Thanksgivings: The Besties

It took me a long time to decide whether I should give each girl her own post or combine them. In the end, I decided that they could share a post, and I’d rather that than risk anyone inferring anything from the order of the posts or the possible lapse in time between them…

The venerable R and I have been friends for years now. It hasn’t always been easy or pretty, and I love her most for not giving up on me and being the kind of person I couldn’t give up on either. Her friendship is precious to me; we’ve shared a lot of victories and defeats together. I would tell you more, but then we would have to kill you. Seriously. Beyond her friendship, I’m grateful to know her as a person. She is strong and assertive (that’s why we call her the alpha!), smart as a whip, and fiercely loyal. She’s just plain fun to be around, and she can make one hell of a monkey tail. Some people believe that you have a friend that you call when you’re already in trouble, and another friend you call when you want to cause some trouble. Those people don’t know Rach. I love her like a sister, and I know where I would be without her. Wintering in Screwedtown and summering in Boringville. In Mom jeans.

B. Oh, B. She is so supportive. I don’t just mean that she listens to me and encourages me and asks the right questions. I mean that she helps hold me up.  I would be a disorganized, unintentionally anorexic mess wearing a permanent layer of pet fur and missing a thumbnail without her. She is the fortress around my office, fielding requests, fending off the unwanteds and just generally furthering our agenda. B is always there with the lint mitt and extra kleenex, organic yogurt smoothies, apple fritters or an apple wrapple. When my manager asked me which of my employees I would take into battle, I uttered her name without reservation or pause. He meant professionally, but that’s only half the story.  Also, her taste is impeccable, and she can be credited with introducing me to such things as cucumber sandwiches, the laughing cow, and velvet sin truffles.  If she made $20 every time I came to her cursing, crying or both with a big messy clusterfuck to be dealt with, she could retire.

I lost a lot of things this year, but I also gained a bestie. We’ve been mutual friends of R’s for years, and friends in our own right for quite awhile, but I really got to know her this year. I admire the hell out of her for her sense of balance. She is disciplined but fun as hell, understanding and compassionate but firm in her opinions, kind and generous but not willing to be taken advantage of. She’s given me some excellent advice, held me while I cried my eyes out, guided me through unfamiliar territory and opened up her heart and her home to me.  She is beautiful inside and out and smart as hell. If I am hot and smart enough to be a pain in the ass, she could be a living terror. She isn’t though, and that’s what I love about her most.

My besties come with an added bonus: their men. These guys are always looking out for me in all the little ways that brothers take care of their sisters. They check my oil, run my codes, stand in line with me for ice cream, voice their support with few words but loads of warmth and firmness, weedwack my yard, and look out for me in general when they can. I adore them, unless the besties are mad at them, and then they suck and must do penance.

These people are my glue. They are my best memories. They make up half of my emergency contacts.  They are incredible individuals and awesome friends.

They are my family, and I’m the luckiest girl in the world to have them, each and every one.