September 22, 2005

HB, PFB

It was inevitable that the story of how she and I met would make my blog. She has threatened in the comments of posts, where I’ve mentioned this story would be blogged upon, that she will put in the comments HER version as she likes hers better. More drama.

She cracks me up. Today seemed fitting. Today is her 39th Birthday.

A little about us:

I met her in 1980. August of 1980 to be exact. She became my best friend. Now 25 years later, she is a sister. She’s pulled me out of some bad stuff and we’ve gotten ourselves in some real binds. We’ve both laughed until we’ve nearly peed all over ourselves. If we lived in the same city, we'd be inseparable.

We go through streaks where we’ll talk every single day… and then a couple weeks will go by where we play phone tag. One time her husband realized we had not spoken in a few days and alarmed he said to her, ‘What’s wrong? Is she OK?’ As if by our not talking, I must be dead. But it’s always like we can just pick up the conversation where we left off. We know each other better than we know ourselves, I think at times.

We are so different from one another. I think people probably laugh. I am short and brunette. She is taller and blonde… beautiful silky blonde hair like you see on models in the magazines.

She has a sparkle in her face and a wonderful attitude about life. I am the cynic.

She has a pure heart of gold, a touchy feely sort who is full of hugs and doles them out readily, making all those around her feel special. I am far more reserved and untrusting.

She cries at Hallmark cards and Phone commercials. I struggle to get myself to grieve and cry over all the relatives who have died in the last 6 years. It is not that I do not grieve… it is just easier not to deal.

She is a wonderfully talented artist… a photographer with a born gift accented with a trained eye. Her house is painted beautiful colors on the inside. I am a mathematician who works to wear solids so I don’t clash and has every wall painted beige since I figure it is warm and will blend with anything.

She is even tempered and tries to keep her anger in check. I will fly off the handle and become a whirlwind of angry energy, lashing out at any and all who hurt me or those close to me.

Nary has a bad word come out of her mouth. I can cuss and make a sailor blush.

To say she has pulled me off that precipice of darkness once or twice would be underestimating the times. She is the optimism. I am the pessimism. She is the euphoric happiness and I am the sadness.

We are different. Yet… we are one. We compliment each other. I cannot imagine her not in my life. And how we met seems fitting.

I am 1 year and 2 weeks older than she… exactly. I was a sophomore in high school and she was a freshman. It was the first day of school. Although we didn’t live in the same neighborhood, we were to ride the same school bus. My bus stop was before hers. Our bus was overcrowded, having to sit 3 to a seat. He who got on the bus last had to figure out who they were going to squish in with. It sucked.

My neighborhood had some real low life kids who lived in it. A group of them got in considerable trouble with the law and were known to be doing drugs. Some of them were just down right mean. Mean as snakes. As luck would have it, the meanest one lived 2 doors down from me.

I was in high school marching band. Our school had the #1 nationally ranked marching band in America that year… we marched over 200 strong and practiced all summer long and for three hours after school… every day. As we pulled to the last stop, the bus already overflowing with teenagers practically sitting in the aisles, I watched as this freshman I recognized from summer band, got on the bus, carrying her saxophone case.

Slowly the cute young blonde freshman, who looked so quiet and nervous, lumbered down the aisle with her books and large case and as she set her case down in the aisle, the nasty mean girl that lived next door to me said something rude and mean to her.

I looked over at the nasty girl and told her to shut up and had the young girl sit next to me.

We became best friends. Now… to hear her tell the story, I slayed a dragon and fought for all that was right in this world, which always cracks me up.

You’ve seen her comment as PFB, which stands for… Pudding For Brains, for she says when she reads my blog she feels stupid. She is far from it. She has a brilliant mind. Y’all have seen her son… he’s Mr. Smoochy Pants.

Happy Birthday, PFB. We’ve known each other for well over ½ our lives and coming up on ¾. How did it all go so quickly, girl???

Posted by Boudicca at September 22, 2005 07:47 PM | TrackBack
Comments

Happy Birthday!

Oh, and the memories of carrying large and heavy instrument cases on a crowded bus.....some of the worst times of my life!

Posted by: Sissy at September 22, 2005 08:16 PM

Happy Birthday PFB!

Posted by: vw bug at September 22, 2005 09:02 PM

Happy Birthday PFB!

Posted by: Laughing Wolf at September 23, 2005 07:25 AM

Happy Belated, PFB!

Posted by: That 1 Guy at September 23, 2005 12:57 PM

I am sorry to be responding so late to your blog about us. This is by far my favorite story of all time (the second is how G came to NYC to help me move down to Ga.). You got it right, btw, the only part you left out was the explative that I am sure you used when addressing Miss Nasty. My life has been a much better and funnier place by having you in it for sure. I am certain no one else will be reading these comments at this late date, but a big thank you to your blog friends for the sweet b'day wishes. My birthday, btw, was the absolute worst day of the year. Thank you, as always, for being there to calm "Emotional PFB" down. I love you!!

Posted by: pfb at September 27, 2005 02:05 PM

I can't believe it, my co-worker just bought a car for $33633. Isn't that crazy!

Posted by: Betsy Markum at November 14, 2005 06:02 PM