Make New Friends But Keep the Old? Which is Silver and which is Gold?

When I was a young girl scout we used to sing by the campfire in an all American apple pie fashion.  It was quite festive.  As we stood in a circle and held hands on the camp ground, the smell of roasted marsh mellows, melted chocolate, campfire wood permeating the air we would sing: “Make new friends, but keep the oooolllddd….one is silver and the other gold.”

The topic of friendships has been a hot button amongst many of the circles of people I frequent.  As we get older, our circles not only become smaller, but begin to split like atoms.   Like a Venn Diagram (see example below) our circles sometimes split and completely disconnect or sometime cross contaminate each other. 

We have all been there.  You meet someone and they know someone who knows you or they know someone that you still hang out with.  All of a sudden worlds collide and you become part of a larger group.  This is perfectly acceptable on a Friday night when you feel like going to a bar in a said large group, but what about when you need someone to come pick you up on the side of the highway at 4am when your car breaks down?  How do you know which friends are silver and which are gold?

                Life has a way of throwing curve balls, wrenches in your otherwise everyday smooth plan.  In college you had to do nothing but walk from your dorm to class and back and somewhere in between attend events and eat a cup of ramen noodles.  There wasn’t much expected of you, hence friendships then had the same expectancy.   Your need was comprised of someone to let you borrow their notes or drive you off campus to a party.  You were expected to do the same as it was your duty because one back scratch warrants another. 

                In your mid 20’s and early 30’s your needs change.  You need a loan, someone with a lounge VIP hookup, someone who will go and endure a movie about Abraham Lincoln, someone to hold your hair back after a night of debauchery, and someone to hand you a tissue when Mr. Douche bag decides to leave you for Miss. Breast Implants/Tummy Tuck.  There are hundreds of reasons why you need someone in your life who you consider a friend.  Again the question remains- how do you know which friends are silver and which are gold? 

                We all have that bestie…the one who has known us before we even knew ourselves; the one who’s ride or die; the one that if those secrets you shared ever surfaced you would be in some major trouble with the law!  Yes that one.  A bestie is like a professor with tenure.  You have been friends with them forever and you know what you expect.  Like an old married couple.  So when other people come into your lives you expect them to act and react like your bestie.  This is a major faux Paz on our part because friendships are not only circles in shape but have a hierarchy. Perhaps the definitions of levels below will aid in answering the question of which should be considered silver and which gold.

Bestie: refer to definition above and feel free to add your own definition because a bestie cannot be confused with others-you know who he/she is no questions.

Associates: these are people who you call when no one else is around.  It could be an ex with a lavish bank account when you need unlimited cocktails.  Or my personal favorite…the people you call to find out the up and popping spots to take your real friends to.  You may also find yourself on the being used end.  You get that call from that girl that ALWAYS has boyfriend drama.  She’s relentless and gabs the whole time.  Just when you are about to tell her about your day, she has to go because boo-kat she’s been bitching about for the past hour is calling on the other line.  Sigh  :-\

Friends: this can be a big group or a small group depending on how you roll.  The larger the group the better chance there is of being disappointed with they let you down.  I think a sizable group of 5 or less is favorable. Since I like to provide true to life descriptions this is what you should expect.  A true friend allowed to be on this tier should follow suit like so:  the ones that pick you up from the airport even if you land in La Guardia; call you every so often and tell you that they miss; call you to tell you a story of something that happened to them because they know you would appreciate their tale; follow up after the break ups, make ups, weddings to see how you are doing; treat your home with respect; allow you to come to their home and treat you like a family member; go above and beyond and expect nothing in return but an occasional bottle of arbor mist and a good cackle tale.  Two way street with these friends are important!

With all this said- I hope that who’s who is obvious: Bestie-Gold/ Friends-Silver/ Associates-time wasters.

I will leave you with a friend analogy ditty my mother used to say: “if you surround yourself with shit, you’re a shit fly.  If you surround yourself with fruit, you’re a fruit fly.  At the end of the day doesn’t a fruit fly sound more pleasant than a shit fly?!”  Feel free to pass that on as you wish….copy write pending….

TMI on Brazilian Waxes-What your momma never told you!

I have never been one to know or understand the reason behind having boundaries.  Being an only child I have always had conversations with myself.  Once I started school and began making friends, those same conversations and topics that I felt appropriate to go over in my head, transpired into verbal out loud conversations with others.  If I consider you my friend and we can hold each other’s hair back after a night on the town, then I think that TMI should not even be part of our vocab.  Granted I have ample friends who think some topics are taboo…I am just not this kind of gal pal. 

Hence when my friend called me on Sunday to discuss her latest Brazilian wax adventure, I was up to the challenge of a good discussion!  In midst conversation we both took a breath long enough to agree there are many things that should be shared amongst our female brethren that remain secured in a vault for fear of offending someone.  For example, there are Brazilian wax do’s and don’ts that unless you are anal about TMI’s, should be shared. 

Hair removal is a touchy subject in any woman’s book and as we get older there is more and more hair that must be removed from unimaginable places where hair should not be parlaying!  Let us be real for a moment here, after all we are all friends eh?  Hair removal has become ritualistic because of our need to impress our significant others or those we are courting at the moment.  When I went to an all girls high school, we would just pull up our socks and call it a day.  Women empathize with each other that on occasion you run out of time to shave in the morning or perhaps you plain ass just didn’t feel like it on that particular day- we manage to get over it and not judge each other based on hair and whether it’s there or not there!   

Back to my friends harrowing hair removal story…

Now this was the first time she was getting ALL her hair DOWN THERE removed.  I applaud it!  Nothing is worse than sweaty summer cooch.  Nothing! Therefore considering it’s the summer, KUDOS to those who want to air condition their va-jay-jays.  I am sure she appreciates your efforts!

The time lapse from setting the appointment for this valiant event up until you get into the salon can seem long, but nothing…and I mean nothing… compares to how slow time passes while you are on that table, on your back, with a Russian lady spreading all kinds of hot wax on your vagina!  It seems like hours go by with every cotton strip placed on the wax and ripped off your skin.  No exaggeration.  Let’s begin the step by step journey together for those of you thinking about going there for the first time.

When you get there you feel quite accomplished and bold and cannot wait to get it over with!  It’s exciting to imagine the prospects of going back to those days before puberty!  And the thought of being able to just throw on a bikini on a moment’s notice without having to go to Walgreens for razors and shaving cream???!!! WELL O-M-G you kick yourself for not having gone sooner!!!!

Finally you get into the room and are told to strip from the waste down.  Nothing different from, say, your friendly neighborhood gyno.  So you oblige but notice there is no little napkin to cover your whowho, but c’est la vi I guess.  So you lay there, half birthday suit half clothed and Ms. Russia comes in (*insert a Slavic name) and she looks ready for action and ready to inflict pain on someone.  I say Ms. Russia because most who do it and those who are the best are the women who understand how to really get rid of hair because they come from countries where women have lots of it.  No pun intended and in no way being judgmental…it is just truth.

The process begins.  At this juncture there is no escape so you grin, woman up and attempt to build some kind of rapport with this woman who will be all up in your shit for the next 45 minutes.  Things start smooth and the first couple of times you think “well it’s not THAT bad”.  That is until she starts putting her hands in places that feel taboo and also trying to throw a couple of questions your way to soften the blow.   Everyone is different.  I am all for the small talk and that’s mostly because I feel like I have to.  I mean after all, she has her fingers everywhere and parting the red seas so you feel like you owe your new relationship with this woman as much as to make it a pleasurable experience for both parties through the lost art of 4 play small talk.  “FUACATA!!!” another strip gets ripped off and you see STARS, maybe even shed a tear.  You experience that eureka moment of truth and wonder “WTF” you were thinking when you made this appointment!!!   Trust that you don’t want wax everyone and for god’s sake you don’t want hot wax on your clit so I suggest you stay still and let the professionals do their job.  You’re still on your back at this point and perhaps even having a few cold sweats in the process. 

Many curses in your head later, it’s time for the coup de gras…the back door end.  One would think that this would be the most painful and in reality the embarrassing pose and fear that you may fart in Ms. Russians face are worse than the pain could ever be.  Some places like to torture you and make you hold your leg over your head.  A position only reserved for drunken antics in the bedroom.  But there you are, sober as day, with your legs behind your head as if you were getting an adult diaper change.  Other places enjoy making you lay on your stomach and either 1. kneel on all four’s like a dog or 2. remain laying on your stomach and hold your own butt cheeks apart.  Neither of these positions are anything to write home about; however, are better than having them do what they do while you’re on your back.  Considering the delicate tissue located in your frontal area and rear area, a service is provided that you need not be shocked and/or appalled once it happens.  Prepare yourself for some air blowing into holes from Ms. Russian.  At first you’re like WTF is that?! But best believe that you should appreciate this service rather than risk experiencing the alternative (hot wax in your holes).

Phew… it’s over.  Finally you get to put your clothes on and go home and shower to forget this whole embarrassing experience.  Nooooo sorry L You can’t leave until they put all kinds of lotions and babypowders on you in a provocative rubbing manner that makes you appreciate the fact that you blocked this whole part out of your baby years.  After you are done with the lotions and powers you are bare, mushy and sticky.  Time to put on your clothes and pay them $50 plus tip for your roller coaster ride of emotions which you may or may not need to explain to a psychologist one day.  Congratulations on your survival and please come again in 3-4 weeks J

First Loves + Oogway+ Montel= serious life lesions!

My favorite thing to do lately is come home, crack open a beer, sit on my balcony, and reflect on my day.  For some of you, this is something that you do all the time, but for me it’s a rarity and I take great joy on the days my schedule allots me this little dove chocolate commercial moment.  On this particular day, I was sitting pondering life and what I want to be when I grown up when I received a call from a friend whom I haven’t spoken to since I heard via a reliable source (facebook) that he was recently married. 

After we were done sharing pleasantries like, how are you?  any kids yet?  how’s the new ball and chain?,  he tells me he is facing a realization/predicament and wants to know what I think about it.  Now those who know me see this is nothing from the norm as I always receive random phone calls from various people who just need someone who will listen.  Those who don’t may wonder if I perhaps have a counseling or psychology degree.  I assure you all that a BS in history, according to freshman year orientation, was the way to go.

So there I was beer in hand looking at the ducks and turtles swimming in the lake behind my house catching up with an old friend and waiting to see if he was ready to tell me what this new predicament was so I knew whether or not I had time to get another beer.  Four beers later, which according to my calculations was approximately an hour’s worth of conversation time, he finally comes clean.  In college he had a girlfriend who broke his heart.  She started dating someone in a popular campus fraternity and he found out about their relationship one morning as he was pulling an all nighter on campus and he saw the dude coming out of her room.  Now I have heard this story a thousand times in school because before FB we simply had verbal gossip.  Our FB page was our campus cafeteria and we had no choice in who our friends were because there weren’t any “ignore request” buttons.  You just had to be friends with everyone and those who weren’t “friends” per say, still received cordial acknowledgement via the “hey what’s up” nod.

Flash forward years later, my friend married a woman who has put up with years of his shit I’m sure.  He met her on one of his various “business” trips to California.  That being said, his college first love still haunts him.  He admitted to FB stalking her on occasion and said his heart broke again after he saw that she married the same dude who came out of her room that early morning years before.  Although his ex  married her college sweetheart, my friend married someone who will always be his ex’s shadow. 

I spent the rest of the conversation trying to convince him that he made the right choice and he needs to be thankful cause homegirl from college gained way too many pounds and is in desperate need of a touchup in more places than one.  I had to say these mean things #1 because they were true and #2 because first and foremost he is my friend and of course I would be taking his side.

After I got off the phone I sat for another 20 minutes to try and see if I could understand where he was coming from.  By this time it was dark out and I already had a major buzz which really helps in the reflection process because it makes you automatically take ownership of someone else’s problems.  Buzz=the ability to think you are walking in someone else’s shoes.  So while he was probably sleeping and feeling all better about our talk, I sat alone and drunk experiencing his 5 stages of grief.  First was denial: “no way that my friend should be dealing with this bullshit”; second was anger: “dude let it go, we graduated eons ago!”; third was bargaining “well maybe if he told his wife about this, she would understand?”; fourth was depression: “awww this sucks!, how could she have left him for popular dude???? My friend was cool back in the day, no?”; and fifth was acceptance when my husband came outside and asked me why the hell was I outside like an ass “yesss your right hunny…this is not my problem”.

Still thinking about it though, I wonder if there are more people out there who feel this way?  Did we all have a first love that we feel “got away” prematurely?  Are we that love that got away from someone else?  Or are we all with the person who we are meant to be with forever…is there such thing as fate? 

Montel Wiliams used to have a talk show and he would sometimes have episodes where you could go on the show and search for that long lost person.  I used to love watching these particular segments because sometimes you saw two people who were meant to be together become reunited.  Sometimes the ending was good and sometimes bad, but I always remained hopeful until the end. 

I think that there are other reasons we hold on to the ideal of our first love.  Depending on where we are in life, it could be a series of outside factors.  Stevie B sang about a spring love and his details of the day they met seemed reason enough to support the fantasy of it:

I can remember the first time we ever met
The sun was shining
Love was gleaming in the air
You caught my eye and the next thing that I knew
I was in love, I was so in love with you
We were so close for a season of my life
I wanted so much to have you for my wife
But something changed
Season came to an end
I had to leave you
And that's where my heartache began

It sounds so sweet, innocent…before we have kids, before we get stuck in that job we hate, before there are bills that need to get paid every month….there is a moment in time when all is good and happy and if we end up in a relationship at that time then all our memories of those great times become automatically associated with this particular person.  If this is the case and what I think is actually how it is, then I have had many first great loves and they have all gotten away, but I’m a better person for having had them in my life as they all taught me something different.  If I were to go on Montel’s show and seek out these loves, it wouldn’t mean that I would go back to being 16, 18, 21 so on and so forth.  It would mean that this other love and I would have to start in the here and now and we would be two totally different people to each other.  We will never be the person we were back then and if so then woooosaaaahhhh and move on.   Yesterday is History.  Tomorrow is a Mystery. Today is a Gift, that's why
it’s called a Present!  Maybe Ogway from Kung Fu Panda was right in saying that there are no accidents.    Look at himmmmm he even looks wise J

I think it’s the stick lol

Friday Nights during your 30's- disco naps and cat baths

I remember that when I was in my 20's I couldn't wait until Friday night!!!  It was my pot of gold at the end of a rainbow during a week’s worth of dreary, rainy Monday thru Thursday's.  Celebrating life, love and a minimal salary with my girlfriends-wooopwooop!  Thinking back to those good old days when we would paint the town red on BOGO house vodka and/or tequila , but only if there was don pepe on the front of the bottle with his yo samity sam mustache such as this guy below.  Yes this was the good hang over quality ish that all newbie’s in the business world came to love and hate.  Love it cause its cheap…hate it cause it made you wake up next to a dude that sadly resembled this guy the next day.  No Mexican restaurant needed J


Now flash begrudgingly forward, here I am in my late 20's...okay early 30's...I am not here to play tit for tat with you people; but regardless my Friday's have become a godsend in their own right.  Granted, I am making a little more than in my 20's, emphasis on "little", but my today Friday's are just a fight to cram as much partying a humanly possible before Monday’s come to rear their disgusting head again.  Keep in mind that I barely make it alive to the end of the week as it is as I crawl, scrapple, and fight my way to the top of the slime bucket that is the "real world" (yes...this is the same "real world" that sounded so much more promising when we were in college; when the world was our oyster and we were oblivious to the fact that some hoe bag name Sallie Mae would soon be riding out coat tails and depleting our bank accounts). 


For each of us out there the term “partying” can have multiple meanings.  For one person it can mean kicking off your stilettos, ordering take out, and watching a marathon of My Fair Wedding on We TV.  For another it can mean kicking off their Aerosoles, cracking open a can of Natural Ice, and getting mentally riled up for a night of separating whites and colors for washin’.  For younger folk it means calling your friends at approximately noon on Friday (because that’s the time your brain shut down from work mode and has begun only daydreaming of you, leather skinny jeans, and a pink tube top on a dance floor fist pumpin to “single ladies” by Beyonce) and creating your invite list and setting a time and location for the nights festivities.  For those of us stuck in today, you may see the following as a familiar sequence of events:

*via bbm*

Fill in the blank friend: What you doin tonight?

Me: I don’t know? U?

Fill in the blank friend: Well we wanna do something, let’s do something!!!

Me: What is this something??? Are we talking cheap, baller, out till all hours or home before midnight?

Fill in the blank friend: How bout _____(insert name of “lounge” here)?

Me: Ooooo I don’t know…I mean it’s Friday and I don’t wanna be out till all hours, I got mad errands to run tomorrow and/or possible doctor’s appointment. I mean are we talking about 7pm? Do I have time for a disco nap?  Should I shower or cat bath?

Now if the last part seems unfamiliar let me put it in laymen’s terms.  Back in college disco naps, although thoroughly not necessary, were totally acceptable and celebrated.  They usually occurred after an 8am class before breakfast or lunch at 3pm.  In the early 30 years they are necessary prior to a Friday night anything.  Unless you are going straight to a happy hour which only happens when you’re in your 20’s because by Friday no one wants any of “this” (*lifting my hand from head to toe) to be seen in public because I barely can coordinate sock colors let alone a decent after work cocktail outfit unless planned at least a week in advance.

So back to a disco nap.  A disco nap can go one of two ways.  First way is successful meaning that you go home and run to bed with your work clothes on, set your cell phone alarm to wake you up 45 minutes later and then you jump into the shower and get ready for your night to begin.  Then there’s the unsuccessful route which has happened to me many times.  You run home and get to bed with your work clothes, you set the alarm for 45 minutes later, but somehow wake up at the end of 20/20 which then you come to terms with the fact that you will not be going out, text your friends and apologize for your oldness, put on your pj’s and call it a day.  I have sometimes even woken up the following morning to nasty texts and a husband looking at me questioning why I am still wearing my work clothes L 

If you extend said disco nap past 45 minutes, then a cat bath is in order. I have also implemented a cat bath if I need to be out the house by 7 or 8pm.  These aren’t happy hour timeslots, but the time allotted when you hang with older people because no reputable old person will be leaving their house past 9pm.  We don’t like line waits, crowds, or standing at a bar waiting behind Bob the keg stand king and his Barbie girlfriend waiting to purchase a beverage.  We’re like G.I. Janes…in and out before the enemy declares war.  The enemy here being drunken younger people who can’t handle their cheap, house liquor and spend their night bumping into you and swaying their arms in the air in carefree drunkenness….GOD I miss those days!

So whether your old, young, or in denial-one thing is clear!  Friday’s aren’t for the faint of heart.  Whatever your age is, you have to be ready for some kind of Olympic triathlon.  For me, its gettin in a little nap and using a baby wipe under the pits to make sure I’m out the house at a “decent” hour.  For you it may mean having time to buy something you obviously don’t fit into at Joyce Leslie, Rainbow, or Dots and going out on the town in an effort to find your “tonight” prince charming who seemed a lot hotter after 5 Jack n’Cokes.  Either way….TGIF!!!!    

    
 

How in the world did you end up in FLORIDA?!

This question is still up for debate and perhaps, one night, when I have had wayyyyy too many glasses of wine and finished watching Charlie Sheen interviews on youtube will I share my journey with everyone. Because let's be real...who doesn't feel like less of a fuck up after watching Charlie Sheen act like an ass on national television?!  I know that I am not sitting alone at a table on this one LOL.  So needless to say, siting sadly sober at my desk at work with unwashed hair and a newly formed pimple that decided to come out on my chin after lunch, I will leave how I ended up in FL a mystery for now.

I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed, didn't graduate acuna mattata from Harvard, nor invented Facebook; however, I am a kinda funny little bitch with many crazy friends and always manage to get myself into some adventure or other that may or may not involve the authorities, but rest assured never a mall rent-a-cop. 

Do I want followers?  Not sure yet.  For years I have limited my embarassement which is my life to a chosen few hundred people by means of FB or simple phone calls to friends sharing my most assenine stories of the day...but now I kinda want the world to know that "hey, all that stupid shit I thought about on the can or driving to and from my mundane job aren't as dumb as I thought because sunshine's posts are way dumber!"

I don't want to be famous, I don't want to lipsync on youtube in the hopes that 50 cent makes a cameo, I don't want Obama bb'ming me asking for the name of that great lube he read about in one of my posts..  what I want is to make people laugh and take part of this electronic journal of sorts (recevies a text letting her know that blogs are not private-fuck!)

Oh and P.S.  I did pay a college a lot of money for this worthless piece of shit called a "bachelor's" degree.  I saw it on an infomercial one late night and called the 800 number drunk-came in the mail 4 years (*cough*I meant 5) later.  Wasn't worth the 40 grand, but other people seem to think it's helpful.  I'm waiting for mine to grow....

Oh and for those douche people who want to criticize and maybe even offer grammer or spelling tips...please don't waste your time.  It will only make you feel dumb when you figure out how much that shit doesn't matter to anyone but you.  (teehee...bbm smiley face)