Best Friends Forever...and stuff

I just finished reading Jennifer Weiner's new book "Best Friends Forever" (thanking Kathy for making me jealous, since she went to JW's book signing in San Fran...which I wanted to do but it got me to download the book onto my Kindle in about five seconds flat.) Okay, so it got me to thinking about best friends. I grew up thinking 'best friends' meant something entirely different than I do now. My best friend was the one I gossiped too, called after a date for a recap, consulted for fashion advice, held my hand when my heart was broken and suffered in a hideous bridesmaid dress to please me. In return, I did the same for her. We had the same opinions, morals and views on life. We agreed on pretty much everything. Period.

Flash foward to the present. My best friend lives three hours away. Our lives are, for the most part, completely different. She works full-time as a paralegal (I'm an SAHM volunteering my time for my daughter's elementary school), she pays her own bills (my husband does that), she dates (Kevin and I try for date night but aren't always successful). She doesn't have to share the remote control (we have four, three of which I have no idea how to use) and when she goes out to grab a bite to eat, she doesn't have to negotiate on which restaurant to choose (Kevin gets sick of Mexican food...who gets sick of Mexican food???) She answers to no one (I call when I'm running late so Kevin doesn't think I'm dead on a highway).

I don't have time to do much gossiping lately and I don't work outside the home or do the singles' scene, so I haven't needed a whole lot of fashion advice. We've been there-done that with the bridesmaids dresses and proven that, in fact, we DO NOT agree on everything. We've gone years without seeing one another, often communicating via Facebook, as our lives have gone further in opposite directions. For all intents and purposes, we are totally different people with different outlooks on life. For better or worse, we should-and do-tend to hang out with other people, people with lifestyles like our own, stretching that BFF bond to the point it should probably snap in half...but it doesn't. That's EXACTLY why she's earned the title of 'BFF'.

I read books. She watches chick flicks. She's tall and thin with long dark hair. I'm short, blonde and could stand to drop a few pounds. She gave up sugar and caffeine to be a 'Skinny Bitch', I'm eating a neapolitan ice cream sandwich as I type (which is waaay more difficult than you'd think, and takes serious talent). She knows the names of all the new cocktails, I haven't had a buttery nipple since before I gave birth the first time (not that's she currently partaking of said alcoholic beverages, as she's become a 'skinny bitch'.)

She drove the three hours to my house last weekend and it took about five seconds (I'm not sure she'd even gotten out of her car) before I remembered what makes her my BFF: Nothing is off-limits. No joke is too risque, no behavior is cause for judgement, no words are off-limits. I could sit down and whip open a pack of cigarettes and pour myself a shot of Jack Daniels on the rocks and she wouldn't care. I could stand in the middle of a shopping mall at Christmas time singing "Santa Baby" at the top of my lungs and she would laugh hysterically (but chances are good that she'd eventually join in...assuming she didn't start it in the first place).

The history we share provided our foundation. We've seen eachother through eating disorders, bad relationships, raging disagreements, pregnancy (though only one of us managed to guzzle a bottle of castor oil the minute I went off for a weekend of skiing, meaning the second I got home, I rushed to the hospital to hold the baby that was NOT supposed to be born until I got there!--okay, that one is still a bit unforgiveable....). I remember racing (in high heels)both of us on motorized scooters (after waaay too many margaritas) while our children stood on the sidewalk in front of her house cheering us on. When they started running towards us, I was filled with excitement at having won the race....until they all ran past me. They weren't coming to high-five me on my ability to maneuver that scooter down the street, she'd tumbled off of hers. Luckily, the damage was minimal.

I remember slipping in a puddle of spilled beer in a nightclub and winding up face first on the floor (did not spill my drink, though) while trying to be sophisticated and sexy and cool. She helped me up, but not before dissolving into hysterical laughter, drawing the attention of everyone in the place. She helped me sneak into the apartment of a guy I'd dated (and had a huge crush on) to plant underwear under the bed, hair clips in the nightstand and spray the sheets with perfume when he had an old female friend fly into town one weekend....anything to get him back....didn't work...they had a disagreement before she got on the plane and I had a heck of a time trying to get my panties back.....so I married him.

I can be me, my true self, with my BFF. She's the only female on the planet who truly knows me, my heart, and loves me in spite of it and the reverse is just as true. Friends come and go, your BFF doesn't. Even when she's miles away, with years of distance between you, your hearts are still connected. The differences in our lives now won't be worth a hill of beans when we're old and racing down the corridors of our nursing homes. She'll still be the one that would forgive me just about anything, just as I would forgive her. We can live vicariously through one another, going in crazy different directions....but at the end of the day, we'll always have "Puta Creek".