foul at car-driver behaviour that makes life hell—nay, perilous—for the urban bike brigade. Drivers who commit these sins are far worse than mere polluters. But it’s never too late to change.

1. Sudden door openers

If you bike regularly, it’s only a matter of time before you drive into—and are, at best, inelegantly propelled over—a heedlessly opened car door. Yes, drivers, there are about million things to keep track of when you’re hustling around town from behind the wheel. But nothing—not even being on time for Junior’s piano recital—is more important than faithfully remembering to check your side-view mirror before gripping the handle and stepping outside.

2. Careless right turners

Kudos to you, Mr. SUV, for allowing us meek, worthless pedestrians to cross the intersection on a green light without your impatient bumper bearing down on our dawdling backsides. But before you puff up with self-righteous pride, please remember that cyclists use the curb lane and may be going straight, meaning you also need to let them pass before you edge your car forward. See that shiny thing mounted just outside the window on the passenger side door? It’s called a mirror. Use it.

3. The preoccupied

Lest there be any ambiguity, allow us to make this plain: Your vehicle is not an island and you need to stay connected to the world beyond your cosseted windshield. Eating, texting, blabbing, applying makeup, arguing, fiddling with the radio, playing air-drums—or (sigh) in Mayor Rob Ford’s case, reading—while driving are distractions that hamper your ability to observe what’s around you and react accordingly. Hands on the wheel, eyes on the road, and on the mirrors. It’s in the handbook, we promise.

4. Bike-lane blockers

I know, I know… you’re just popping out for, like, two seconds, so what’s the big deal if you pull right up to the curb, blocking a six-foot stretch of dedicated bike lane on Dundas or Sherbourne or Greenwood? Bicyclists can just go around, right? Well yes, but that puts us in traffic. And traffic can kill us. Oh, and also, it’s called a dedicated bike lane as the little painted-on image of a bike might suggest. Stay out of it.

5. Would-be snugglers

Also known with much venom as “encroachers,” these jackasses drive this close to cyclists, most often when pulling around and passing a car that has stopped to turn left. You wouldn’t appreciate it if I horned in on your nice, wide lane; stay the hell out of mine.

6. Tossers

Not “tossers” in the British-slang sense of the word, though the meaning most certainly applies here. No, we’re referring to the scum that thinks nothing of horking a fat phlegm-y or tossing a cigarette butt or other detritus out the window and straight into our oncoming path. For the record, you utterly, completely suck.

7. Those who do not signal

Mom nailed it: two wrongs don’t make a right. So while it’s true that many bicycle operators fail to signal left and right turns (and tsk tsk for that), the implications are far more dire when it’s car drivers suddenly peeling off to the right without advance warning. Signalling is easy so just do it, okay? We promise your fellow motorists will back us up on this one, too.

8. Excessive noise-makers

So you’ve got a horn and you know how to use it. Great! Save it for the ass-clowns on the 401. You may think you’re doing cyclists a favour by beep-beeping your intention to pass, turn, or reverse, but it’s very unnerving being blasted by anything weighing a few thousand pounds. Plus, those things are way louder and more startling than you would ever guess from your perch inside your shiny metal box.

9. Maintenance avoiders

A personal peeve, this sin refers to those who don’t bother keeping their cars in proper working order, resulting in death-blasts of exhaust, tortured howls of ancient fan belts, and vehicles lurching scarily due to underinflated tires. Cars are nasty enough when they’re in tip-top shape, so stop being a total Earth killer.

10.  Kings of the road

A sense of entitlement and lack of patience may be the biggest sins of all. While pedestrians and cyclists can be uptight and rigid when it comes to sharing streets, motorists—by dint of the sheer damage they can wreak when things go bad—bear the brunt of responsibility for caution and courtesy. So take a deep breath and be nice. Maybe your insurance rates will finally go down.

What car-driver behaviours annoy you the most? Let us know in the comments section below.

As the sun set on a Friday evening at the edge of Kensington, pedestrians hustling along College Street paused ever so slightly to catch a few notes of ecstatic song coming from the open door of Rochelle Rubinstein’s art studio. At quarter to seven, those commuters would have heard Rabbi Aaron Levy leading some 45 congregants in a singing, wordless prayer—“It’s like scatting,” he said—to a tune written by Schlomo Carlebach, better known as The Singing Rabbi. Disproving the rumour that a vegan diet causes lowered energy levels, the 37-year-old Levy spent much of the night vigorously beating rhythms on the cover of his Siddur (a prayer book) and on the table beside him.

Dubbed Makom, after the Hebrew word for “place,” the group is described by Levy as a “rabbi-led, emergent Jewish community,” though this volunteer-based, synagogue-less Judaism has been sprouting up across North America for the past decade and is also referred to as an independent minyan. (A minyan is the quorum of Jews necessary to begin a service.) Ruth Matthews, a human-resources manager who sits on the board of Makom, represents one typical part of its membership. Growing up Reform in Thornhill, Matthews was a self-described “super-Jew.” When she left the city to attend university in Montreal, however, she stopped practicing. Upon returning in the late ’90s, Matthews wanted to reconnect with her faith, but the kind of Jewish community she and her friends sought didn’t exist here. So they created it themselves. “There was a movement of young, funky communities of Jews who wanted something different,” she said. “They didn’t want their parents’ synagogue experience. They wanted it more DIY, more involved, and more musical.”

Levy and his wife moved from New York to Toronto in 2006 when the rabbi took a post at University of Toronto’s Hillel organization; three years later, he started Makom. According to his studies of Toronto’s Jewish demographics—the Maryland native’s interest comes from a “convert’s zeal” for the city—the bigger picture is what could be called a reverse exodus. Back in the 1950s, the large Jewish population that had settled in Kensington after the turn of the century decamped for the northern reaches of the city, but the past two decades have seen the return of their grandkids downtown. A report Levy acquired from the United Israel Appeal of Canada estimated that the Jewish population south of St. Clair was more than 21,000 in 2011, a 41 per cent increase in just 20 years.

Not satisfied to simply serve that influx, Levy is a bit of a shul disturber. Although a modern Orthodox Jew himself, he welcomes all types. “You could have a non-Jewish partner of a Reform Jew sitting next to an Orthodox Jew sitting next to a Jewish atheist,” he said of his services. Reform members must put up with Makom’s separate seating for men and women, while traditionalists have to sacrifice their definition of a minyan as 10 men; at Makom, 10 of each gender must be present. “It’s not possible to make everybody comfortable in a consciously diverse community, so I’d rather make everybody a little uncomfortable,” Levy said.

Catering to what he says is a more politically progressive population, Levy is also unafraid to trot out one of the community’s larger elephants: Israeli foreign policy. In 2009, Rabbi Arik Ascherman, the general secretary for Rabbis for Human Rights (known for standing in front of bulldozers to prevent the destruction of Palestinian homes), spoke at a Makom Shabbat. “Many folks have told me that they haven’t felt comfortable sharing their thoughts, particularly regarding Israel and Palestine, in other segments of Toronto’s Jewish community,” Levy said. “Makom is a community where people can talk without fear of being ostracized.”

It’s clear that something has been working. As membership in established synagogues declines, Makom’s has slowly grown. Four years after its launch, the organization now also runs an after-school Hebrew-immersion class, guided meditations, a women’s group, and educational programming. In his home once a week, Levy, a father of two, even coaches a small group of teenagers on ethical responsibility, which he does through a study of ancient Jewish property laws. “Like, what happens if my ox gores your ox to death?”

Thankfully for Levy, though, from Friday to Saturday night, the many items on his kosher plate get put on hold. Even a very busy rabbi deserves a day of rest.

Makom, 416-546-6043.

Ah spring. Tulips are blooming, sidewalk patios are opening, soft-serve ice cream is filling waffle cones and, for those of us too meek and/or too sane to ride in winter, dusty bicycles are being hauled up from the basement. Cycling is awesome, right?

Cue abrupt screech of needle scraping across record.

It’s bad enough that us cyclists must cope with blabbing/eating/carelessly turning car drivers and a mayor who hates our guts and applauded the death of dedicated bike lanes on the least-steep south-to-north street in the downtown core. But the sad truth is: lots of cyclists in this town act like complete idiots.

You’d think two-wheel warriors would offer each other courtesy and solidarity. Ha! As we’ve said before of evil TTC riders and appalling airline passengers, certain deportment (handily itemized below) blows and should be halted immediately. If you recognize yourself on this list, know that your fellow riders loathe bozos like you who give conscientious cyclists a bad name. But it’s never too late to change.

1. Sidewalk riders

I don’t care if you’re steering straight towards a bike rack; it is never, ever OK to ride a bike on the sidewalk. Like most people, I am also a pedestrian and I don’t want to have to dodge you and the monster baby strollers separating me from my local. And if you glare at me like I am in your precious way—as sidewalk riders invariably seem to do—know that you suck and deserve to endure excruciating pain. Yes, I hate you that much.

2. Stoplight ignorers

Just because an intersection dead-ends into a T-shape doesn’t mean you can barrel through a red light, endangering pedestrians and startling stopped drivers. I live at Greenwood, and I have lost count of the number of times a bike zooming east on Danforth has nearly clipped me as I crossed north on Linnsmore Crescent on a green light en route to the subway. Red lights apply to everyone always, even those wearing helmets. Speaking of…

3. Helmet shunners

My esteemed editor said it best: “If you don’t wear a helmet while cycling in this town, you are insane. The worst case of helmet-head in the world still doesn’t look as bad as your brains splattered on the pavement.”

4. Streetcar ignorers

Have you noticed that passengers entering and exiting streetcars in the city of Toronto need to access the curb lane to do so? Crazy, huh? That means that cars—and, newsflash, bicycles—need to stop well behind the rear doors of a streetcar to ensure said passengers can safely negotiate the 10 feet between vehicle and sidewalk. And by stop, I mean stop. Not: put one foot down on the ground and propel yourself forward with it through the crowd.

5. One-way street ignorers

I also don’t care if the street you’re traversing is in deepest suburbia. If it’s a one-way going west, you damn well better be going west, too. I once watched an elderly woman walking a dog very nearly get creamed –while being terribly startled—by a cyclist roaring the wrong way down a one-way as she stepped off the curb having looked only in the direction traffic should have been coming from. (What are you now, a dog killer?) If you must go in the opposite direction, get off your bike and walk it.

6. Impromptu turtles

You know how infuriating it is when old people and tourists get to the top of an escalator and then just stop to look around? The bicycle equivalent goes like this: Joe Raleigh rockets to the front of a line of cyclists waiting at a red light, and then, once the light turns green, slooowly pushes off, holding up everyone else. It’s cool if you want to dawdle, but don’t butt up front to do it.

7. Racers

No less annoying and potentially dangerous are speed demons, who swerve in and out of traffic and around hapless pedestrians while whipping past other riders, often way too closely and sometimes (inexcusably) on the right-hand side without so much as a wee ring of the bell. And stop signs? Meh. If you want to race, hit the trails; it’s called cycling, not slalom. (Unless you are a professional courier, in which case you can probably outmanoeuvre any potential mishap while looking stupidly cool doing it.)

8. Texters

Four words: don’t text while riding. Actually, make that six words:  don’t text while riding, jerk wad. Use your hands for something productive… like signalling your damn turn.

9. Provocateurs

Yes, there are loads of nasty, abusive, road-hog car drivers out there. But there are also plenty of cyclists who seem bent on deliberately provoking drivers—those who roll right up to the right side of a right-hand turning car, for example, instead of just hanging back and letting the car finish the turn before proceeding, or proceeding on the car’s left side.  Do you have the right-of-way? Absolutely. But death is a ridiculous way to make a point.

10. Drunks

Maybe it’s just my neighbourhood—and OK, Parkdale—but it seems as though all the local booze hounds are also bicyclists. You can tell because they’re the dudes weaving all over the road, mounting the sidewalk (especially at the T-shaped intersection at Linnsmore and Danforth to avoid stopping at the red light) and just generally threatening to flatten everything in their path. That goes double for dudes who are about to get drunk and are wobbling all over the place trying to balance a full 2-4 on their laps. Ever notice how those guys are always—always—riding a bike that’s way too small? And to think I thought a Beer Store at the top of the street was a great idea when I moved into the ‘hood. Jeesh.

What cyclist behaviour annoys you the most? Let us know in the comments section below.

To most passersby, the bright red sign that advertises Bookafé, which opened last November in Koreatown, likely reads as a portmanteau of “book” and “café.” This is not incorrect, since both those things can be found inside, but squeezed into the Brazil-based chain’s name is also the Portuguese expression “a fé,” which means “to the faith.” And indeed, on closer inspection, all the titles that line this book café’s shelves are meant to bring caffeine addicts to Christianity.

The Bookafé on Bloor Street is Canada’s first, but the four-year-old institution already has some 200 locations in Brazil, and about 40 in other countries worldwide. According to the Toronto franchise’s manager, Renê de Napoli, the concept was brewed up by Chinese businessman-turned-missionary Dong Yu Lan in 2009 while he was in Peru to give a conference. Dong was killing time in a Starbucks when he realized that half the café’s patrons were Christians also waiting for his talk to begin. Dong, who had often preached that churches should be open for longer hours, began pitching the concept of a non-denominational, non-profit Christian café everywhere he went.

On a recent Saturday night in Toronto, de Napoli—who wears the same short-sleeved brown polo as the rest of his volunteer staff—unfolded an anonymous prayer request that had been deposited into the small black box that sits near the cash. “Please pray for me to get regular sleep,” he read aloud. “I have severe insomnia and, in the last year, have had only one complete night of sleep. Pray also that a godly man will love me enough to marry me.” Other deposited requests included a woman who wanted to pass her hairdressing-license exam, another who hoped her cataract would not need surgery, and a young man from Korea looking for a job. The group of 15 bowed their heads as de Napoli translated the wishes into proper prayers, asking for help while adding the allowance that God may have a plan of which the group is not yet aware.

As well as leading this weekly prayer, and additional Bible study on Wednesday and Thursday nights, the 37-year-old Brazil native is always on hand to chat about the books, most of which are bound transcriptions from Dong’s conferences. Although he will accept the title of manager, de Napoli said he would be more accurately referred to as a colporteur, a centuries-old French term for a travelling missionary who hands out pages from the Bible and religious texts. “At Bookafé, the colporteur is a person who knows the majority of the books,” he explained. “If a person is passing through something difficult in his life, the colporteur can find a book that would give him the proper medicine at the proper time. You’re not going to give milk to a grown man or steak to a baby.”

Joanna was exploring her new neighbourhood one evening in March when she spotted Bookafé. “I came in for a latte and the WiFi,” she explained. Her visit overlapped with a Bible study group and she decided to stick around. “One verse was about an early Christian, Stephen, being stoned to death for his faith,” she said. “It sparked me to think about how lucky we are to live in a society that accepts diversity of faith and has a strong commitment to freedom of speech.” A lapsed Anglican, the 45-year-old customer service representative wanted to rediscover her spirituality. “Who knows how long it would have taken if it hadn’t been right there in front of me,” she said.

Tom Garlington, one of the café’s five volunteers, heard about Bookafé through his local church. The unemployed 27-year-old was in the midst of a deep depression, living with his parents and staying up until six in the morning playing computer games. Now, he works at Bookafé four or five days a week. “I make coffee, mop the floors, clean countertops, or dust the shelves,” he said. “Anything that needs doing.” Consequently, his mood and motivation have improved and he’s considering going back to school to become a massage therapist.

Some Torontonians, however, don’t appreciate evangelism with their espresso. “They start looking around and turn their backs and get out,” de Napoli said. And unlike the managers in Brazil, he set up shop without an established foothold in his city’s Christian community. For now, offerings from a group of Brazilian businessmen pay the rent, but he doesn’t know how long that will last. He remains hopeful that his Bookafé will eventually sustain itself.

One thing is certain: If de Napoli’s café does make money, it won’t go into his pocket. The surplus of this Bookafé, he said, will simply beget more Bookafés.

Bookafé, 682 Bloor St. W., 647-352-6657.

Halfway through a recent Saturday night at the Jerrahi-Helveti Sufi Order in Etobicoke, about 70 men and women were engaged in a spirited spectacle of sound and motion. While the music of a wooden flute, called a ney, soared above the melodies of a zither, the men of the Order provided a pounding beat with their baritone chants to Allah. Two whirling dervishes—one of whom looked to be in his sixties, but was capable of spinning at 60 exquisite revolutions per minute—paid tribute to the rotation of planets and atoms, sending a breeze into the faces of those nearby.

When Tevfik Aydoner moved to Toronto from Istanbul back in 1977, he was a self-described 26-year-old “guitar-playing modern boy” who found a home at the disco. After that, he was a businessman, managing several Rabba Fine Foods stores and, for a time, owning the original Panzerotto Pizza in Mississauga. Now, at 62, Aydoner runs Seraglio, a business that imports Ottoman accessories from his homeland. But every Saturday night, from half past seven to about one in the morning, he serves as the sheik to the dervishes and guests of the Jerrahi Order.

Of course, that didn’t happen overnight, because you can’t just buy a Sufi Order like a pizza franchise—a man is only made a sheik by an existing sheik. Back in 1984, Aydoner and 20 other Toronto Turks organized a multiple-minivan road trip down to New York to see Grand Sheik Muzzafer Effendi, who was visiting from Istanbul. “We all fell in love with him,” said Aydoner, including the two who arrived as atheists. Back home, Aydoner and half of his crew became dervishes, the name given to students of Sufism.

Often confused for a sect of Islam, Sufism is in fact the inner, mystical exploration of that faith. As Jerrahi sheik Gregory Blann puts it in his history of the Order, The Garden of Mystic Love: “The conventionally religious tend to focus on the outer modes of practice. They believe in God, live moral and ethical lives, and practice prayer and other forms of worship. For the Sufis, this is only the beginning.” Striving to overcome his ego and align his every action with Mohammed’s generosity and lifestyle, Aydoner studied with a dervish in Toronto, visited New York every couple of years, and had regular phone conversations with Tosun Bayrak, Grand Sheik of the Americas. In 1995, Bayrak made him a sheik.

Aydoner said that most of the roughly two dozen Sufi Orders in Toronto meet in basements or rented temples, as his Order did until five years ago, when they collectively purchased a former church one long block north of Humber College’s Lakeshore Campus. The atmosphere inside the two-storey building is warm and punctuated with many public displays of affection. On one recent Saturday, dinner—a delicious Pakistani lamb dish prepared by a family of the Order—was shared cross-legged on low tables with barely an inch between elbows. And at the end of the evening, while the women sat in snug rows, the men formed a giant circle, holding hands as they swayed and chanted. The whirlers ended their spinning standing side by side, cozying their heads into a neck cuddle.

Those who gather on Saturdays—half of whom are Turkish, and the rest a broad mix of ethnicities—drive in from downtown and as far as Mississauga and Markham. While the music and communal dinners are draws for many, Ozan Celikel, who was initiated as a dervish seven years ago, comes for his sheik’s guidance. “If we have a problem, he’ll give us advice by telling a story, or he’ll reference a real situation that is similar. He will listen to our dreams and help us understand them,” Celikel said, explaining that the Sufi path has helped him both in his family life, as a father of two, and at work. “I’m a salesman for a large heating and cooling company, and there are times when I could get more money from a customer. But right away, I think, ‘What does my prophet teach me?’ The businessperson who cheats his customer—heaven will be far from him.” Then he shared a famous story about Mohammed urging a man at the market to charge him more for a shirt lest the seller’s business go under. “That’s where you see the buyer being generous to the merchant,” he said.

Celikel has learned much from his sheik, but believes he still has far to go. And his daily struggle isn’t with his customers, but instead with two individuals a little closer to home, who he himself must guide. “I still scream and shout sometimes,” he admitted. “I cannot lie. I am only a human being. And sometimes, your children just don’t listen to you.”

The Jerrahi Sufi Order of Canada, 270 Birmingham St., jerrahi@jerrahi.ca.

I know this is so old-school, but I want to know if the guy I have been seeing is my boyfriend or not. Does being official require a conversation? How can I tell my guy I want to be established as his girlfriend without freaking him out?—Jessica

Since that same, strange space between being mutually “in like” and being in a serious relationship just doesn’t compute for me, I asked Stacie Ikka, the founder of Sitting in a Tree, a match-making/date coaching/full-service love company, basically, what she suggests. She says that your situation is “one of the most challenging obstacles to overcome while dating.” But you’re smart to be thinking about this before you find yourself in Saturday night sweatpants, checking your iPhone for a glowing-red new message of hope. Ikka says, “Unfortunately, what normally happens is that one person wants the relationship to progress or become ‘formalized’ before the other person, and more often than not, [the formalizer] is the woman.” She asks, “Why is it so important to you that you are established as his girlfriend? Is it a matter of principle? Will it give you security that you don’t otherwise feel in the relationship? Will it assure you that he is exclusively committed to you? I recommend knowing the answer to this question—for yourself—before approaching him in any way.”

If knowing why you’re feeling what you’re feeling doesn’t cool you out, and you’re still using all of your powers to avoid letting loose with a “What are we?” or whatever, come at it strategically—in this situation, your instincts are actually working against you and your happiness. Ikka says, “Men and women move at different paces in a relationship, and view time differently.” In the same way you’d want a guy who is not super-hyped about emotional conversations to listen to you when you’re upset, you have to try to give him the space and time that he needs. Ikka says, “Men dread ‘the talk,’ and unless you’re well-coached and well-versed in how to conduct it, it will likely backfire.” She adds that most men she’s worked with say that “feeling pressure” is the main reason that a previous relationship stalled out. As much as this grosses me out to say and release into the sexist universe: doing what you feel is going to prevent you from getting what you want.

When it is time to have some kind of conversation, Ikka says that you should “be sure you know what you need from him” and that you ask for it constructively. Start with something “positive, encouraging, and complimentary” and “do not be too attached to the outcome.” She suggests putting it like, “I’m curious,” or “What do you think about this?” Be brief and to the point and end with a question that can’t be answered with a “yes” or “no.”

“Raise the issue in an environment that is conducive to talking,” says Ikka (like not during dinner at Guu). Pick your timing, when neither of you are busy or stressed; and choose a “fun and relaxing environment.” If you do all of that, and still don’t get what you want, it’s time to move on.

I have been insecure about the size of my penis, which is small, for as long as I can remember. None of the women that I’ve been with have ever commented either positively or negatively so I am left with some confusion. Do girls really care about penis size?—James

A small penis does not determine your sex and relationship fate. The best way to deal is to be upfront and unapologetic about what you’ve got going on (or, not got) and, as ever, to have a sense of humour about it. Don’t warn someone in advance, but make one knowing, self-deprecating reference (just one! Don’t be a mood-murderer!) when you’re fooling around. Not that penis size and breast size is a direct corollary, but, what if you really preferred average-to-major sized breasts, but the woman that you find more beautiful, interesting, kind, fun, and funny was working with a sub-A-cup? You’d roll with it, and come to appreciate them like you do everything else about her. Right?

Readers: this is the final Thirtyish column. Starting next week we’ll be running a new feature in this space, where Toronto singles can put their dating profile in print. To get yours in the mix, email dates@thegridto.com.

I’m 28, and I have really grown and matured in the last two years. But the people who know me, especially my mom and dad, and my friends I grew up with—who are still doing the same stuff we did ten years ago (and living in their parents’ houses, I might add)—just don’t accept the new me. They make jokes all the time about who I used to be and it gets on my nerves.—Charlotte

Real change is usually a lot slower and more extemporaneous than what you’re describing. It’s rad that you’ve matured (I mean, you’re 28, it’s time) but throwing a pouty-hissy-tantrum about how your friends and family are taking it seems counter to your personal revolution, doesn’t it?

“Don’t just say it. Be it,” says much-loved Twitterer Kelly Oxford, the author of the just-released book, Everything is Perfect When You’re a Liar. Which means that you can’t expect that your friends—and especially your family—will instantly talk to you like you’re all characters on Days of our Lives, or somehow anticipate how you want to be treated
or not hold you accountable for being the person they already know (and love!).

Oxford says, “Parents have older experiences and memories of you—this “new” you hasn’t spent as much time with them. My father still makes jokes like, “Remember when I had to pay that waiter to kiss you on your birthday?” It brings me back to a terrible 14-year-old self-conscious headspace. But then I remember, for him as a father, it was funny. Parents will cling to their time with you as a kid and that will never go away, because they love you!” See? (Trust me that this is all way, way harder if you’re the youngest, and have always been “baby” of the family.) Oxford says, “I think the best thing for you to do is to create new memories with your family. Spend time together, go places. Make them a meal, show them you’re responsible and grown up. Through experiences, they’ll see the new you in action.”

It’s different, though, with friends. Oxford says, “Friends that you spend a lot of time with will always recognize changes in you, because they are usually involved in the events that change you.” But, if you’ve transgressed your friend-group-norms as part of the change you’ve been pursuing, you probably just haven’t been seeing much of them, and they’ll need a while to deal, too. Also, consider making some new friends.

“It sounds like it’s time. I’m not saying leave the old friends behind,” says Oxford, “but I’ve certainly moved on from many friendships, it’s very natural. It takes a lot of time and action to really feel changed and have others notice the change.” In the meantime, keep doing you.

I’m interested in this girl I met through a friend. She thinks of me like an old friend/ brother. How can I get her attention in a romantic way? It would be weird to ask her out at this point.—Andrew

Just let me do a few of those moves—like boxing jabs and knuckle cracks—that people do before they’re about to jump into something they’re really good at, which, in this case, can best be described as “girlsplaining.” First of all: You don’t know how she “thinks of you.” You’re making an assumption based on how she treats you or on your interpretation of how she treats you. Assuming that you know anything about how and what anyone else thinks, generally, is a bad idea. Plus, girls are way better sexual sorcerers than guys—she might have permanently friend-zoned you, which neither of us can do anything about, but she might just be a cautious, careful kind of girl who doesn’t flirt it up with every Barney and Baldwin that crosses her eye-line.

What you should do is stand up straight, adjust your testicles and spectacles, and make a move. There is nothing more universally appealing than confidence, so be as direct as you can, and tell her you’re into her and intend to win her over. Few people who say they give a shit actually do (and few guys your/our age are willing to do much of anything except wait for a girl to descend), so your specific intention, coupled with small but meaningful presents—flowers, a note, a playlist—over a few days or weeks is 95 per cent guaranteed to make her at least consider you. After that point, it’s out of your hands and into hers, but you’ll have really tried.

Have a question for Kate? Email kate@thegridto.com.

I’ve been asked to be a bridesmaid in a friend’s wedding. Her sister is the maid-of-honour and is already running the show. The thing is, I don’t want to do it! I was planning a low-key summer and don’t want to be responsible for yet another shower. I was hoping to save some money this year but, if I accept, that is out the window. I know the etiquette to formally refuse the request, but how do I say, “I don’t wanna” to the crazier wedding stuff? Should I say yes at all?—Jenny

Being asked to be in a wedding party is, for all of the potential irritants, the kind of honour that a lot of people would (or should) be thrilled to have. I mean, it’s easy to get eye-roll-y about the problematic, demanding, and expensive aspects of a wedding if you’ve been to a few but make your best effort to start to “wanna” anyway. Kim Izzo, who is the co-author with Ceri Marsh of The Fabulous Girl’s Guide to Decorum and its sequel, The Jane Austen Marriage Manual, says, “If you accept, you are obliged to be a good sport…. No matter how you feel about the trappings—multiple showers, hideous peach taffeta dresses, dancing with an usher who used to be an ex—your friend’s wedding is about her. Not you.”

Izzo says to give your friend (and even her sister) the benefit of the doubt. “It may not be as fun as Bridesmaids, but your gal pal may not be a Bridezilla, either.” And, Izzo adds, “You are obliged to only attend one shower, in my opinion.” I agree. (FYI, dudes: sometimes there are multiple showers—lingerie, wine, whatever—thrown by the “maids,” moms, aunts and bosses.) Also, you can still do you: forgo the registry and make a gift yourself, offer input on your dress so you’ll feel comfortable on the day and in photos, and, as Izzo suggests, “get involved with the planning if you’re fearful of a dull, traditional shower.” (Tip: booze cruise.) There will inevitably be aspects of the planning and parties that you’ll hate, but Izzo reminds you that “you should suck up your own feelings and be supportive.”

What you should also definitely do, right now, is discreetly tell both the bride and the sister that you aren’t able to afford the usual circus of expenditures around being in a wedding, which for the uninitiated can include multiple shower gifts, a wedding gift, a bachelorette party, a one-time-only dress, shoes, hair, makeup, jewellery, transportation, and hotels. This stuff, in the aggregate, is not reasonable, and is what has created a social crevasse between wedding-y people and non-wedding-y people. (It’s not like anyone who is normal and kind wants to be a rage-bitch about her friend’s marriage, but being asked to lay down a seemingly endless amount of time, energy, and money just because is where it tends to get sour.) If the bride and her sister are cool, they will understand. If they insist that it all go down in a glorious, cupcake-scented blaze of hundred-dollar bills, you can invoke that formal-refusal etiquette, if you want.

Izzo says, “It’s all karma in the end.” At some point, you’re going to ask your friend to do something for you that she’s not 100 per cent psyched about, but she’ll do it anyway—maybe not in an ill-fitting silk dress, but whatever—because that’s what friendship is.

My friend, once a close friend, makes no effort to hang out with me. He waits for me to make the effort every time. He never even suggests going for a beer, which is the simplest thing to do, and when I ask him what’s up he says nothing. I don’t think he’s depressed because he always says “yes” when I ask, but he’s never the one making the suggestion. He’ll be on the couch when I buzz him, too—it’s not like he’s leading a double life without me.—Mark

You should stop. Stop asking him to hang out, stop asking him what’s up, just stop. One of the many sort-of mysteries of 30-ish humans is how and when our lives suddenly contract: We see—and want to see—each other less, just as our work and family stuff gets more complicated and we’re more in need of that nice, cushy friend-support. (We’re just tired, maybe?) Wait for him to come to you, not because of some tough-love principle, even, but because you should be expending your own limited energy on someone who still actively wants to hang out with you more than they want to hang out on their couch.

Have a question for Kate? Email kate@thegridto.com.

You’re an apatheist. That is, you don’t even think about God enough to be an atheist. You’re an SBNR. Spiritual But Not Religious, you say. Which might mean you go to yoga once a week and indulge the teacher with an “Om” after 15 downward dogs, or maybe that you will, after a few beers, entertain the notion that we are all connected. But was it from Buddhism or Taoism where you got that idea? Be honest: It was Yoda.

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