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Friendship is the Perfect Blendship

Over the weekend, I was very proud to be part of the wedding of my best friend. So, when I saw the Tuesday Ten prompt to share 10 things you love about your best friend, I could think of no one more appropriate.

I met her 12 years ago when we were young pups working at the local NBC 4 station; she as an upstart producer, and me as a clueless web writer. We bonded over the things that bring young women together; politics and social issues.

Actually, it was purses. Kate Spade to be precise.


And psychiatrists don’t usually have wine.

We have been friends ever since, through breakups, my marriage, the subsequent babies, new jobs, new boys, and, as always, shopping adventures. Through it all she has been like a sister to me, and I hope she would say the same about me.

I can call her at any hour. Once, I thought my husband was dead because he was out late. And, by late I mean he said he was going out or Happy Hour, and ended up staying out until the bars closed without ever answering his phone. Before calling every hospital and prison in the area, I called my friend. At midnight. She was reassuring, supportive, and even offered to kick his ass when he came rolling in around 3.

We can be honest when we’re shopping. Hideous outfit? Accessories too off-trend? We will tell each other, and even go as far as to rip heinous articles of clothing off each other’s bodies. No friend of mine will wear coral and mint chevron palazzo pants.

Being there for each other. When she broke up with her boyfriend, I sent chocolate, love, and a sympathetic ear. I then willingly took him back into the friendship circle when he realized he was idiot and begged my friend for forgiveness. And she forgives me when I arrive 10 minutes late. For everything. All the time.

Wine, delicious wine. We both enjoy a glass of Chardonnay, and have introduced each other to yummy brands whenever we discover them. And we’re never too shy to offer to bring some wine over when we hang out.

She likes my kids. I mean, I kind of hope she would since she is their godmother, but she doesn’t have to. Anyone who thinks my kids are awesome, is OK in my book.

We are ridiculously hot. Before your mind goes too far into the gutter, she is beautiful, smart and stylish, just like me. Together we are an unbeatable combo, and push each other to heights of fashion excellence. Seriously, if she’s rocking some quatrefoil, I may end up purchasing some for myself. And I have a feeling her fabulousness in a scarf is due to my positive influence.

Organization, discipline, and a plan. In another life she would have made a highly effective General. As one who is often in a tornado of disorder and chaos, she is like an oasis with her executive decisions, schedules, and anal-retentive structure. I used to be this way, and maybe she will inspire me to be that way again. Or, maybe not. That sounds too tiring.

Epic road trips. Cherry blossoms, wine, and a little March Madness in the nation’s capital. Plus, she makes an excellent cuddle buddy when we have to share a bed.

We rock out. Hard. A few years ago we channeled our late 80s and early 90s selves and headed to the NKOTBSB concert. Amidst a sea of like-minded women, we sang along with every pop ballad from our childhood, drank a goodly amount of beer, laughed way too hard, and sighed over the former Hottie McHotpantses that don’t look exactly like the golden gods they were in our youth.

A wicked sense of humor. My bestie seems so very straightlaced and rigid on the surface, but underneath, she is a hilarious woman who loves mob movies and Mitch Hedberg. It’s one of the reasons I love her; she is a constant source of surprise.

See? She is supercalifragilisticexpiaolodociously wonderful. I can’t guarantee that we’ll be friends forever, but I know that I’ll be poorer spiritually if we aren’t.

In closing, I will leave you with a quote that I know would get a giggle out of my friend. “Is it a hippopotamus or a really cool opotamus?” It’s a little something to ponder with your own compatriot.


Filed under Martini Madness