Hiiii! I have to talk about a very important subject. Very!
My best friend, Socks! Here she is, as illustrated by yours truly:
Isn’t she gorgeous on the outside? Well, the inside is so stunning you’ll lose all interest in plastic TV people and shallow fictional characters. I will never be able to do her justice using mere words, or a Brushes finger painting.
But, fuck it, I like a challenge. Here’s the smallest glimpse into why I have the best best friend in the world.
She fell in love with her next door neighbour when they were both kids. She never wanted anyone else, and she never would, or had to, settle for less. They’ve been married over a decade now. He is soooooo lucky.
She’s a fab artist in a bunch of different medium. Mediums? Shit, I thought I knew how to write. Different artistic materials that you use to make artistic stuff with. She’s so good my English fails me :D She’s so good she could teach, and has.
She sends REAL MAIL. Not a big deal? When’s the last time you got a real letter or postcard or package? How about one that is an original painting, and tells you how fantastic you are and how much fun the sender had in the act of creating and sending it? Yeah, it’s a big deal.
So far I’ve not gotten personal, but this is: she sends me things all the bloody way over here! It costs a fortune to send silly things like Peeps, or giant candy canes, or Kraft mac n cheese to another damn country, but she does. Things I can’t get here, and I mention without thinking about it… show up on my doorstep. I live 3,000 miles away from anything I ever knew, and everyone that I’ve known longer than seven years. She sends me bits of ‘home’ so I don’t get too sad and lonely. She’s the one who realised that I might need such things in the first place.
She puts up with Oirish Tirsday; our weekly phone call, that goes on for hours. Yes, we’re both married. But some things you can only talk about to a best friend. And she listens, sooooo much better than I do. Hence her sending me prezzies from ‘home’ that I bring up in passing, and immediately forget about.
She’s funny. I get to snort laughter more on an Oirish Tirsday than I do all week.
She’s a genuinely nice person, but not a doormat. She recently had to meet someone that did horrible things to her and her family. I never, ever, would have met with this jerk. Her hubby didn’t understand why she would, either. But because she was incapable of being even the tiniest bit of an asshole, they met…and it was fine. Even, perhaps, good. Wow, babe. You are way stronger than me.
She takes care of everyone, and I mean everyone, in her life. I worry about that, that it is too much for one person to handle. But I’m one of the ones she takes care of, and I don’t want her to ever stop.
There are some, just some, of the reasons why this gal rocks my world.
We talk, obviously, a LOT. About anything. Sex? well, duh. Self-analysis? yup. Art, writing, music, food, pets, our respective menfolk, family, the occult, cannibalism, murder, and poop. Actually, I think we talk about poop more than any other single topic. Hey, it’s a never-ending source of humour!
Back in January, a new topic came up. Children, babies, having them, why and why not. Well, it wasn’t a new topic. But it hadn’t been talked about in ages, because we’d agreed that kids are oooky.
And I think I’ll leave you hanging, here, as there is sooo much more to say still.