The Best Friends Of Time.

5-Soulful-Ways-To-Support-Your-Best-Friends

So this post was going to take a while for the idea to be formatted inside of my head and then the whole writers block begins and I end up being increasingly frustrated.

Not at the words that are wanting to escape through the tips of my finger tips but rather the mind is refusing to give up the hostages.

It actually went like this:

Click into Google and type out the following: The Vampire Diaries, Season Four, Episode 19 review.

Click into ‘Den of Geek’ and see what they had to say.
Get to bottom of page and than: BANG!

Hostages are freed and I am now sitting here typing my little heart out while making a ton of mistakes and having to fix them while I go through it. Typical is the main word that I am thinking right now and you are probably sitting there thinking: ‘WTF? she watches The Vampire Diaries? Dude, she must be at least 13 really.’

In case you are sitting there and thinking that, to which I secretly know that some of you are at least “in the closet Vampire Diaries lover”, I am in love with vampires at the moment. And no it didn’t start with the whole Twilight Saga crap… Okay that was maybe later on when I started calling Edward Cullen ‘Twinkle Toes‘.

It started originally when all I could see in emails and messages from friends of mine, this show that they were talking about. Guaranteed  some of them were talking about The American Horror Show (now I tried watching that and I got into about 10 minutes of it before seriously nearly shitting myself from fright. After that, I couldn’t watch it).

But the rest of it was this show called: TrueBlood.

And every time I had brought my dvd’s from Sanity, I got asked the same question: Have you seen TrueBlood? I am in love with that show. To which I would sit there and reply: “No, I haven’t.” and I would of course get a “How dare you? You are so missing out on life” kind of look.

So I finally went for the Russell kill (get it?) and brought the first season. AND oh my gosh. That was the best 50 dollars that I have spent on a season of something. Now not even my Sopranos’Nurse JackieVampire Diaries and Pretty Little Liars cost me that match.

To which now all of those shows are sitting in my bookcase, along with my textbooks and folders, all beautifully arranged in genre and then alphabetically ordered.

Yes, I do OCD when it comes to having everything listed in alphabetical order and in genre. Even my music and clothing down to my shoes are like that. Cm’on people, you have to admit: It is easy to locate everything and put it away.

Anyway, I then started reading the books and acknowledging the dysfunctional and slightly weird relationship between Sookie, Bill and Eric. While poor Pam and Sam stand off to the side and are all like: “Hello people, we do exist ya’now?”.
Now I am officially addicted and have gotten my brothers and sister addicted along with me. First it was Desperate Housewives with Jordy, then it was Ellen with Jordy and Kate and now it is Operation Repo–> to which the “Whole” family is now addicted to watching it.

To which it all started with Mum loving ER and watching it on the weekend with me while we sat there in our pyjama’s. Now I am just trying to find the spare time (or there lack of) to get Mum interested in Nurse Jackie. So far, its a bust but I am starting to try it out and see if she likes it. I think she might but we shall see.

Once again, went off course like I normally do. Where were we? Ah, yes.

Another thing that kept on popping into my head while I spent two hours yesterday in the kitchen cooking with Mum and another two hours today, was the fact that I used to have this friend (used to being the operative word, here people). Who whenever they thought someone had farted, would bend down and literally sniff where their arse was.

Totally awkward since clearly I am a girl and like every other girl..Mhm; yeah. #Awkward.

I don’t know why this thought has been popping up in the mind but then I have had some weird friends in my life.

From instance when I was six, I used to have this friend who a.) preferred to be called Debra. b.) used to walk around school flashing her bra (why a seven year old is a wearing a bra, I have no idea/clue) and c.) used to go up too teachers and say: Did you put deodorant on this morning because I would really love to smell your armpits.

Let’s just say, she was dumped immediately afterwards.

When I was eight (clearly it is now happening in a two year bracket), my somewhat “friend” persisted on calling my parents by their first names, after them repeatedly telling her to call them Mr and Mrs B O’Chunky but then it eventually ended up with her calling them ‘Mum and Dad’.

I got angry because no one deserved the right to call my parents that unless they have gone over a mountain cliff, swam through a volcano and then sat in the middle of a fire ants nest. After all: having survived to tell the tale. Only then are they allowed to call my parents Mum and Dad.

Like normal, she was dumped immediately after I told her: “Its not you, its me. I’ve just got issues and I totally don’t think this relationship is going to last. It’s better if we just end it now. Saves us both having broken hearts.”

Even then I was using that sentence at such a young age.

When I was nine, I used to have a friend who would sit in the tree in her backyard and proclaim that she was once a bird is her last life and that when she wanted too, could spread her arms out wide, jump from the tree and fly off like a bird. Yeah, that didn’t go to plan when she did exactly that and then broke her leg in two places.

Our friendship lasted for another six or so months before I was moved to another school.

Hence where I meet arse smelling best friend and very quiet best friend.

Arse smelling best friend appeared to be normal in public, it wasn’t until behind closed doors that she started smelling people’s bums. There are a lot of other stories that I could tell you about her but then I am trying to protect the poor innocent souls then the guilty ones. So all I can tell you: she would not have made a very good nurse nor a stripper at least.

Besides, what twelve year old sits there when asked what she wants to do with the rest of her life and replies with: “I want to be a stripper?”

You and me both, Buddy.

My very quiet best friend was everything that I had been looking in a friend for as long as I could remember. She didn’t call my parents Mum and Dad right away, ask people to smell their armpits, jump out of trees and break legs. Want to be a stripper. Or want to jump through a hoop that was burning.

No, in fact: SHE WAS NORMAL!

I remember the first day that she walked into my classroom with her Mum and now her Pop; looking as if someone had stolen her, dressed her in a very ugly uniform and then said: “Go by the name of SunBeam MoonPop.”

I knew from the moment my eyes landed on her that we were going to be the best of friends. In fact, I walked right up to her with my hand held out and a smile on my face and declared “We are going to be best of friends you and I.”

Before telling her parents that they could leave as I had the situation handled pretty well and then dragged her over to the mat so we could chat. Well, let me clarify that: I did most of the talking while my “best friend” sat there in shocked silence.

Sure enough, we became best friends like I had predicted and informed her on that day. Our relationship grew that we were both calling our families, family, our mothers where known as : Mum 1 and Mum 2. Our siblings where each others siblings. It didn’t matter if we didn’t have the same blood running through our veins, all that mattered was that we were sisters.

If we didn’t spend every weekend together after attending 5 days at school, we were calling one another continuously on the phone. Besides, who need the phone for an emergency? We had things to discuss.

All the while our poor little Arse Smelling best friend appeared as if she had been left out in the dark.

She had been in a way mainly because she was uptight all of the time and was constantly sitting there saying: “I’m going to tell on you!” (really Big Baby?) and also because she was boring. We had seen enough of her ‘pole stripping’ dance moves because we knew when things were repeated.

Plus it was only quiet best friend and myself who had to sit there and be witnesses to the horribleness while our eyeballs tried to escape madly from our sockets. Only be launched back into our heads, with all thanks to our optical nerves.

But then, there were moments where she would have everything hanging to moments where she was conservatively dressed up, we didn’t know what was a knee cap to a shoulder.

An old biddy before her time was often the quote we used to say when she would say: “I’m going to tell your parents on you.” But also because her Mum was very cautious as to what her daughter: can’t, couldn’t and wouldn’t do.

I think if I had been cooler, I would have just turned around and knocked her out. Or sat there and blown cigarette smoke in her face, with my fabulous red lipstick lingering in her mind before winking at her and continuing on.
Hence how we all got busted smoking at the age of thirteen because we dobbed all three of us in since we knew that if one went down, all three went down like a domino affect.

And then there was the time, Quiet best friend and I staggered out of my bedroom when Mum turned 40 and I loudly proclaimed while holding onto empty wine bottles (which had been presented to Mum for a birthday present) “This is the best bloody wine. Do we have anymore?”

To which both of our mother’s turned around, looked at us with eyes bulging out of their heads when both of us started laughing uncontrollably. Clearly, we were pissed on my Mum’s birthday wine.

Mum never really did get to try that wine. #howsad ):

But then after several years of a great friendship, it started to crumble slowly. Simply because we were changing in nature like all teenagers do, our friendship was influenced by other people who were a good or not so good influence and we just needed a little break from one another.

Fast forward three years and I had found my perfect kindred spirit which lasted for two years. Oh she brought out the wild side in me, hence where Scarlett come from. She introduced me to smoking again, although it lasted for a weekend (oh wow!), drinking (oh my!) and letting my hair down.

My little Jamaican Love Child showed me why drinking too much lead to being violently ill throughout the night. Also she showed me what a complete dick my ex boyfriend was when he refused to drive me to the hospital when I told him, “I’ve got alcohol poisoning. I need to go the hospital. Can you please drive me?” to which all I got was him rolling over in bed and then mumbling, “No. Tell me in the morning.”

To which I am truly thankful of and probably have never told her. THANK YOU!

Then after five years of growing up, situations and experiences that have made us who we are today; Mum 1 and Mum 2 began to rebind their friendship after eight years of silence.

The weariness that started on both sides, the awkward moments of silence while remembering what the old days were like have now morphed into moments where the phone rings and you won’t see Mum for four hours.

Before flouncing out of the room with a smile of her face and proudly claiming as if we hadn’t heard the massive amounts of laughter to which only three people can cause that, “Oh, just got off the phone from Mum 2.”

And now at family holidays, meetings and gatherings the old stories about quiet best friend and I appeared out of my room, holding onto the two bottles of wine and laughing hysterically at something that hadn’t been said.

Along with the “Where’s your thigh Scarlett?” while stroking an ankle. I truly don’t see that one fading into the background in the near future. In fact, I still believe it will be brought up at every funeral of the Old Folks.

However for the last twenty three years, I have had six amazing people that I can  call my best friends. To which are my amazing family members.

My Mum simply because I can call her up at time of the day or night and sit there and say: “Hey, it’s me. Got a quick question?” or “So Bridget; how’s your sex life?” to which she knows that I am rocking on the spot and pretending to shift my imaginary penis.

Also she is the one that comes out with stupid things like: “Bewinklewinkle, in my little tinkle while I do a msssive finkle.” and that’s without the affects of any drugs or alcohol in her system. Not that she does any.

Also I have resorted to doing exactly what she does with her own mother, “Hey, it’s me. So I am trying to bake this cake right, and well I can’t remember if the recipe says that is it 1 1/2 cups or rather 2 and 1/4 cups? Can you remember?”

Little Lois in the making…Oh wait, we have already been there and done that.

Moving on.

My Dad is one of those guys that if you buy him a Stig bobble head and Stig coffee mug for his birthday, he is love with you for the rest of his life.

Dad is that one guy that I would call up (before calling my brothers, boyfriend and brother in law) and say, “Hey, I have just scored two tickets to a really cool MotoGP type movie. Want to come?” He is also the guy that I came too when I have serious guy issues and need his advice.

My Brothers are the big, burly idiots that I sit there and shake my head at. Not because I am embarrassed by their antics in public.

Oh hell no.

I am sitting there because I have just egged them on and they are doing what I have told them too do. Also, I just have to sit there and give them a subtle head nod and they are on that guy that has been annoying me all night while out nightclubbing and has been trying to feel me up; and he is either out of the club or they are planning on having a little “party” with him the male toilets.

They are my protectors and for that I am truly thankful that I am smaller then they are because they make me feel like I am cute at my height.

As for my Sister, where I do begin with her?

I would describe my sister as one of the most extremely beautiful, down to earth, ‘your legs go up to armpits and more?’, amazingly talented with a hammer and nail gun, knows how to knock a guy out without having to use her hand and is my home girl.

She is one of the people that has the makings of a model, the glamour of one and has the height, boobs, maturity and stunning Sophia Loren looks that anyone could possibly want. But all she wants to be is a builder because in her words: the modelling world is too bitchy and I am not like that.

Even thought that this is going to sound pretty much silly and like I am full of myself, but I have just come to a conclusion. A conclusion that I have been trying to seek for years:

I don’t need best friends nor do I need friends because all of the friends’ that I could possibly want; I already have. And they come in the name of “Family.”

And like any best friend would do, I would wish my little Babies a very happy 20th Birthday for tomorrow. You have been incredible throughout my lifetime, even through times where I have thought about selling you on Ebay or smothering you with a pillow, and will continue to do so.

Happy birthday my little darlings and I hope you have a brilliant one.

With much love, kisses, hugs and rolling of the eyes
S.

With that,

Until next time.

Cheers xo

 

 

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