Wanna be Paris to my Nicole? Or vice-versa. Whatever.

BFFAllow me to gush for just a wee bit. I was smacked about the head last night, figuratively of course. I had a realisation – hence the head smacking.

A few months back, I made the proper acquaintance of a young lady. I say proper because we had been friends for a couple of years but just never quite got close, in that sort of pre-Madden Paris & Nicole way. We had a turning point a few months back and all that changed. Now I’m in total friend crush… I heartily believe that never again will I suffer the pain of not having a BFF to dare to do a shimmy in the middle of a shopping centre.

But what’s the big deal? I’m a girl. And as such (I’m generalising, sure), I need a gal pal to giggle with, someone to spend a couple of hours over-analysing with at breakfast, someone who understands why it matters to me that the dress I’m in heart with is never gonna fit, someone to bitch about husband to, someone who’ll cry with me at the movies. This shit matters!

About a year ago my then best friend dumped my sorry ass. Not in so many words of course. She just sort of disappeared from my life. It was just as heart-rending as a breakup. Ok maybe not but not too far off. There was teariness and sleeplessness for a few days. It took me about a year AND finding a new friend to really get over it. Much like a breakup. In fact, when I questioned my ex-BFF about what was going on, she played dumb and gave no reasons. Just like a guy huh! In hindsight, we weren’t right for each other. That I can admit that now is, well, I guess I really have moved on.

This time round, I’ve got myself a bestie who is, by far, the most trustworthy person I’ve ever met and we’re a lot more suited just cos we’re in a similar place in life. She’s cool, quirky, creative, funny and one of a kind. The best part though, I KNOW that she’ll be there for me. And, I feel so safe and comfortable that I wouldn’t hesitate to ask.

That is my realisation… that because I’m quite an independent person, the sign of true friendship for me, is knowing that if I needed help I WOULD ask. That has not been true in the past – I’ve always felt like “the depended upon”; like I was needed. This time I feel like we’re equals. She might need me and I might need her.  We will rely on each other. And that’s ok.

So perhaps the Paris/Nicole analogy is a bad one under the circumstances.  Perhaps…  Jennifer Aniston to my Courtney Cox?  Or Gail to my Oprah?  Gwyneth to my Madonna?

Does Zooey Deschanel fantasise about herself when she can’t sleep?

500full-zooey-deschanelIt’s 3.43am and contrary to my earlier predictions this evening, I’m apparently still wide awake.  I’ve tried all the obvious remedies – warm milk, reading, valium and sweet, sweet dreams of my eternal girl crush Zooey… all to no effect.

This is not a new phenomenon to me.  Usually it succeeds a hatred for my job, distress about a best friend who didn’t live up to promises made, or panic about an ever increasing credit card bill.  This time, I can’t really lay claim to major concerns on any of those fronts.  Life is good (credit card debt notwitstanding).  Work is, you know, ok.  An previously undeveloped friendship has magically worked its way into real connection and I no longer feel the gaping hole of my formerly disappearing BFF.  Husband is funny, charming and keeping the home fires burning (*snigger *).   I’m creatively inspired and excited for what seems to be a promising venture.

Perhaps therein lies the clanger.  Today I inadvertantly did the most mortifyingly embarrassing thing through sheer stupidity.  The sun was out and mother had lent me her convertible for a few days.  What is a girl to do?  Get in the damn thing and drive of course!  I wandered here and there, lapping up the luxury of a warm winters day on my seasonably pale visage (all hail tinted moisturiser!).  As someone who works from home the sun is a foreigner to me.  I’m daily cloistered in a cool garret with a candle melting fat drips of  wax as I toil and a thin worsted blanket loosely covering my shoulders to keep the cold from bruising my bones.  Ok I exaggerate.  It’s a lovely desk with a pretty view of a vast, hulking, deciduous green tree and central heating. And I wear my PJs and slippers to work.  Whatever.  The point is, to spend an hour or two drenching myself in the sun is unusual.  

Notice how long I’ve avoided getting to the actual point?   Yeah well.  I managed to completely and utterly lose track of myself and forgot a 3pm appointment which was really important to me.  To do with aforementioned future creative endeavours.  Till I got a politely innocuous sms at 3.30 reminding me where I was supposed to be.  At that point, I would like to have flayed the golden warmth from my face and arms and return to my cold garret in shame.  I of course was in Manly  so still obscenely far from where I should have been – in Rose Bay.  Mortification complete.  Did I mention I had already postponed this meeting from the previous day so I could frivolously see some ridiculous baby elephant?  Which didn’t eventuate after much waiting around.

So here I sit, vainly (god, please let me be wrong) hoping that this last ditch effort to expunge my embarrassment from my brain by sharing with others in writing will, at last, help me get to sleep.  Writing as therapy and all that.


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