I Really Wanna Be Your Best Friend: My Rebel Girl

Rebel girl, rebel girl,
Rebel girl you are the queen of my world.

 ... 

I was 16 years old and I lived in a boring suburb. It was boring, and my boyfriend was boring, and *I* was boring. But with no Internet and no drivers license, I didn't know where to find anything that wasn't just as boring as my own boring life.

Then Madge came to town.

Madge!

Madge held her head high. She wore glitter on her eyes. She laughed louder than anyone I'd ever met. She could write, she could play guitar, she was sure of herself, and she said and wore whatever she wanted. She was brash but tender. Sarcastic yet sweet. She wasn't like anyone else.

Madge was exciting, and I loved her, instantly.

To my shy amazement, Madge loved me back. She immediately became the big sister and best friend I'd always dreamed of.

I still remember the first time she ever called me. I was sitting on my parents' living room floor, petting our dog. The phone rang -- we had house phones in 1996 -- and my mom answered it.

My mom came into the living room and, knowing just how huge this moment was, whispered, "It's ... Madge!" My heart leaped into my throat -- more than it ever had for some dopey boy.

Madge had called me on the phone! And it wouldn't be the last time, either.

I didn't have much to offer to Madge, except my wide-eyed and puppyish devotion. Neither of us had cars, but we went wherever we wanted. We took the bus to the Mount Oliver Bathhouse and pretended to be mermaids when we swam in the pool. We caught a Greyhound to New York City (and figured out, on the way,  how to simultaneously use each other as a pillow). That's where she sneaked me into a 21+ concert, and I was too afraid to talk to anyone the whole night for fear I'd sound underage.

Madge gave me books, and mix tapes, and stacks of poems she'd written. She took me thrift shopping, and helped me pick out a white vintage lace slip, which I liked to wear with my army jacket.

We lounged around her apartment, painting our nails and daydreaming while we cranked Bikini Kill, Liz Phair, and PJ Harvey on her record player.

We went to the beach, and we traveled to see Pearl Jam. She was  the only person I'd ever met who loved Eddie Vedder as much as I did -- and understood him like I did -- with all his aching, beautiful, corny sincerity. We talked about Eddie endlessly, as though he was someone we knew, because it felt like he was.

Madge went to live in London for a while, and I followed her there.

This is us in Amsterdam, where we went to see The Tragically Hip.

Madge cracked open new music, our city -- and the whole world -- and showed it to me.  

I copied her endlessly, but could never keep up with her latest thing. Madge was always starting a new business, working on a new art form, hosting Open Mic nights, fronting a band, or publishing a book.

Madge was constantly taking care of me, even paying my way so I could do cool things with her. But she also challenged me. She laughed at my awkwardness and poked fun at my shyness. And I felt more confident with her by my side.

I'll never forget the day she came to meet me while I was working on my high school newspaper. Madge, tall, sparkling, and long since graduated, strolled in to the school computer lab like she owned the place. My classmates stopped talking and stared at her with open mouths. And I gathered my things and left with her, feeling more proud than I'd ever felt in my life.

Madge was my rock star. She still is.

Looking back, I'm so glad our love never lost its luster, not even temporarily. Madge has always been around, even when she moved away, and even now, as she and her husband meander around the country. We still Facetime, and email, and I know that next time she comes to town, we'll catch coffee or a cat circus or just lay in bed, playing with each other's hair.

Madge, on my wedding day, teaching me how to curl my eye lashes.

Too busy singing

For all the times I cried in your arms,
for all the times you had to pretend to like my crummy boyfriends just because I thought I did,
for all the times you faithfully responded to my meltdowns, never once brushing me off or saying the wrong thing,

thank you.

I love you, Madge!

Happy birthday.

 ... 

That girl thinks she's the queen of the neighborhood
I got news for you -- she is!

What Weekends are For

All week, every week, I notice my pet-hair covered floors and think, "I will run the vacuum this weekend." Or I decide, "I will definitely scrub the bottom of my bath tub this weekend." It always seems like "Sunday will be a great day to clear through all those papers that have been piling up!"

But weekends are a terrible time for all of those things.

Weekends are when I take longer dog walks, invite my friends over for sleepovers, steep coffee in the French press, pull my mosaic table onto the balcony and sit at it while I write.

Weekends are a great time to look at flowers, paint your toenails and eat pancakes in the middle of the day with your best friend.

Last night I got stuck inside a dream

Last night, for the first time, I was fully aware of being trapped inside a dream.

I kept waking up all through the night, and getting frustrated about it because I wanted to be able to wake up to meet my friend Line early in the morning. But then, suddenly, it was Monday and I was in my office. 

i was here

It was a stressful work day because people kept coming in and interrupting my train of thought, and my phone kept ringing with work calls, and I kept trying to keep up with my emails. Then, all of a sudden, I thought, "Wait, what happened to Sunday?"

And I thought back, and I realized that the last thing I remembered was trying to fall back to sleep in my bed. I realized then that I was dreaming, but I didn't know how to stop. I thought, "Usually the dream ends when you realize you're dreaming." But I kept looking around my office, and the dream wouldn't dissolve. 

Then I thought, "This is weird, because there's nothing bizarre about this dream." I looked at my paperwork, and it was all my real, actual paperwork. I spun around in my chair and saw all my binders and books lined up. Nothing was out of place or dreamlike. And it just kept going on like that, every dreadfully realistic detail about being at work on a Monday.

I really wanted to stop dreaming, though, so I kept doing things, like jumping up and down, and trying to scream. But I was still stuck there. Meanwhile, I was worried that it might not be a dream and I was just going crazy. I was worried that if it wasn't a dream, someone would see me doing those crazy things. 

Then I lay down on my floor and told myself, "I'm really in my bed. My dresser is on my right. My bedroom window is on my left. There are pillows and blankets." But instead I could just feel the floor and carpet in my office. I was starting to panic. 

Then my office phone rang. I picked it up and it was my best friend, Madge. Madge told me not to worry because she was sending help. Then I looked up and I saw that there was someone standing in the hall outside my office wearing a white gown. I went out and there was an angel, with wings, with her eyes closed, and she took me in her arms and we started to float. 

And then, I found myself back in my bed.

Yeah for real.


............

In other news, these are a few of my favorite things today:

Scrabble, NOT Words with Friends, although I'm stuck slumming it in Words with Friends because that's what everyone else plays. Why?

Apples to Apples, which I played for the first time last night. The game starts with a green card -- a descriptor. Then you have to play a card in your hand that matches, however bizarrely, that descriptor. Each player takes turns judging the answers and picking the winner of the round. I played poorly at first because I was playing with some people I had just met. Then, I started to figure out how everyone ticks, and I knew that Caitlin would think that wine tastings are "cosmopolitan" and Matt would think that Stonehenge is "fancy."  

Matt and I get along, incidentally, because we both thought "pigeons" were best described as "intense," even more intense than "tornadoes." 

Sea foam green nail polish that matches my iPhone. Okay really my iPhone; I succumb!!!

This.

Holy crap Porter the Beagle is totally grinning at me. You can't even say he's not.