"Best Friends"

I have a few really good, really close friends in my life, and I think they each would feel slighted to think they didn't have the label "Best Friend", but I'm also pretty sure they'd also feel slighted to know that they share the label with about.. oh 5 other people. I consider myself extremely lucky to have found such amazing people in my life that I can be totally open with and them not thinking I'm a (complete) wack-a-doo, and unfortunately the English language has only coined "Best Friend" as the closest title to where these people fit in my heart.

Two of the people that share the over simplified title are two of the most beautiful women I have ever met in real life. Make up, clothes and fashion is an art to them, high heels and hair straightening tools essentials to their lives. I am the COMPLETE opposite, most days forgetting to even put on mascara, and today I couldn't even get my mess of a hair to cooperate enough to get into a bun for me. But. I love these ladies, and they love me.

One of these ladies recently got engaged to the man of her dreams and I was super excited for her, and I'm not going to lie, I wanted to be a bridesmaid. I knew that chances were 50/50 with us living in different states and us not being as close as we once were, but I still wanted. I saw on facebook how she did this super cute collage thing to ask her childhood bff to be her maid of honor and I was like "awe, how cute... I want to at least be invited.." (I was alone. And I know how to be happy for someone while acknowledging my wants too.) Anywho. I recently went out to visit my dad and got to stay with her, and while sitting on the couch chit chatting and smoking from her super cool e-cigs, she just kinda looked over at me and says "So, like I was gonna do this big thing to ask you, but I couldn't figure out something you'd like and ran out of time, so... will you be in my wedding?"

If you don't know me well, that might sound like a slight. But it wasn't. It was absolutely perfect. Yes. The ::idea:: of a super cute gesture thing sounds nice, and I love that she wanted to do something like that for me, but the reality of it is that I don't know what to do when things like that happen. It makes me awkward and uncomfortable and takes away from the moment. I love her, and I love that she knew me well enough to make it feel special. Now I can do my best to contribute from a state away. I did it for my sister's wedding so I think I can pull it off for hers.

The other gal is my skating buddy. She is also a social media maven. I am constantly introduced to the different programs she has to interact with the world. I'm actually pretty sure the reason I IG is her. So we skate, and we're dorks, and we do silly things that you know you're jealous you don't do, and I usually post a youtube of my favorite song of the night and/or a brief description of one of the more humorous parts of our night. She's a Snapchatting, Vine using gal and does the same thing as me, but with videos and pictures. A couple of weeks ago she noticed me discreetly sliding out of her shots and she called me out on it. I then kinda explained how I'm not the most comfortable in front of the camera, and how I've always been more of a behind the scenes person. The following week? She took a few shots with me in them, but for her BIG shots of the night, she asked to hold the camera for her. Again, loves me enough to help push me to the edge of my comfort zone, but then lets me go back to where I'm at. Progress is progress, but it has to happen at everyone's own speed. She even stopped hassling me about backward skating for the time being, because I'm not ready. I want to do it, but I'm still too scared to, so until I get over that hump she's letting me be, and once I'm ready she'll hold my hand.

I could go on about how amazing each and every one who I call my "Best Friend" is, but I won't. At least not today. ;) I just hope that I am at least half of the friend that they all are to me.

I've decided. I must be a fictional character.

It's the only reasonable explanation I can come up with. Somewhere there is a SUPER talented writer telling this story about the person who grows up to be the world's biggest villain or the person who cures all sickness and disease. There is no way I am an actual person.

My back story is great fodder for either of those options, and both are totally plausible outcomes based on the storyline so far.

My roommate asked me about a specific family member last night after I visited with another one all morning, and the words that nonchalantly came out of my mouth shocked me. When giving friends updates on the people I shared a roof with for my childhood I have to water down their most mundane events to not sound like I'm making things up to be cruel, and even then people assume I'm exaggerating. For example: Someone I am blood related to was at one point addicted to meth and hooking for her drugs. Even that one sentence sounds like a cheesy start to a Hallmark channel movie, not something that happens to everyday people. My little "adventures" always have something weird and quirky happening to make the story more interesting, my boring days still have an element of ridicule in them, even when all I want is peace and quiet.

The worst part of starring in this ridiculous life of mine? Since crazy, dramatic, stressful things happen to me/around me ALL THE TIME I'm supposed to be immune to it. I'm not allowed to feel the feelings associated with the trauma of someone I love being hit by a car by someone else I love. My job is to go clean it up and let everyone else deal with their emotions. I'm not allowed to have an opinion on situations where people I care about are pitted against each other and there is no clear cut right and wrong, instead I am Switzerland the neutral party to spew at.

I don't mind it. Most of the time. I want to be helpful and useful and to be that shoulder for whoever needs it, but because of the enormity of the messes I deal with, I can't let it all out to one person. That would be incredibly irresponsible of me. I'm not saying I bottle it (all) up, I do let it out in pieces to a few close confidants, but there is a good chunk I have to deal with myself and it's kinda burdensome. Especially since I am not a robot and have some pretty intense feelings sometimes.. (If anyone knows of the off switch for strong emotions I am interested in the location of said switch)

I was talking to a few people the last couple of weeks, and they all basically said the same thing to me. "But you're so strong, you can handle this all on your own, why do you think you need anyone's help?" Well, duh I can handle it all on my own, that's not the point. I can and will handle any and everything that comes my way because that's what we do as people. We handle whatever is given to us. But does it really make me less strong of a person for ::wanting:: help sometimes? That just seems so.... silly. There's a saying about how strands of rope twined together are stronger than just an individual piece so I have to imagine the same goes for people.

So, dear author of my fictional life, how about you throwing in some levity in my life. Like a carnival with a ferris wheel landing across the street from my house, or letting me stumble across some great treasure. Enough of the back story nonsense, my character is pretty well defined at this point. Let's get to the good stuff huh?

Perfection NEVER lasts forever.

So, back about 5 years ago I found my dream house. 2000SF, 4b/2b, vaulted ceilings, big fancy tile throughout, and then super lush carpet in the bedrooms. The master SUITE (which was half mine) took up about a third of the house, had a separate room for the toilet, a two sink vanity, a soaking tub AND super fancy shower, and a closet big enough to be a bedroom. All for $900. I loved it. And I got to live in it for 9 months of the best living I have ever experienced. The story ends badly since the landlord wasn't paying his mortgage and we ended up having to leave due to foreclosure in like 3 days or something ridiculous. (Cherry on top, the day we discovered we had to move was the day I found out I was pregnant with The Monk)

When I talk about that house, I focus on the beauty and all the great things I got out of living in my dream house. My bar of perfection is that house, and I know that when I go to buy my own property (as many years off as that might be) it will be better than that house. My bar has been set.

I ended up driving past that freeway exit today, and there was a strong urge to drive past it, to check on it or something. The other person in the car did NOT feel the same. When I look back at that time in my life I am grateful for the small version of the perfect living situation. When my fellow traveler looks back at that time, all he sees is the last 45 days of hell we had there.

It made me sad for my traveling friend, because my little sister and two of my dearest friends got to share my idea of perfection embodied in an house for 8 months and that to me is pretty amazing, whereas another set of eyes can only see the bad ending. Maybe I'm naive, but I will have these memories until the day I die, and it seems silly to stay bitter about it, when the good memories outweigh the bad by like a million.

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In a totally unrelated note, I was told I need to remember how to have fun. My response? Ok. I need to go home and reorganize my towel cabinet. Old dog + new tricks = hard. ;)

Writing is hard.. (Duh)

So, I have this here Blog, a Facebook page, and a pen n paper journal.. That is a LOT of places to split thoughts in. 

Here's my breakdown: Quick one liners that I think is funny during my day goes to Facebook; moments I don't want to forget and personal revelations go into the handwritten notebook; and then thoughts that bounce around in my head that I feel might be found important go here. 

I just spent a great (but very stressful) weekend out of town, and I feel like I'm learning a lot in this time of my life, but I'm having trouble processing, and I'm not sure the best outlet. 

Anywho. 

I read a book a while back called Skipped Parts, and it was about two pre-pubescent kids smarter than their surroundings who read books above their age range. The title comes from their curiosity about the parts that get skipped in a lot of books (ie: sex) and they go exploring. 

The story popped in my head during my looooong drive this weekend and I realized that when I'm old and grey this part of my story will be the skimmed over part. I will have reaped the benefits of my hard work and the decisions made, so I won't want to dwell on the hard parts of my life story. 

"When I started my own business things were hard for a while, but that ended and then this and this and this happened and here's the end result" sort of thing. Same way women lie about pregnancy, the baby is freaking amazing, so they gloss over the hellish parts. (I do my best to share the awful pregnancy stories for balance in the universe) ;)

With that being said, not everything that happens in this time of my life is glossed over worthy, and I want to remember everything important that happens, or at least the feelings that I get to feel, so horray for multiple outlets. 

Ha. Full circle writing at its accidental finest. I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't get my thoughts sorted out of my brain..