Though most of you know this season we're in by the less exciting and non gift-related other name of "Spring", February-May marks the blessed season for me that I like to call "birthday season".
One of my sisters, my brother-in-law, my mother-in-law, two of my husband's friends and the most important ones of all: myself and my three closest girlfriends all have birthdays in this brief time span.
I love birthday season, because it means that me and my three girls- Waffle, Blondie and Hotpants- will get anywhere from 2-4 evenings with mostly just us , dinner, cocktails and fabulous gifts. Well, and maybe drunk hot tubbing- who can really predict these sorts of things?
Today, in particular, marks the glorious day when my girl Waffle was thrust into this world (cough) 37 years ago. I'm pretty sure the first words out of her mouth were "What are we doing tonight?"
When I first started hanging out with Waffle, around 6th grade, we shared a friend in common who happened to have the same name as me, however spelled a bit different. Let me tell you, having an odd number of friends in 6th grade was never a good idea. The other "Wiskeymarie" and myself fought constantly for the friendship of Waffle, yet we occasionally set aside our rivalry to band together to make fun of her too. I remember one time in particular, where she wrote a note to me that looked something like this:
Waffle was not fat, but for whatever reason we liked to depict her as such. We were assholes.
Eventually "Wiskeymarie" moved away, and Waffle and I became "BFF"s - mostly because we were misfits and didn't fit in with the "popular" kids anymore. We bought vintage dresses from Goodwill and fancy punk rock shoes from London. We listened to bands like Big Black, "old" and "New" Ministry, Fear, Christian Death, and the Dead Kennedys, but we still had a soft spot for the Violent Femmes, the Smiths, the B-52's and Dead or Alive.
We lusted after boys that had mohawks or otherwise "interesting" hair, we painted our fingernails all sorts of unnatural colors, and we stayed up late at each other's houses talking about this and that- but mostly itching to grow up and "be something" other than who we were and "go somewhere" other than our small-town hometown.
We suffered through unfortunate hairdos (at one point in early jr. high, her nickname was "pube", such was her love of the perm), broken hearts from unrequited loves, our first cigarettes, and many, many questionable 80's fashion choices.
We made it through prom:
And lived to tell about it. We were there for each other when our respective hymens were thrown to the wolves, and we dealt with all sorts of odd and interesting boyfriends through the years, including (but not limited to): tortured "artists", tortured "musicians", guys that should have sent our gaydar into overdrive, cheaters, drug-addicts, nice guys, assholes and the lucky gentlemen who we finally just told to suck it up and marry us.
She's a patient girl, that Waffle. She has put up with my moods, my whims, my bad judgment, my lofty ups and subterranean lows. She never judges, and is always game for a good time. Where I am whim and flights of fancy, she is smart, grounded and inquisitive. Where I am "let's just do this", she is "Let's just think about this a minute."
I show her that sometimes it's o.k. to just do things, and she shows me that sometimes it's a good idea to mull things over a bit and weigh the options.
I love all of my girls with the ferocity of a grizzly bear mother and would drive cross-country in a hurricane, blizzard and tornado to get them a cupcake, if they asked.
Waffle, though. Sometimes I think I owe her my life.
You don't read my blog- you think it's gross, which I find both pretty darn funny and more than slightly true.
But I still wanted to say happy birthday, my dear. I don't think I'd have made it this far without you.