My dear readers (Hi, Mom! And the other two of you out
there!): I’ve come to accept the fact that this princess is smack in the midst
of middle age. Sure, the gray hair and crows’ feet were early signals, but the
joint aches; the night sweats; and the raging case of shingles I developed this
year made the fact undeniable. I? Am no spring chicken. I’m a sweaty, aching,
chunky old chicken with a very expensive hair dye habit.
I don’t really have much to complain about – except the
night sweats, which are truly revolting. (And if I’m going to sweat like that,
why am I not losing any weight? This phenomenon makes no sense to me and I
would like to take it up with Mother Nature. That bitch has some ‘splaining to
do.) Once I came to terms with my middle-agedness, I discovered and unleashed a
whole new batch of neuroses. Between the sweating, the shingles, and my neuroses
both old and new, it’s a miracle I’ve managed to do much else lo these past few
months – but I do get out occasionally.
One of the greatest things about middle age is the ability
to reconnect with the cast of characters who played starring roles in the
earlier chapters of your life. In the past six months, I have been fortunate
enough to reunite with three “VIPS” from days gone by – and each reunion has
left my heart full of joy and my brain on overload. Christi was my childhood
neighbor and grade school friend. We wore barrettes with long ribbons, shared Bonne Bell Lip Smackers, and
roller skated around the ‘hood. Life took us in different directions after
grade school, although a series of unfortunate incidents found me spending my
sophomore year of high school at an upscale, suburban school where this poor
white trash did not fit in even a little bit. I was so happy to find Christi and
her spiral perm and big bangs in the midst of all that privilege – until, of
course, my hoodrat boyfriend kicked me to the curb because he had the hots for
her. We never spoke again . . . until about six months ago when we attended the
same book club meeting. She is a mom to three young men; a wife; a dedicated
employee; and she remains one of the kindest and most compassionate people I’ve
ever known. Young Christi befriended me when I desperately needed someone to
eat lunch with, and she made one of my most awkward years of high school okay.
Neither of us ended up with the guy, which is just fine because trust me . . .
we both deserved much better. Christina – thank you for your friendship in the days
before iPhone and thank you for making an encore appearance in our middle age.
I changed schools in 7th grade. While my friends
were starting junior high, I transferred in to a middle school where I was
supposed to learn all about technology. Spoiler alert: I did master the art of Pascal
programming but my inability to wrap my dense brain around algebra and
basic science dashed any STEM dreams I may have had. And let me be clear . . .
I was boy crazy as hell, so my STEM dreams were motivated by the abundance of
testosterone in those classrooms. “7th grade me” was awkward on a good day. I
was 5’10” with bad hair and a mouth full of braces that I only came to appreciate
in adulthood but worse, I suffered from crippling shyness. This was not a
recipe for success for a kid starting at a brand new school, and I struggled to
make friends and fit in, until I met Alexandra. We were the Bobbsey Twins of awkward
– both of us desperately uncomfortable in our own skin and desperate to fit in;
to be understood; and to be appreciated. We were not our best selves back then –
but we had a lot of fun hanging out at the now defunct Terrace
Mall, trying on eyeshadow and pretending to be grown up.
7th grade me. Check out that unibrow and those braces!
There is really nothing worse than being a 12 year old girl.
You’re stuck between being a kid and thinking you’re much more grown up than
you are; you’re not prepared for things like menstrual cramps and periods; and
you’re a giant dick to your parents because you’re trying to assert some form
of independence. No 12 year old girl can do it alone, and thank goodness I had
Alex as my wing woman during those awkward years. We graduated from 8th
grade and promised to be BFFs forever in the way that only adolescent girls can
– but different schools took us on different paths. We reunited again in that
fateful 10th grade year and then our friendship faded away as life
took us on different paths.
Of course, as a gal of a certain age, you reflect back and
wonder what happened to so-and-so from your youth. Social media has made it
easier to creep on your old friends and foes, but it’s not foolproof. It wasn’t
until Christina (of roller skating and boyfriend woes mentioned above)
connected Alexandra and me on Facebook that we were able to connect the dots,
once again proving Christina’s awesomeness. And just like with Christina,
Alexandra joined a book club meeting I attended, and we caught up on life. Her
journey hasn’t been easy but she is madly in love with the man she married and
she is laser focused on creating the best life possible. To sit next to her as
an adult, with both of us sitting up straight and not apologizing for who and
what we are was a blessing and a gift – and I look forward to continuing the
journey with Alexandra. (Bonus points that neither of us had to remove our
retainer and wrap it in a napkin during our reunion.)
This brings me to my most shameful confession and my most
joyful reunion. I met my best friend Andrea when I was a freshman in high
school, and she became my “ride or die” for the next eight years. We never
attended the same school; we hung with different crowds; but we were friends from
the block. We attended the same church; we were in youth group together; and we
were coworkers at the infamous Bunny Store. We consumed rivers of Diet Coke;
ate thousands of mozzarella sticks; and thanks to the instructional
videos of John Hughes, we mastered the art of stalking boys we liked.
Anti-stalking laws were not a thing yet, so don’t judge. We survived near
hypothermia and assault from kamikaze Boundary Waters
Canoe Area beavers. We sang Beatles
songs; got kicked out of Canada; had our hearts broken; and one year, we even
ventured to WeFest in my old Pontiac Sunbird.
Early career goals
Andrea was a ray of sunshine to everyone who met her. Quick
with a smile; kind; generous; and fun – she was everything I wanted to be. She
was the ying to my yang. One of us was a blond extrovert with a killer tan, a
big personality and a contagious joy. The other one of us was a pasty, freckled
red head with crippling introversion, a quick wit, and a fear of pretty much everything.
Our friendship made the transition from high school to college to beginning
adulthood . . . until Mr. Wrong came along. You can read all about that fiasco
in my
prior blog.
Mr. Wrong was all kinds of wrong – and although he stole my
money and wasted years of my life, the greatest thing he ever did was leave my
ass. I wasn’t brave enough to walk away, and left to my own stubborn devices, I
would have stayed and made both of our lives miserable until death do us part.
While I was so wrapped up in playing house with Mr. Wrong, my friendship with
Andrea faded away – and I never understood why. For the past 20 years, I’ve
missed her tremendously and I’ve wondered where she is and how she is and there
has been so much I’ve wanted to share. Not to mention that I really needed to
discuss those kamikaze beavers because no
one believes that story!
Fast forward and social media recommends that I might like
to become friends with Andrea. Hell yes, I would! Thank you, social media bots
for your creepy, stalkery algorithms. After a few false starts, we finally met
up for dinner – and we picked up right where we left off over 20 years ago. And
it was over a platter of nachos that the truth revealed itself . . . Mr. Wrong
drove a wedge between us all those years ago. Without even realizing it, I put
a mister before a sister – and I let Mr. Wrong tell my ride or die that I didn’t
have time for my old friends. Now, when I look in the mirror, in addition to
the myriad of other flaws I was already imminently aware of, I get to look
myself in the eye and realize I’m the girl who put testes before besties. Oh,
the shame. THE SHAME! Thankfully,
Andrea is nothing if not gracious and we agreed to make up for lost time by
making all kinds of new memories together. If “making new memories” happens to
include making voodoo dolls of Mr. Wrong and stabbing the living shit out of
them, well, so be it.
Andrea & me - reunited at last!
Friends – whether for a reason, a season, or a lifetime –
are one of the greatest joys and blessings in our lives. Reuniting and having
someone to take a walk down memory lane with is priceless, even if that friend
remembers your Duran Duran obsession
(Christina); the crush you had on that nose-picking A/V dork John Jansen
(Alexandra); or the time when you pretended to be lesbians so no one would recognize
you (Andrea. Also: not one of my better ideas. WORST DISGUISE EVER.) Whether we
were riding our bikes to the park or going to our first dances or portaging
canoes in the BCWA, these three ladies were my confidantes. We knew each other’s
hopes, fears, and dreams – and although not a one of us wound up where we
thought we’d go, we all have gone to even greater places than we ever imagined.
25 years ago, I was a cashier in a convenience store,
destined to become the very first La Mere to graduate from college. (Or else.
Guilt is a very powerful motivator, Dad.) I thought maybe I’d be a teacher or a
writer or maybe I’d save the world like Batman. In the words of Douglas Adams, “I
may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I’ve ended up where I
intended to be.” #Grateful
© 2017 Princess D.
