Tag Archives: friendship

Love is a verb. The importance of friends.

2 Jan

WARNING!

Dear Gentle readers,

Sadly JB is unwell and her computer is fucked. So in her place, Princess Pixie Pointless will be posting for you today. I was going to give my diatribe on “Rape, The Naked Truth”, but really don’t fucking feel like it. So be warned. This post is not your average JB post, it’s soft and fluffy and butterflies and reindeers and whatever the fuck.  You’ve been warned. Read on, if you care to. I might swear alot to, but this writing shit really isn’t my bag.

JB will be back to business as normal shortly.

Love is a verb. motherfuckers.

As you may have all come to learn, JB and I, PPP (PrincessPixiePointless) are not the same person. I am not her alter-ego. I am not the rational cupcake side of her brain. We are not only separate people but we are friends. Good fucking friends. Great even. We have a twenty year history under our belts.

I first met JB shortly after my trial had ended for being an accessory to murder. Not one of my personal highlights, however it did get me to re-evalute what the fuck i was doing with my life and go back to school .

How i ended up being involved in a murder charge is another story for another time.

I wasn’t one of those pretty normal girls to make friends easy. I’d had a bit of a bumpy start and was pretty protective of myself to the outside world.

So I got off my ass and got a scholarship to go into Mechanical Engineering at a fancy pants university.  That is where JB and I met.

From the get go, we got on. We are polar opposites with dealing with the world. She as you may have noted is more of a scream in your face until the job gets done kind of woman, and I more a  softly, softly carry a large stick…(this is before either of us started baking bread by the way..)

We didn’t always agree about politics or religion, but in each other we saw kindred spirits who valued art, beauty and the truth.  People that had come from harsh backgrounds, with hard exteriors that could recognise the beauty,truth, vulnerability and passion in the other.

and to top it all off, we had a tonne of fun together.

IMG_6043

We had each other’s backs. Which is important in this world. You want friends that will fight for you, stand your corner, even if sometimes you don’t agree with the fight you  are fighting for.

In this world, it’s said, we are lucky to have one or two close friends. I’m not talking facebook, myspace, msn or digital. I am talking about living and breathing people that have seen you at your best and at your worst and still love  you just the same.  When friendships start we don’t always know who those people will be.  Sometimes only time will tell.

Screen shot 2013-01-02 at 17.57.42

Back in the 1990’s, when we’d finished school and gone our separate ways, JB to fold Mr.JB’s laundry and me to another country, we ended up back together.  I was again, going to go back to school, having left my Mr.BadChoiceNumber2, (discovered him in a hot tub making out with his male best friend, didn’t go down well).   We lived in a small flat, near a hospital.  On a typical Sunday, reading the papers and having a coffee, we heard noise outside that sounded like a mass stampede of hatred. We lived across the street from a hospital.  On further investigation, it was a massive anti-abortion campaign. This back in the days, were clinics and the doctors working at such clinics were getting bombed and murdered, all in the name of God.

JB and I had slightly different opinions on that topic.  However.

ourbodies

The thought of thousands of people, screaming such hatred with no other voice in the masses, led us both to a decision. Let’s go out and be the other voice. So with some red spray paint and a sheet, with constructed our amateur banner and out we walked. Into an abyss of Christian fundamentalist hatred.

It was scary. We had large men, try to intimidate us. Women calling us all names in the world. Just because together we held a banner in a midst of other opinions.

Time passes.

IMG_5324

JB and I live in different countries, continually for years, so we do it the old fashioned way and we take the time to write letters to each other. Not emails, not texts, but good old fashioned paper you put in the post box.  Which is all about taking the time to sit down and relate to another human being, and holding their words, their lives, their thoughts in your hands.

But it comes  a time in all of our lives when we need to be with another.

That time for us came last summer.  Me and LittleBear spent the most fantastic 10 days with JB, Mr.JB, BossyPants,PinkyPinkyPie, Little dude,  Judgy Asshole and Freeloader2.

In 2007 after a life time of not wanting to be married or having children, i found myself with both a husband and a child on the way.  JB was the most wonderful support.

In 2008, I was one of those women that had secured a job that i loved and i was going to go back to work (with my child) after my 12 weeks of maternity leave had finished.

Well, my son was born with severe physical special needs. So that plan pretty much got fucked in the water.

After 4 years of living life thru hospital appointments and reconstructive surgery, we had the ok from surgeons to leave the country and visit JB. We came back and it all went pear shaped.

So. I took my son into hospital at the end of September, because i knew something was wrong and i was tired of getting fobbed off. After hours of tests going badly, we ended up in children’s A&E, and then booked into the ward.  A hospital ward we had seen plenty of thru the years, but normally as pre-booked patients.

This was bad.

5 days in, surgery, 15 days in more surgery, my LittleBear in constant pain and no viable answers. Mr.PPP and I started to do 72 hour shifts, as he had to go back to work. I would go in for 3 solid days, he would come in for 20  hours so i could go home and cry, and talk to JB.

Before I had a child with special needs, i had loads of friends, it’s hard for people to realise what you go thru, so they often back away. Because, yes, you moaning about your boyfriend being an asshole, doesn’t quite get my sympathy when i am in hospital with a dying child.

-1

Although in fairness I would never try to see it that way. We all have our shit. Who is to say, your divorce, getting fired, bad day is any worse than mine.

I wrote to JB any chance i could. It was the way I could escape or make light of what i was going thru. She was my cheerleader, every fucking day.

Until about day 30, when it had all gone to shit. I am not one to lose it, or cry, or not see the positive in everything.  But on Skype to JB and her LittleMissBossyPants, I could keep it in no more.  Mr.JB joined the conversation, he sweetly asked me how I was, and with my normal charm, I responded that I was doing fair enough considering I was watching my child die.

and do you know what he did?

He marched JB downstairs, held her and told her how much I needed her right now and promptly bought her and MissBossyPants tickets to this side of the pond to come and support me in hospital.

IMG_5716

and then LittleBear made a turn for the better. Suddenly his body reacted positively to meds, his body started to heal where they thought it would not. We came out of hospital 24 hours before JB and LittleMissBossyPants arrived.

They couldn’t have arrived a moment too soon.

Both LittleBear and I had lost our legs. He was small and weak, and me with all my strength and thunder was a broken Mummy once we got home.

Little Miss Bossy Pants reminded LittleBear that he had legs, and could fight and could play. JB helped me get my sense of sanity back. She not only had my back, she carried me when i could no longer walk thru life.

Yes, JB and I have different opinions. But when it comes to truth and passion and knowing what it means to be friends, real friends. We will fight each other’s corner until the end of time.  That is what friends are for.

I used to have loads of friends that agreed with me.  Now I have real friends.

So here’s to you JB.  Thank you for everything. I love you and can’t wait to see you again.

For everyone else still maybe reading this.  Thanks for hearing me out. Thank you for supporting JB.

and go spend time with your friends. You’re real friends, go call them, or write them, let them know you care. Because love is a fucking verb. and friends are important.

all the best

PPP,

I will probably delete this in an hour because is a bit insanely personally and way too emotive for even my standards.

I love you JB.

love you readers. x x x

Women who LIKE other women don’t need to be catty bitches.

15 Nov

 

Here we go with the bitches be bitchy argument again, this time in the Daily Mail.  Half of the 2,000 women polled by online retailer Swimwear 365 said they ‘enjoy’ comparing themselves to women they work with, befriend or pass in the street.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2232842/Women-spend-time-checking-OTHER-WOMEN-men-clothes-figures-hair-interested-in.html#ixzz2CI59lEKR

Comparing what, exactly?  Oh this:

1. Clothes

2. Hair style

3. Tan

4. Size

5. Cleavage

6. Cellulite

7. Hair colour

8. Boob size

9. Shoes

10. Bag

The fact that HALF of the women say the “enjoy” comparing themselves on the basis of superficial bullshit is fairly disturbing, but unsurprising.  You can bet that most of this comparison finds the other woman coming off as a slag, all of which rests on the assumption that women are competitors.  Competing against each other for the attentions and affections of men, and to a certain extent, that’s true.

Giving a shit about what kind of bag you carry in the hopes that some man will fall into a swoon at your feet is a ridiculous misunderstanding of what men care about, and a gigantic waste of money and resources.  It’s just a way for women to flash their status to one another, and in the process, take other women down a notch or two (or remind themselves they need to step up their game).

Women who truly love other women don’t notice these things.  They are much more interested in what other women think, what they feel, what they’re reading, how they felt watching Daniel Craig shirtless in Skyfall, how they are holding up under (insert problem here) and did you notice that gorgeous sunset last night?  Also, do we need more wine?

PrincessPixiePointless and JudgyBitch have been best friends for 20 years.  During that time, I have noticed that Pixie is a wee little thing, although she wears some crazy high shoes so I’m not exactly sure just HOW wee she is.  I notice when she wears clothes (which isn’t always the case) but I could not describe for you with any reliability what her wardrobe contains.  I am always quick to tell her when she looks gorgeous (which is always), but I don’t generally notice or give a shit what she’s wearing.

Except for those awful saggy pants.  Jesus those are terrible.  See?  Even then, my interest in Pixie’s clothes is to keep her from looking TERRIBLE.  There is no delight in seeing her prance down to the pub looking like she’s got a giant pillow stuffed up her arse.  And if she REALLY likes those pants and wants to keep them, then good on ya, Pixie!  But they’re really terrible.

Hair style, tan, hair colour, cellulite?  What the fuck?  Who cares?  When Pixie and I head to the pub, we don’t give two fucks about our hair (even when we should) because we are there to enjoy each other’s company and try to figure out exactly what Caitlin Moran means when she says she’s a “feminist”.  We’re there to sit quietly and read “The Clever Woman in the House”.  We’re there to laugh at the most recent idiocy in the New Statesman and when other women join us, we point out the super stupid bits and order more wine.

Even when we were single and on the prowl, Pixie and I went through life as partners.  Friends – there to protect each other from bad decisions (http://judgybitch.com/2012/10/22/54/), celebrate our triumphs, mourn our losses, find neat books to read, watch terrible movies together, eat the whole wheel of Brie and plan the next steps forward.

Maybe it’s because the two of us realized something other women with their tans and hair and fancy bags don’t get:  at the end of the day men don’t give a shit about those things.  How you look is a passport to life, that is undeniably true.  We do younger women no favours by telling them it’s okay to cram your face with cupcakes and waddle through life swathed in trackpants and t-shirts.  Go ahead and do that, if you like, but understand there are few men who find that attractive.

Here’s a beautiful man who knows what really matters in a woman:

 

Mark Grist on Girls who read

 

Ladies, stop wasting so much time tearing each other down.  Get out of the tanning bed, stop shopping for a bag and pick up a book.  And if you find a really great poem, read it to your friend.  No matter what her hair looks like at the moment.

Lots of love,

JB

%d bloggers like this: