i make no apologies

for saying what I feel… for being who I am… for how I chose to repair what you broke.

Category: B & E Convos

April 18, 2012

Clipboards in the Rain

Dear E,

You know how broke I am. But today, I took my earbuds out of my ears and stopped to talk to a Planned Parenthood fundraiser who waved to me. She was standing in the rain with a clipboard. I told her I knew everything she was about to tell me, so we just chatted instead.

I told her I can’t be a member and pay $30 a month, and that I can’t do $15/mo. Instead, I gave a one time gift of $52, symbolic of 52 years of birth control.

The reason I’m telling you this is because you and I are those girls who hold clipboards in the rain. We’re the girls who stop to talk to girls who hold clipboards in the rain, even when we’re broke.

Love,

B

via

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February 13, 2012

Happy Birthday, E.

Dear E,

It was your birthday today, and I wasn’t with you. And that’s not okay. 

Your birthday celebrates your life. That you’re here. That you exist. And that you matter.  Birthdays are special and important, and anyone who belittles them sucks at life  (This is why we celebrate mine for a month… because other people waste the great occasion. And I shout “IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!!” and make the band at the bar sing to me, because it’s a fucking special occasion.).

And because your birthday is a celebration of you, it is one of my favorite days of the year.

It’s a day all about you being here.  Being here for me.  Being here with me. Being who you are… my best friend.  So, it’s all about you, but I’m gonna make it all about me.

I get to make it all about me because knowing you is possibly the greatest gift in my life.  And I will celebrate this GREAT gift…

that I know because of all of the little things…

Like the shopping sprees  where you and I cannot and will not shop for anything on the same racks because our body types and personal taste could. not. be. more. different.  But we  meet up for accessories because we can’t get enough of that cheap, sparkly shit… and OMG—owl necklaces for E! And peacock earrings for B! And flowers for our hair!

It’s in the phone calls that spontaneously happen because we CANNOT BELIEVE what one of us is telling the other via text.  We need voice confirmation of WTF has just gone down.

It’s in the “OMG, get on gchat” moments.

It’s in the fact that we can be driving somewhere, and if I tell you a family secret the size of a bomb, you don’t wreck the fucking car.  You are quiet. And then you say all of the right things. And knowing what you know, you never look at me differently, except maybe with more understanding.

It’s the fact that you get the random afternoon texts that say “Be my friend.”  Which means so much more. It’s not just about attention. It says “I’m not alone, but I’m alone. I need you. You’re my best friend.  Say something empowering or funny”… It’s not just “I miss you.” It means, “MY LIFE IS SHIT WITHOUT YOU.  Be here in this moment with me”… and so much more. (And when I say that to a guy and he doesn’t get it, you will go poke him in the chest.)

It’s in the late night texts of “Love me more.”  Which means “show me you love me, and do it soon, because I’m dying a little here, and I need to know you’re there.”

It’s in the fact that if we ever, God forbid, get knocked up, we will pray to whatever gods will listen that we’ll have boys. Not because we don’t want to dress up little girls and watch them become smart asses like us… But because we can’t imagine raising girls in the world we live in, and certainly not in this country, where women are still owned in so many ways. Where our bodies are considered “parts” by our government that is composed mostly of men, and some parts are worth protecting while others are not.  Where our paychecks are 70% that of a man’s. Where women fight every day for equal rights to education, for small business loans, for sports coverage, for a media that covers women because of what they do/are accomplishing/think/are capable of, and for a fighting chance at military recognition and protection agains rape, sexual assault and verbal abuse. We know what it’s like to be on guard all the time, to be bitter and cynical simply because we were born female, without our permission. We know what it’s like to every second be ready to defend ourselves, our positions, our merits and our brains.  That every time we demand equal rights, we are made out to need/want special rights.   But it feels like only you and I know this, and we feel alone in the fight. Women are still second-class citizens in our first world, wealthy, democratic nation.  The women who fought for what we do have today are rolling in their graves because we aren’t organizing fast or hard enough and our rights are being reversed… and it’s a heavy burden to bear… too heavy for little girls who have to grow up too fast.  We share the same fear that when our  (potential) smart, capable, educated, strong, open-minded, big-hearted daughters look into our eyes and ask us “why would you put another woman on this earth?” we won’t have a good enough answer.

It’s in the fact that we don’t have to weigh or mince words with each other. We say what we mean. We mean what we say.

It’s in the E.E. Cummings poetry.

It’s in checking my texts before I even get out of bed in the morning to make sure you didn’t need me or that I didn’t miss something in the night.

It’s in when I tell you that I’m going to go protest or engage in civil disobedience, you say “don’t get arrested. You watch LOCKUP. You KNOW what it’s like on the INSIDE.” And then you wait on standby in case you have to bail my ass out.

It’s when I say I’m going to go Occupy, and you say, “okay, I’m coming with you, but I’ll need a place to plug in the curling iron, and I’m bringing my Coach purse and those bitches are just going to have to deal.”

All of these little things in my life… are what my life is composed of. And my life feels BIG because I know you.

Happy Birthday to you. Happy Greatest Gift Day to me.

But it was your birthday today, and I wasn’t with you… And that’s still not okay.

Love,
B

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November 30, 2011

You’re My Person

B:  I’m in a dark place right now emotionally.

E:  I’ll be on the next plane with a flashlight.

E:  Or maybe those helmet things with the bulb attached to them, so we’d have our hands free.

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November 27, 2011

TO BED.


B: Booking my tickets now. I can be with you for New Years if you still want me.

E: What good is a year that doesn’t start with us together?

B: OMG, I had a crazy f*cking dream about us last night. We were downtown at the bars in pajamas. Not like footy pajamas, like Blair Waldorf sexy pajamas!

 via & via & via

E: What happened?
B: B*tches were all like “WTF? It’s fricking freezing, quit dressing slutty & put a damn coat on!”

Blair wears pajamas in public. Why can't we?

via

B: Except we were so hot. And our friends were with us. And the haters were jealous. And we were like, “We’re putting 2011 TO BED!”

E: Bwhahahaha. Can that be our new slogan? Apparently it’s been a hard year…

B: April and May were GREAT months. Everything else (besides the Homecoming holiday) can go to Hell…

E: TO BED.

via

B: It was like a big pajama party. In public. And by big, I mean, elite.

E: So, I’m thinking we need to have a PJ theme party for New Years?

B: Obviously, it needs to happen.

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November 20, 2011

How can this go wrong? Combined, we’d make a whole stripper.


E: Strippers in North Dakota make 2-3 grand a night. HELLO CHRISTMAS BREAK.
B: Hahahahaha
E: I need a new car. You need rent money. How can this go wrong?
B: Hahahahaha
E: You have the boobs, and I can dance slutty. Combined, we’d make a whole stripper.

 

image via

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November 16, 2011

Another Gchat Convo

E:  I finally figured out the biggest problem in our friendship

B:  What?

E:  We’re not the same shoe size

B:  You finally understand

E:  Yes, and that it sucks more for you since I’m the one with the better shoes.

image via

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November 12, 2011

E doesn’t love there anymore.

Texts from last night…

E: “I will go to his city in December for a concert. I won’t call him to tell him, even though he introduced me to the performer. I won’t let him know I’m in town, and it will be okay. There will be a few heartbreaking moments, like ‘Is this the street corner we stood on?’ or ‘Was this the diner we ate breakfast in?’ But mostly, I won’t think about that. I’m older, wiser, and just a little more jaded.”

B: “Please. Don’t. Call. Him. Please.”

E: “I won’t call him. E doesn’t love there anymore.”

image  via

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November 8, 2011

Dear B (and readers of the blog) , Love E.

Dear B,

   Oh, I'm READY.  Ready to do this shit.  Everyone should probably know
that I'm the one who finally forced us into doing this, and therefore
should get the top billing when this blog is made into a book, and then a
movie, a la "He's Just Not That Into You".  Eventually it will make its way
into cable syndication, where hungover sorority girls will watch it in lounges
on TNT or E! network, just like we use to do.
  I agree, we think we know everything about each other, but I'm sure we're
going to run across things that we somehow forgot to tell each other (like
the incredibly sad but funny Rubbermaid story).  IMNA is just another medium 
for us to share our discussions, our stories, our one liners, and our
incredibly-important-check-your-email/phone/texts-right-now-moments.
Do I expect everyone to understand us?  No. At times, I don't even understand
us, or even myself, so it's probably asking a lot for 
random people to understand the force that is B&E.  

Here are some things that I think you should know, in conjunction with B's list. 

1) Grammar IS slutty, but I will call you out and mock you in regards to fucking
up "you're, your", "they, they're, their", or "to, too". I've broken up with people
for this repeated mistake and I have no regrets.  

2.  I love Gossip Girl and Greek, and will reference those series all the time.
Either wiki that shit, or start at Season One, because Chuck and Blair wait for no one. 

3. I am pretty all the damn time.  Its hard, but I make it work.   And by that, I 
mean not at all.  

4. I still don't know how we became friends, but that doesn't matter.  Much like a
great deal of our friendship, we're not quite sure what exactly happened, but we know
we like the end result.
Xoxo,
E
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November 2, 2011

Dear E. Love, B.

Dear E,

Buckle up, bitch. Here we go. It’s probably about damn time we do this. I mean, we’ve only been talking about it for a year.  We are about to share our deepest tug-of-war-with-the-effing-heartstrings thoughts and our day-to-day ridiculousness with whomever is blessed enough to happen upon this masterpiece.  Lucky bitches! If only they could bear witness to our chats and texts… oh wait.  Some of those will likely show their heads here as well. I make no apologies.

While we think we know prettymuchfuckingeverything about each other, I’m sure that here on IMNA we’ll learn secrets (Are they secrets after they’ve entered the blogosphere?? Blogosphere? Should I never use that word again?) about each other that we otherwise would never know. Here we’ll be reminded of stories we’ve long forgotten (or buried DEEP down inside), some that will sympathy-break our hearts again, some that will make fresh heart cracks, and some that will just crack our shit up.

(I have no transition to this next part.)

Here are some things you should know (Both for the blog’s sake and just because.):

  1. Grammar is slutty. She likes to be used. But sometimes I will fuck shit up. Just please grant me forgiveness and read on for my purely awesome content.
  2. There will be no “Keeping Calm and Carrying On.” I will smack a bitch hard if he/she disses you in the Comments. (Actually this applies to IRL situations as well.  Like in bars. Like when a guy uses the word “tits” in reference to your corseted boobs.  Not that you can’t handle yourself, because you clearly can/did/do. I’m just sayin’. When you’re done handling it, I will handle it. This bish don’t play.)
  3. I never believed I’d have a best friend that I could share all of this with and have confidence that it wouldn’t be used against me in some evil fashion later. You know, this shit is blackmail material— pure bitch fodder. Please don’t ever fall in hate with me, or my. life. is. over.
  4. So yeah, you officially have access to all the documented ugly things that go on in my head/heart/history/present/life. Be gentle. I can’t be pretty allthedamntime, mmmkay?

i make no apologies... for this awesome Venn diagram. I'm not Venn. I'm B.

You know you love me.

XOXO,
B

Blogger commentary after this post was posted:

E: “The chart is effing awesome. Those circles are perfect. Clearly you used something to trace them.”
B: “Clearly. I knew it was going to look shitty enough with perfect circles, so I couldn’t risk any more shittiness.”
E: “Bwhaha”
B: “No one needs to believe that B is a 3rd grader with sexual experience and a potty mouth.”
E: “Bwahaha”

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