Friends With Benefits - The Good Kind

Friends With Benefits.

#FWB

The phrase has entered our collective consciousness as a pal you can sleep with, no strings attached.

Friends with Benefits is a glorious, magical thing.

All the benefits of a relationship, without any of the hassle, drama, or compromise that sucks the life out of you, should you choose to yoke yourself to another person as you trudge through life.

I have had numerous FWBs in my life, but none that have meant as much to me as the father of my precious little Roo.


Before anyone gets up in arms, saying, "I KNEW IT!"----- I need to elaborate.

Lexers has (had) a Daddy.

And he was my best friend.

He was also my Friend With Benefits.  LITERALLY.

Literally, but not in the figurative (i.e., generally acknowledged) sense of that phrase.

We had all of the best qualities of a romantic relationship; shared experiences and memories with our children -- but none of the crap that comes with romance, sex, or "love".

Holidays punctuated by his amazing corn casserole (DIE, green bean casserole, you have nothing on Jimbo's magical, golden dish!), his ham AND turkey for Thanksgiving and  Christmas, and his cheesy cauliflower (cauliflower being pronounced as follows: CAWL-EE-FLOWER).

Christmas mornings with Santa leaving a potato in Mommy's stocking while leaving Roo and Daddy candy, toothbrushes, whoopee cushions, and a letter asking them to do better, try harder, and be kinder in the coming year.


The "benefits" we shared were watching our child grow together.  Being a team against Lexers' constant onslaught of deviousness.  Sharing his amazing biscuits and gravy for breakfast, making dinners with Lexi's big brother Tony and talking until the middle of the night on the front porch.

Jimbo was not my lover.  (Well, once, obvs.  Possibly even twice--DAMN YOU, Jameson!)  He was not my boyfriend for more than about 5 minutes. 

He was my buddy, my 'conscious-co-parenter', the bane of my existence at times, and so much more.

What he was....well, he was my best friend.  He was the rock I clung to when the stormy seas of my life tossed me around. 
He gave me advice. 
He got mad at me. 
He forgave me. 
He had my back all the time.  Always.

He made fun of me for watching Sex and the City ("All this show does is give cougars hope they can catch some hot young dude when that almost never happens in real life", he would growl.) 

Conveniently forgetting that most of his girlfriends/wives/fiancees--which were legion-- were all AT LEAST ten, and occasionally TWENTY YEARS YOUNGER!

He tolerated me playing 10 years worth of FRIENDS Thanksgiving episodes every year while we collaborated on a feast for our family.

He gave my niece advice, rides to school and events, and her first job as a cook in his bar.

He gave my sister advice, sarcastic criticism, a TON of shit, and a night job when she wanted to raise a down payment for a car in a short period of time.

He gave me advice, friendship, criticism, a TON of shit, and a place to call home.

Jimbo was my best friend.

We fought sometimes. 
We laughed together. 
We squabbled over lots of things. 

He spent a year ripping on Bernie Sanders, with the sole purpose of pissing me off.  I advised him DAILY that Hillary would end up being the real opponent to his CheetoColoredCottonCandy-Headed martinet of a Presidential candidate, but it irked him that my 'hippie shit' extended to a Jewish, Democratic-Socialist grandpa from Vermont, and he wouldn't let it go.

He lectured me about drinking and smoking too much (pot, meet your similarly-colored friend kettle), he lectured me about ditching my last (ridiculously moronic and pathetic) boyfriend, advising me that I "[wasn't] getting any younger" (again with the pot and kettle, yo!), and that I should think before I broke up with him and went back into the dating world 'at [my] age'--I was 37....

He totally had my back in pretty much any situation, and was always down to give me hours of unsolicited advice, peppered with 'Jimbo-isms'.

"Number one, you......number two...."
"My point is this..."
"What your don't understand is..."
"It is what it is"

And, of course, "Yeah, Yeah".   Which he said all the time.

ALL THE TIME. 

I started this #500WordsADay blog challenge last week, but couldn't go past day 2....

I'm a little busy.

Moving out of our house, boxing up all of his clothes so his kids and I can go through them later when the pain is not so fresh.

Helping my little baby bird cope with the loss of "Daddy"...her BFF...the person who took her to Chuck E Cheese (always on Tuesdays), long after I refused to set foot in there ever again.

Trying to muddle through writing obituaries, family statements, opening mail that is not mine, cancelling credit cards and bank accounts and ordering memorial shirts.....all the things you go through when someone dies on you out of nowhere....

Thing is, if it was anyone else this had happened to, my buddy Jimbo would be right behind me, lending support, advice, and being a rock for me to lean on.

And now I have no one.

Don't get me wrong, I have a terrific supportive family nearby, and Jimbo's friends have all rallied round and offered support, advice, and help.

 And it is SO appreciated.

So I don't LITERALLY have no one.

Figuratively, though, I am alone.

I am Roo's mom.

And she has no Dad. 

And I have no co-parent.

So, while I have spent the last few weeks telling everyone I am fine, and I 'got this', and I am strong enough to cope with this on my own, the truth is I am tired.

I am tired of missing my friend.

I am tired of watching the knowledge of how alone we are break over my little girls face and make her eyes fill and her chin waver every few hours.

I am tired of being patient with people when I just want to scream at them to leave me alone because my heart is broken and life -- as I have known it for the last 10 years -- is totally shattered.


I am tired of being mad.
I am tired of being sad. 
I am tired of being tired.
I am just fucking tired.

I wish I could say I feel Jimbo watching over me and lending me strength.

I wish I could say I  know everything will be okay.

I wish I could say none of this actually happened.


But...

I don't feel him.

I dream about him, sure,  just normal stuff---making spaghetti to impress yet another new girlfriend, changing light bulbs, buying WAY too much bread-- but that makes waking up even worse. 

Because none of those things will ever happen again.

Never.

I don't know everything will be okay.

I have a 9 year old little girl who lost her BFF and her partner in crime. 

I don't know how we are going to get through graduations, weddings, or any other major life event without her loud, gravelly-voiced, opinionated father directing the show.

I don't know how to make him real for his 3 kids or 2 grandchildren...How to tell them how much he loved them, how to teach the babies all the things he would want them to know about him, and how to make them understand what a vibrant, interesting, caring, and thoughtful person they came from....(they all look just like him, too!)

This happened, though. 

It's real.

It's a 'thing'.

My best friend (actually, he was TONS of people's best friend -- it was just how he rolled) is gone. 

My friend with benefits (the good, true, lasting benefits) is gone.

And I just don't really know what's next....

Stream of Consciousness or Verbal Hemorrhage?

Blah. Blah. Blah.

There really is no point to tonight's blog.  I haven't posted in a while because I am writing a novel.  Seriously.  A big, huge, fat, book-type-thing. 

Aside from that, I miss writing here.  Partially, because I love seeing how many of you guys read this and I love the comments and the PMs I get (although the comments and messages would be better served if you posted them here...money, yo.)


I have been really angry lately, and have avoided writing here because I want 'here' to be about the funny.


I am angry because I have been watching the news, and may I TELL you, I am so fucking sick of hearing about police officers gunning down unarmed citizens?  I come from a military background, and I married into a law enforcement family.  I GET why people become police officers.  I do.  But why the fuck don't they just taze and mace people...maybe smack them in the kneecaps with their sticks?  How the fuck is it even rational that a gun with bullets is the first option?  Seriously.  You bust a fool across the nose or throat, his thieving ass won't run away.  And you won't be on trial for murder.  And then the "protests" (i.e., riots by a bunch of uneducated jobless dicks that would send MLK spinning in his FUCKING GRAVE) would not be happening.  Just my 5 cents, yo.

THIS is what I want police to be like.....



 

Or this...I'm not picky.  PS - I just may need to be taken downtown, Officer.  In handcuffs.

Also angry because sometimes I just get SO DAMN TIRED of belonging to my family.  Literally.  In the last 2 weeks, the following has happened in my family----lies, destruction of property, breach of contract, stabbing someone with a PITCHFORK, conniving, drunkenness, drug-dealing, and a pepper-spray incident.  For reals.  All I want to do is make sure the children in our family are raised right, treated well, and taught how to function as adults....but the so-called 'adults' in my family can't see past their own craziness, so the kids are put in the background while the adults make Honey Boo Boo and Mama June look like the QUEEN OF FUCKING ENGLAND.  Seriously.  I just want to resign......move to Boston under an assumed name, and spend my life taking Lexi----I mean Gisele (her alternate-universe name)----to Red Sox games.

*sigh*

All this turmoil has me writing like CRAZY....my book is flying along.  The crazy thing about long-arc narratives is that these people suddenly take on lives of their own, and I am trying to figure out how to bridge the gap between where I planned them to end up and where they are ending up on their own....it's frustrating.

Also, I am having some major issues in my personal life since about 40% of my exes--all of whom are married or in long-term relationships---have been hitting me up for some sex.....Flattered or offended??  I can't decide.  2 of my exes are, like, my super duper BFF's.  Jimbo and That Fuckin Mooley are just friends....but a ton of other 'kicked dicks' are asking to hook up.  Not gonna happen, of course, but I have to wonder.....what is up with that?  Why am I being singled out for some major soul-sapping sex-with-the-ex suggestion?s  Not gonna lie... I have been sorely tempted----I have been celibate so long, I am pretty sure I have re-grown a Super-Hymen with a cape, tights, and a Kevlar vest.  But, no. Not. Gonna. Happen.

Smile, fuckers, you are on TV!!
 

Speaking of TV, Game of Thrones is back on TV, and I have to wait until my buddy Webster can come over to watch it with me.....a vow is a vow (AHEM.  Yes, you.), but that hasn't stopped me from doing Google checks for spoilers and predictions and fan theories.  Gettin' my geek on, allllll day, err day.

THIS guy......

Today marks a very sucky 'anniversary' of sorts.....if you read this blog post, you know that I lost a part of my soul 23 years ago today.  I aways think about what could have happened if the accident had not.  Where would she be, how many kids would she have, where would we fit in each others' lives......What. If........ 

3 Jaguars.....
 

I don't know, although I occasionally dream about it.  I am trying to write about her, trying to give her a story and a life - eventually I will get it right, and hopefully you will all read it and maybe I will be at peace with it.  The universe fucked THAT call up BIG TIME, so who is to say I can't do better?

Shine on, SES!!

I am so fat right now, you guys.....it is awful.  But, if you ever drank a 6-pack of 21st Amendment beer.....well, you would know why.  Oh, also because of enchiladas.

Heeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyy!

Just saying. 

This is kind of a weird post......no topic, no linear narrative, and no Ryan Gosling.  Wait, what?

Oh yeah, I smell awesomeness!!!

Okay, that's a little better.

Good night, guys.  Give hugs to people you should hug, cut devious scandalous-ass motherfuckers out of your lives, and above all.....practice good manners.  SERIOUSLY.  Manners matter.



'Night.  Love you Sara, Nicole, and Naiche.  Ties that bind, kids....Ties. That. Bind.

Something You Never Got Over - Day 22- 30 Day Challenge

Something You Never Got Over

 

 

 

I have always been super lucky to have great relationships....and I am not just referring to the Dating Game, but relationships in general.

 

Friends, co-workers, lovers, FWBs, neighbors, etc., etc., etc....except 1 or 2!

 

I have been so lucky to have so many fabulous people in my life, and I am always endlessly grateful for those relationships.

 

I have many people I have been friends with since I was a child, and I have managed to stay friends with some amazing people  from different phases in my life to this day.

 

Except one.

 

I have ended friendships that I felt no longer were healthy for me, seen friendships slip away slowly and - mostly - painlessly, due to distance, lifestyles, and other things that happen as one meanders this crazy planet in search of meaning, moments, and money. 

 

Ending relationships is sometimes painful, sometimes liberating, and sometimes joyful, and I have always been pretty philosophical about the life cycle of friendships/relationships/or whatever you call interactions with other human beings.  Always understood that, like bad fashion choices, questionable haircuts, and IKEA furniture, you sometimes have to leave people behind to move forward to the place you were meant to be; and I am usually pretty ok with that.

 

Except once.

 

 

 

This is the story of The One That Got Away.  The one person/experience I will never get over.  The one person that I think am constantly thinking about at totally random times and trying to figure out where this person would be if things had turned out differently.

 

 

This is the story of the Three Bimbos....

 

I met Sarita, aka Bimbo #1, Freshman year in math class.  We talked here and there, were in the same group a couple of times, and she was always nice....a bit loud, maybe, but very sweet. Never thought when I met her that she would be one of the most life-changing friends I ever had.

 

2 years later, during our Junior year, we became friends.  Not just any friends, mind, but best friends.  I really don't know when our casual 'Hi there's' in the halls became friendship, I just know that, all of a sudden, we were friends.  Nicoretta, aka Bimbo #2, I met through Cheer....I think.  Maybe I met her before then, I am not totally sure.  You see, once the three of us became a trio, it felt like we had always been friends forever...and that we always would be.

 

I am not sure which of us coined the phrase '3 Bimbos' (completely inappropriate moniker for 3 virgins who NEVER had boyfriends!), or who decided we should be Sarita, Nicoretta, and Margarita---don't judge us, we were 16!! 

 

I just know that we had the kind of friendship you see in movies. 

 

 

 

Always together, writing each other 3-way notes and passing them in the halls between classes, and lots of shenanigans.  We had crushes on boys and called each other "Mrs. [insert crushes last name here]" when we were not in school, we made plans to go to college together and continue our BFF-ness forward into life. 

 

Shit, we even made each other MIX TAPES.....and you know, in the '90's, if you made someone a damn mix tape, your asses were pretty much married!  We labeled our mix tapes S-N-M Jams (again, clever little virgins making sexual references that had no basis in reality!) and blasted them for weeks on end.

 

S. loved the mall.  I hated the mall.  That did not stop me from accompanying her to the mall whenever the mood, gas money, and me being sprung from the prison of my house struck.  S. would roll up my driveway in her Suzuki Samurai, I would run out the door, and we were off.  N. would either already be in the car, or we would grab her on the way out of town and we were OUT.  Burning down to Sacramento, blasting music, talking non-stop, having the police roll up behind us and use the bullhorn to shout at her to slow down.....that was the life.

 

N. and I. were cheerleaders, and S. would show up at games-not exactly because she was a big fan of football and basketball -- but to whistle and clap when we danced, grab us afterwards, and head off to Jack in the Box to hang out in the parking lot and see what we could see.  Small town, guys, so shut up.

 

 

Probably headed to Jack in the Box...

 

 

What can I say about the 3 Bimbos, and about S. in general?  Loving, silly, sweet, kind.  She had the most beautiful smile, the most gorgeous hair (and she knew it--she was always wearing it down and flinging it around!), a hilarious laugh, and some weird taste in music - or so it seemed to me at the time.  She would blast the Steve Miller Band and the Eagles when I was dying to listen to Boyz 2 Men or TLC, but she loved Nirvana as much as everyone else did, and would listen to Depeche Mode as often as I asked her to.  She would come to school and tell us about how her butt had striped burns from the tanning bed, write me notes to make me feel better when the love of my high school life was being flaky or weird, and she totally is mostly responsible for my 1st child being born, as she loved this dorky goody-two-shoes former neighbor of hers, and pushed me endlessly to 'go out' with him.

The three of us laughed together, cried together, and generally just loved each other....completely and unreservedly.  We sometimes held hands while walking around, and we always said "I love you" when we got off the phone.  We were three silly girls in the prime of our teen lives, we were best friends, and we were golden....

 

She should be standing right in front of that big guy.....

 

 

Spring Break came along, and we had been talking about a trip down to Santa Cruz to check out the town we were going to move to and attend college at, once we were done with NU.  I remember I had already talked my dad into approving it, and was nervously watching my mother for signs that would let me know it was a good time to ask. 

 

We didn't make it to Santa Cruz over Spring Break, because on April 16, 1992, my beautiful friend left us.  Forever.

 

There really are no words to describe the gut-wrenching soul-crushing agony of losing someone you love.  You either know it or you don't.  I'm not going to try to describe what the days and weeks and months after we lost her were like....I couldn't.

 

What I can tell you is this - I think about her all the time.  Not daily, but probably weekly.  I am always wondering where she would live if she were still with us, who would her husband be, how many kids would she have...Stuff like that.  



 

For many reasons, that aren't my place to state here, N. and I sort of drifted apart after that.  Our hearts were still so connected, and the love was definitely there, but the fact was that S. was not there anymore....and that absence, that void, was too painful to be in the same room with.  We still hung out here and there, and we still talked whenever we saw each other, but the simple fact is that the three of us were something larger than life and, without S., we were just us.  Two friends with lots of little things in common, and one major thing that we could never have in common again.  I think it was about 5 years before we could really hang out together and be the same friends we were before, without feeling crushed over what was lost.

 

 

 Sometimes I dream about S., even to this day.  And it's lovely, because she is always that same beautiful girl that never has a touch of glitter in her gorgeous curls (that's grey hair to you mere mortals), she doesn't have wrinkles, and she is exactly the same as she was the Friday I hugged her goodbye. 

 

But it's also awful; because, whether it happens in my dream, or whether it happens when I wake up----there is always that split second when the whole thing slams into me all over again.  It's a different kind of pain than it used to be, but it still hurts.  Sometimes, I will see someone with her hair, or hear a laugh that sounds like hers, and I always stop and look twice....just in case, you know?  And then I am reminded, again, that it could never happen....

 

 

N. and I are still friends, by the way.  We have gone years without talking here and there, but we can pick up right where we left off without missing a beat.  Over the years we have continued to laugh together, cry together, and we have shared in each other's lives from afar with love.  N. and I will always be friends.  I am fairly certain that when we are little old ladies, we will be sitting by some shore at sunset, drinking wine, and probably talking about our grandchildren.  I am looking forward to that, I truly am.  And maybe, just maybe, there will be some time where we can talk about our beautiful S., and bring her into that moment without it being sad, without breaking our hearts again. 

 

 

 

This should have been us....S. would have been the one hop-scotching!