Every boo goes through an evolution of sorts in her lady bromance. You go from primordial boos, to early/primitive boos, to upright-walker kind of boos. I used to be in the upright camp, having conquered ominous trees in cute-as-fuck small towns, a biblical plague and a homicidal mouse in a mansion of horrors (#LivermoreNeverForget), and the writing of a soon-to-be cult classic young adult novel, all with my partner in crime. Together, I thought we’d seen it all, done it all, and ate it all; I thought I was already the most evolved boo I could possibly be; I thought we had arrived.
But last year, I suddenly got called up to the big leagues (yeah, the extended evolution metaphor is over; it’s time for the metaphor vaguely related to baseball, about which I know nothing). Last year, my then newly-engaged best boo stared at me puckishly across the table at brunch and asked, “Boo…will you be my maid of honor?” And so I dove head-first, grinning like a buffoon, into my year-long evolutionary journey (never mind, that metaphor’s sticking, apparently) from a Maid of Honor, or a MoH, to a towering, majestic, “do what the bride says or I’ll hang you from a tree by your useless, pathetic intestines while a pack of starving wolves circle you maniacally!” MoH-FO: Maid of Honor – Fuck Off!
The differences are subtle, but undeniable: a MoH does what she’s told, but a MoH-FO anticipates your needs; a MoH will offer her shoulder when you’re stressed about the incompetence of LITERALLY EVERYONE, but a MoH-FO will repeatedly and unrelentingly harass everyone out of the dark assholes they’re hiding in until they do their goddamn jobs; a MoH will cry as you walk down the aisle, but a MoH-FO will cry the ugliest and most uncontrollable of ugly-cries like an abandoned third-world orphan. Anywhere. Any time. At random intervals. For no distinguishable reason whatsoever. Like this:
We all know friendships come in different packages, but my personal favorite is the Gross Couple Friendship. You know what I mean by gross couple: they finish each other’s sentences, discuss one another in lovey-dovey tones, and like to pass their time with Eskimo kisses or debating who should be the first to hang up. Eugh. Gross.
Or so I thought, until I realized that Jayne and I are basically that gross couple. And here are the signs that you and your bff are too.
1) You like to surprise each other with gifts.
These don’t have to be big or expensive gifts, but sometimes you see something that reminds you of her or something you know she’d like, so you buy it with the selfless goal of making her happy. In our case, it’s either trinkets, books, music, or meatloaf.
2) You make super romantic plans and have no shame about it.
You know what Jayne and I wanna do when we get published? Besides buying everyone at the bar a round and then going to indulge in one huge garlic crab each? We’re going to basically have a lost weekend at this adorable bed and breakfast with roaring fireplaces, complimentary wine, bicycles to ride on their coastal trails (er, first I guess I’m going to teach Jayne to ride a bike…), olive trees and all-around tranquility. We’ll be reading and writing and basically having the most romantic weekend ever. Why? Partly because I know we’d both love to pamper ourselves, partly because she and I pretty much enjoy doing all of that, but mostly because when I see or think of something good, I immediately wanna share it with Jayne. Like a couples massage. What? Huh? Is that just us?Continue reading →
This Cottage Week, Jayne and I have resolved to try new things and try to mingle more with the locals. Sure, we’d be doin’ all that hard work we came here for, but you gotta let loose once in a while, right?
After all, all work and no play makes Jayne a maniac who laughs pointlessly into the night with a beer in her hand (ok, I was laughing too). Besides, we really wanted to see more of the town. So, we checked out some of their local events, like Trading Day (not to be confused with Training Day, when all the corrupt hoodlums of the town adopt proteges). We found a lot of great little gems.
There is such a thing as cheating on your best friend.
It’s seeing a movie with someone else that you promised you’d see with her first. It’s when you cancel on plans with her to hang out with a mere acquaintance. Mostly, it’s not keeping the sacred things sacred: going to your declared mutual favorite restaurant – “your place” – with someone else simply because it’s convenient, you want to go there, and she happens to not be around but this other person is; repeating a story or personal anecdote of yours that, in the larger scheme of your lady bromance, marks your friendship with your boo as truly special because you only shared it with her; and worst of all – making some drunken, insensitive, and WAY THE HELL disingenuous declaration to some drive-by friendship fling that she’s “one of your best friends” – FOR SHAME! (Note: there is a Lady Bromance Cheating Clause, which states a significant other as the only exception. S.O.’s are allowed to overstep a bit.)
Anyone who knows me knows that I am fiercely – and at times frighteningly and RUTHLESSLY – loyal; the kind of loyal that allows me to justify dislocating someone’s entire face with my killer right hook to help you win an argument in which you’re blatantly wrong (because if someone’s going to tell you you’re wrong, it’s going to be me, and I will do so with love). I am the best person you could possibly have on your team, and the enemy who will find some way to make you run away screaming, pissing your pants in mid-flee with mortal terror (I will destroy you and those you love most – guaranteed [disregard this, NSA – this ain’t none of your business!]). So, even with T’s absence leaving a sudden and painfully palpable void in my life, there are just some things that I simply won’t do (*song break* I would do anything for love! Oh, I would do anything for love! I would do anything for love….but I WON’T. DO. THAT. *end song break*).