My friends and I drank one too many margs the other night. In our tequila infused ridiculousness we decided it highly necessary to don war paint and burn stuff that reminded us of our exes.
Extremists? Nah. Angry man haters? Not so much. I think we were bored and wondered what flaming shoes looked like (…as it turns out…they look like flaming shoes). We also wanted to break in the new fire pit (well worth the money if I do say so myself). Also, what better excuse to wear Kesha/Rihanna inspired makeup and proclaim the injustices of heartache?
Why am I writing about this? Because my friends are awesome.
If one of us is hurting or unhappy or in need of venting, there is never a shortage of creative input on what to do. Sometimes it’s random acts of irreverence and arson…others it’s a gorge on amazing Italian food and expensive bottles of wine.
Our relationship is not normal…it may even be unhealthy. We fight like sisters and act like boys and know enough about each other to speak in secret languages. We answer each others questions without them ever being asked, we buy each other socks, we dance like fools…we live in a constant state of lifting up and moving on and applying a little pressure where necessary.
The best part about having them? I can screw up…a lot…and know that regardless of what I did or who I pissed off…they are going to be there. With a baseball bat and a fifth of vodka if need be. They may tell me I’m an idiot. And that they want to kick my ass. And that if I do it again there will be extreme consequences. But at the end of the day the only thing that matters is their willingness to help pick up the pieces and move forward.
I love you guys. Enough to write about you.
My Eternal Optimist: You’re beautiful. And even though I don’t condone your smoking, you’re the only one that’s ever made the angry flicking of a cigarette look cool. Thank you for being unfiltered, honest, and so obscenely hilarious that I had to start wearing waterproof mascara.
You’re necessary to my existence. You are the oxygen in my lungs and the spring in my step (yes, I just wrote that). You are so much more than people know. And I feel bad for those (stupid, idiotic, numb-nutted) individuals that will never get the chance to see you for everything (including your unhealthy obsession with j-biebs) that you really are. You’re an angel and you’ve taught me so much about myself.
I look up to you more than you could possibly know and I swear on my love for pizza lunchables that I will always be here for you. Thank you for telling me I’m not fat, that he was stupid anyway, and the real truth about dandelions. There’s nothing that you could ever do to disappoint me. Schlove you.
My Subdued Party Animal: I’ll just start by saying that I thank God you googled “fine dining” when you got to St. Louis. It’s weirdly weird how we all ended up on this grand old path…and by weird, I mean awesome (and by you, I mean us…). Thank you for endorsing my love affair with Ginghams (and walking 3 miles in stilettos because of it). Thank you for getting me so drunk that I thought snow angels at 3 a.m. was necessary and skinny dipping at 4 a.m. was appropriate. Thanks for being my domestic partner at Home Depot…and for buying me hangers.
You work so hard and you are honestly one of the most genuinely good people that I know. The things that you have done for other people and the things that you have accomplished are amazing. You’ve never let doubts, fear, or the beliefs of stupid people keep you from getting and doing exactly what you want. AND you know how to dance.
Thank you for not pushing me out of the car when I cried. Thank you for being unapologetic and downright bitchy when necessary. Thank you for teaching me how to have fun again. You’re beautiful and I schlove the mess out of/am slightly codependent on you.
Schmer. Fred says hello.
Love you guys. A lot. ❤