Besties for life

My best friend is the one who brings out the best in me – Henry Ford

This past weekend, my best friend spent the weekend with me. She was in town for business so it was a great opportunity to catch up regardless of how busy my schedule was.

Lots of hilarity and silliness ensued. Highlights were:

• Listened to a four year old boy do a low key belch while we were paying the bill for an awesome lunch. Christ, the belch lasted at least ten seconds. Nobody heard it except for us and maybe the kid’s mom and his little sister. We were laughing so hard we were crying. Swear to god.

• Visited one of the major tourist spots in the city and made our first selfie of the two of us. Twelve years of being besties and we finally have a picture of the two of us together. What the fuck. We were way overdue.

• Visited the city zoo and park. We didn’t visit the zoo but the trampled around the English garden, looked at the memory stones and watched a woodpecker bang away at a tree. That bugger has a hard head. Ouch. The memory stones were sweet and sentimental. A couple were pretty funny. Someone was referred to as a ‘good pig’ on one of the stones. What??? Not quite sure if the person was referring to an actual pig or a person.

• Visited mutual friends and proceeded to have a highly inappropriate conversation. Hilarity ensued again. By the way, did you know that having a pineapple somewhere in your home signifies you are a swinger? I did not know that either. Anything pineapple, seriously. Pineapple on a t-shirt. Ceramic pineapple. Whatever. I don’t even know if I just gave away the secret, but there you go.

• Discovered that saying ‘Bork, bork, bork’ really fast is really fucking funny. We’re just dorks. Plain and simple. We wanted to find a couple of helium balloons, inhale the gas and say ‘bork, bork, bork.’ No such luck.

• Aside from the hilarity, we snarked and bitched about Brett Kavanaugh and the shit show that is the Supreme Court Justice nomination proceedings. I won’t get into it further at the moment. Too infuriating.

When it’s all said and done, I loved having my bestie around for the weekend. She’s one of the handful of people who can bring out the best in me. What I mean by best is she makes it easy for me to be me. She accepts me for me. She loves me for me. Unconditionally. I feel exactly the same way about her. 

She is the living and breathing definition of a best friend. I couldn’t have asked for a better person. 

In praise of besties

When you choose your friends, don’t be short-changed by choosing personality over character — W. Somerset Maugham

I’d like to think that the people I am close to, are folks with character. Yes, they have personality, and some of them, have it more than others. To be honest, they need a little bit of character to put up with my shenanigans.

The folks in my life have proven that they will step up to the plate when I’m in some sort of tailspin. When I was diagnosed with breast cancer nine years ago, I found out who were my friends. And each one of them will always be my friend.

My best friend, Ali, has tons of character. She also has tons of personality. The tons of personality is bonus. And the thing is I only met her nine or ten years ago through the News Photographers Association of Canada. My mind is a little fuzzy whether or not we first met just before the cancer diagnosis or just after. I find I’m not one for micro details. I remember what my mind chooses to automatically remember. Initially, our interactions were limited to phone calls whenever there was things to discuss regarding the organization. Our conversations were easy. We clicked. We slipped into each other’s lives without much fanfare but made up for it when our mutual friends would stare at us in astonishment over our brand of insanity. One such friend always looked forward to being entertained whenever Ali and I would start something that no one else had the nerve to finish. Filter? What filter?

Some folks believe you meet your best friend/s somewhere during your formative years before technically becoming an adult. That was never true for me. I had friends. But I also had false friends (have the personality but no character whatsoever— something you eventually discover when things go sideways). Having false friends made me think that the truly dependable, got-your-back kind of friends were still out there and I would find them once I had gone through the education system which included university. I was kind of singular-minded back then. I still might be. It was education first, life after.

So, I made no effort to stay in touch with 99.9% of my classmates after high school graduation. Now, make that 100%. There was no bond. There was no connection. I never felt to the need to continue my association with any of them and clearly, the feeling was mutual.

Post-university and post college (for a diploma in photojournalism), I was still figuring out the friendship thing. And it turned out that for me, the majority of the folks who would be my life-long friends were the ones I met in my 30’s. But that doesn’t mean someone I will meet in six months or in two years couldn’t become a life-long friend. That door is always open to the right person.

Ali is proof that a best friend or a true friend isn’t someone you meet as a child or as a teenager. Your best friend isn’t the person you’ve known the longest. It just means that person has known you the longest which does not mean they know everything about you.

I don’t know how to describe Ali other than she gets me. She’s seen the best and the worst of me and still loves me unconditionally. And I feel the same way about her. If either one of us did something immoral or illegal, being judgmental is the last thing we would be with each other. We’d call each other out on our shit but be judgmental? Never. Upon being informed of the questionable deed that was done, I believe a round of psychotic laughing from both of us would ensue, followed by “Fuck, I wish I had been there to see that.” That’s how we roll when we’re together. Good thing, we live in different parts of the country. All sorts of crazy would erupt if we lived in the same geographical location.

The reason I’m yapping about best friends is because I had the pleasure of talking to her over the phone not once, but twice in two days last week. Those phone calls were not 15 minutes bites of time. Total time spent laughing, bitching and guffawing about all sorts of shit — 2-1/2 hours. Good thing we both have decent long-distance plans. When we’re not on the phone, we still communicate via email and texting. But a satisfying gabfest over the phone is the best… unless the gabfest is in person. That takes top spot because wine and food is usually involved.

During this latest gabfest, she had to talk me off the ledge over an ongoing issue I have — something which I have no plans to discuss here. She never fails to make me feel better, and smile and laugh by the end of our conversations. She didn’t disappoint this time either. She’s good for that… helping you find a way to laugh when the last thing on your mind is to laugh. Frankly, I do the same thing for her. We arouse each other’s propensity to be silly. Whereas other folks try very hard to arouse our usually dormant desires to be homicidal. Everybody has a homicidal streak. No point in denying it.

The gabfest completely spoiled us just because we’ve never had the opportunity to indulge in two lengthy phone calls — one lasting over 50 minutes and the other lasting a little over 90 minutes — in one week.

I appreciate her presence in my life. When I feel no one gets who I am, I know she gets me. Having one person who gets you is everything. And she is everything I could ever want in a best friend. A true friend.

Apple cider, axes and avidity

I almost didn’t write a blog for this week because I was binge-watching Netflix’s second season of Narcos. And I’m not done watching yet. Started late. Should have started bingeing when I woke up yesterday morning.

I had my reasons for not watching as soon as I rolled out of bed. I was busy picking up freshly-pressed apple cider (made from the apple tree in my backyard) and dropping off two jugs to a friend in exchange for a poem she plans on writing for me. Of course, you don’t just drop off apple cider and not visit for about an hour or so.

So, over a couple of mugs of rooibos tea — Cotton Candy was the blend name, and no, she didn’t buy it, her 11-year-old daughter did via a gift certificate — we chatted about poetry, writing and humorous stories about pot-infused brownies, cocktails and axe-throwing.

Which reminds me — I really, really, REALLY need to learn to throw an axe with one hand while holding a dirty (make that salaciously filthy) martini in the other. I’m pretty sure I have the perfect outfit for an evening of axe-throwing and drinks hanging somewhere in my closet. The only accessories I would need to find are a pair of black thigh-high leather boots and maybe a pair of leather gloves.

It was a wonderful chat. I hadn’t realized how much I missed those kinds of chats until I was in the middle of it. It was great to reconnect with like-minded souls who accept you the way you are because there is nothing wrong with you. No need to put on a mask or play nice because playing nice can be so fucking boring and tedious.

A balance between the mundane and the extraordinary — with a little more emphasis on the extraordinary — would suit me best. I think I’ve been feeling a little too mundane even though I do have a small variety of things sitting on my plate to keep me out of trouble. I suppose I’m in some sort of holding pattern waiting for the good shit to fly.

I’m probably done with summer for another year. I’m waiting for autumn and winter to make their appearance.

But I’m heading back to finish watching the second season of Narcos. Two episodes left. I cannot get enough of that show. I am totally crushing on the show’s three lead actors. What’s a girl to do.

Adiós, amigos. Mis hijos me están esperando.