by Melody Bowen
Page 2
I absolutely love catch-up-on-the-gossip phone calls from my girlfriends. My best friend called tonight to give me the latest scoop in the continuing saga of her lovelife, and we swapped boyfriend stories & advice -- with all the racy details, of course -- and giggled for a good half-hour like a couple of schoolgirls the day after senior prom. Ahh... it's great to be a girl. It amazes and delights me that in three days I will be 34 years old, yet I can still partake in those latenight telephone "dish" sessions about clothes and boyfriends and whaddaya-gonna-do-this-weekend kind of stuff, and it's just as much fun as when I was 16.
Make no mistake about it; I'm not always the typical silly girly-girl who dots her i's with little hearts or smiley faces. I can be assertive and tough and strong when I need to be (hell, when properly motivated, I can bring a grown man to his knees with a tongue lashing that could rival Julia Sugarbaker). Nevertheless, it's still deliciously fun to do a little dirt-dishin' with my friends on a Tuesday night. OK, so life is a bit different now than it was when I was 16, when my biggest worries were that I might get a bad grade on my English test or that my folks might find out that I had a cherry-vodka-Dr.-Pepper at the Poison concert. Eighteen years later, I don't worry about grades anymore (I somehow made it through two post-graduate courses at Oxford), and if I want to pickle myself with cranberry Tartinis, no one but the puglets has to know. My worries now are bills and family and savings and does-my-boss-think-I'm-doing-a-good-job-on-this-project kind of things. Nevertheless, a good oh-my-gawd-you'll-never-guess-what-he-did phone call from my buddies makes my evening complete.
Tonight, we re-hashed a panicked 2 a.m. call from one of our friends a few years ago after she'd slithered out of a sleeping colleague's bed (in shame!), jumped in the car, dialed her cell phone, and stammered, "Oh...my...gawd...something was wrong with it! I think maybe he was... uncircumcized? I had no idea... what to do with it!" We laughed about how she said he was a 'turtleneck' kind of guy and she was a 'crewneck' kind of girl, and it was just as much fun to re-live the conversation all these years later. Granted, we were the epitome of girly-girls tonight, but we still spoke (briefly) like adults about our day at work, what our friends' kids are doing these days, normal grown-up kind of stuff. (So there.) The best part about us, though -- me and my best friend, that is -- is that we will always, always, always remember how to be girly-girls when we need to be. We'll always discuss in detail the newest colors of nail polish, we'll always debate the merits of strappy sandals-versus-open-toed-mules or bikini-panties-versus-thongs, and we'll always chat and giggle and whine about the men in our lives. Ahhh... it's so great to be a girl.
Note to self: At work tomorrow, when thinking how nice a non-shared office would be, or silently bemoaning the oh-so-anal boss, stop for a second, take a breath, and think about the word 'turtleneck'. It promises to make for a good girly-girl laugh in the midst of a big-girl kind of day. Ahhh... it's great to be a girl.
The countdown to my birthday is on -- less than five hours and counting. I was born March 26, 1970 at 12:32 a.m. (my mother has always complained that if I hadn't been so stubborn I would have been born on the 25th instead of waiting until just after midnight on the 26th). At any rate, only a few more hours until I say goodbye to 33 and hello to 34. [Sigh.]
Unfortunately, my biggest birthday surprise this year has been a terrible case of the flu. ICK! I've spent most of the last 36 hours in bed, coughing like Nicole Kidman in Moulin Rouge. I alternate between freezing (shivering underneath every blanket in the house) and roasting (kicking off all the covers and sweating like Bill Clinton at a Hooters convention). A few minutes ago, I slid out of bed, glanced at the mirror, and noticed my hair has exploded into some sort of gigantic, terrifying curly red wig -- something like Cyndi Lauper circa "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" (which I'm a bit hesitant to admit I saw performed live when I was 14). I've got to get better soon. I can't -- can NOT -- spend my birthday like this.
I will feel better by tomorrow. I will feel better tomorrow. I will feel better tomorrow. (I'll keep repeating it, and it will come true. It will).
Note to self: Birthday begins in 4 hours and 33 minutes. Must not celebrate by spending another day in bed watching old movies and hacking. Resolve to wake up tomorrow, wink at the mirror, say "I feel fabulous!", and trot my bootie to the office (even if my bootie isn't *really* feeling fabulous). Repeat after me: "I feel fabulous. Wow, I feel fabulous. Woohoo, I really feel fabulous! Sweet lovely Manolo Blahnik, I really feel fabulous!..." (Hey, this might just work!)
This morning, I tried the "I feel fabulous" strategy for trotting my bootie to the office. Which worked. Sort of. I admit that I spent 20-minutes-plus in the bathroom staring at the reflection of the woman with dark circles and a sallow complexion saying, "I feel fabulous", but not really believing it. Nevertheless, I trodged to the office. On time, even.
The best part about birthdays are the unexpected surprises, and today was no exception. I got an early-morning phone call from a guy who was my best friend & occasional date in high school. He's a busy geologist/family man now (wife & three kids!), but we always have a great time catching up, and we're having lunch together on Monday (wahoo!). My friends Christine & Wendy took me to lunch at the Crumpet Tea Room today (despite my flu-induced ickiness), and they didn't complain -- not even once -- that lunch with me was like dining with the "Cough-in-ator" (thanks, guys!).
Next surprise: A beautiful bouquet of daisies from my wonderful boyfriend Ned and a package in the mail with an antique German banjo pin and birthday cards. (Awwwww!) Ned is a professional bluegrass musician, and he's on the road right now, so we're celebrating my birthday when he comes here next week, but apparently he wanted to ensure that I got some surprises today as well. (Thank you, sweetheart. I love you.) P.S. This is the first time in *history* I've had birthday flowers from a boyfriend who wasn't already in the doghouse.
Note to self: Birthdays are apparently not *always* disasters from start to finish. Resolve to put old-crappy-awful-and-lousy past birthdays behind me, and think how wonderful it's been to celebrate for days and days this year. Resolve to say a very special thank-you to all of my friends who've made this birthday wonderful.