BFFs FOREVER

The Reign of the Two Blondes ended officially last night as Boobs Mitchell and I stepped down from our respective positions as PTA Co-Presidents of our school.

BOOBS MITCHELL: You have got to stop calling me Boobs--I have no boobs.
ME: You will always be BOOBS to me.
BOOBS MITCHELL: Well I need an ironic name for you then...how about I start calling you SOBER?

And I was all like; Go Ahead, but that will only be ironic about 90% of the time.

Boobs is thinking about escaping from the rat race that is Manhattan and moving into the wild, unexplored territories of Brooklyn. Brooklyn is to New Yorkers what dryers are to socks. People go there and you NEVER SEE THEM AGAIN.

I am not a supporter of this plan; as Boobs now lives close enough that we can plunk our kids in front of a video, have an adult beverage (Boobs is a fan of Pabst), and I don't have to worry about her safety as she staggers home. I am thinking that her life plan of a move to Brooklyn is in serious conflict with my plan to consume copious amounts of Pinot Grigio. I am thinking about telling her prospective buyers that she and her husband practice Santeria Rituals on the weekends in their kitchen and that as new owners they would have to contend with some serious Voodoo Hoodoo.

I actually did this for a friend in real life during my Junior year in college. Her roommate had moved out, leaving her with a much coveted SINGLE and Student Housing kept sending prospective replacements. Prior to an interview, we used to stage Wiccan rituals in the center of the room and douse the place with patruli. She got to keep that single her whole Junior year and she was a lucky one with the boys, if you know what I mean.

New York is such a hard place to make real friends. There is a sense of the temporary at all times. You refrain from getting close because--who knows--tomorrow someone might decide to move to Greenwich so their kid can see what grass looks like without having to get on a subway and travel uptown. For this reason, We try to surround ourselves with people who have BOUGHT their Manhattan abodes. And not just because they often pick up the check. We're thinking-hey-you own a place, perhaps you're sticking around for a bit. So next thing you know you are opening up and forming bonds and it's just like a Lifetime TV movie except you never have an affair with each other's husbands.

But the bond Boobs and I have is unbreakable--forged by two years of experiences that have included heated discussions about REALLY REALLY REALLY IMPORTANT stuff: like our complicated children, our desires to be better mothers like the Mennonite Mom we know, how cute the gym teacher at our kid's school is (O My gosh he so is, and sometimes he comes to school in SOCCER SHORTS) , and how children could be traumatized if at the Holiday Fair there were TWO SANTAS instead of one. And she has taught me A LOT. Lessons like: "Don't Put It in Writing", "There Is Always a Chance They Won't Notice", and "Thou Shalt Not Volunteer." I weep at the thought of not kareoking with her again, or having her Notarize some forged document. We have plans to write books together--fabulous best sellers about our Great Adventures in the PTA or Funny Stories about People Dying.

So obviously, I must stop blogging now and get to the Green Market to try to find the live chicken I need for my plan.