I am consistently amazed at how life keeps throwing me deep lessons about things I sincerely thought I had all figured out. Recently I was made privy to a term I had never heard, a “Body-Bag Friend”. I was talking to my “Body-Bag Friend”, or BBF as I will call it for short (definition forthcoming), I was whining to her about a “dear friend” who had hurt my feeling because of something she had done that I thought was disloyal. My feelings where hurt, I was confused and pretty sad about the whole situation. I was saying that I was hurt because the actions that this “friend” had done was something that I would NEVER do to her. I did not understand why she did not “have my back, I would have had hers”. I did not understand why she had made some of the decisions she had and I did not feel comfortable (or close) enough to this “friend” to talk with her about the situation. So I was bending the ear of my BBF (Body-Bag Friend) when she said “You know that girl is not your friend, right?” Shocked I replied… “But of course we are close friends, she is in my inner-circle. She came to my birthday party, I went to hers. We go to all of each-other’s events. She entrust me with her children and I entrust her with mine … We are CLOSE!”. My BBF said… “No, she really is not your true friend. If she was your true friend we would not be having this conversation.”   Ouch right! Then she went on to say… “The problem here is not with her but with you and your perspective of who this woman is in your life. She is an Associate not a friend. Friendship is earned and developed over time. You have not had the time or the depth with this woman to make her a Body-Bag Friend”. Because of the perplexed tone in my voice she went on and explained… and I honestly I think this was my favorite part of our conversation. She said “A Body-Bag Friend is someone you can call in the middle of the night and say… “I just killed my husband” and her ONLY response is “I’ll be right over with a body-bag!” No questions, no comments… you need her, she knows it and because she really knows you, she is there!” BAM! WOW! Right?! What a wonderful and interesting (if not slightly morbid, but brutally honest) perspective of a friendship. In the darkest and craziest moment this “friend” is there. I have to say I loved it! While I have no intention of killing my husband (today), I have to say the idea of a BBF verses an Associate has been something that I have thought a lot about since our conversation. It has also allowed me to re-categorize many of my “friends” and realize we are not really friends, well not yet… maybe some day we will be and I really hope so, but for right now we are still just Associates who are getting to know each other. Associates who have kids the same age, live near each other, enjoy a few of the same things or have fun when we get together and drink.

Because I like to keep things simple and since I am a very visual and black or white person I have decided that while I know there are many different levels of friends and friendships I am saying that to me the extreme scale of “What is a friend” has Body-Bag Friends on one end and Drinking-Associates on the other.   There it is! Dale Carnegie, take note! Here is how it looks in my little wacky self-help world.

Body-Bag Friends looks like this… A BBF you can have a fight with…I’m not talking swinging fists here. I’m talking a word-war. You can tell them they suck or they can tell you that you are some other unflattering thing going on about you but ultimately you love each other and as Robin Thicke would say “and all their dirty” (cuz you know we all got some dirty).   You will fight with and for a BBF friendship because they are worth fighting for. They are as close to you as a sister, perhaps even closer, because they are the sister you chose. They bring you value and you bring them value. You really know WHO each other is… I’m talking make-up/fake eyelashes/hair extensions off; husband/sibling/parents trashing; messy Hoarders style housekeeping; real scary future and current concerns about kids growing up to be serial-killers/strippers or circus clowns… You each have heard it ALL and you love them and they love you, not in spite of it all but BECAUSE of it all.

Drinking-Associates are on the other side of my scale. Totally fun to be around but the second the “shit starts getting real” (yes, I realize I just used a potty word… earmuffs) the fun ends. They start ruining your “buzz” or you start ruining theirs and girlfriend be OUT! This can be over any event or topic… disagreeing political views (they are voting for Hillary! GASP!) or disagreeing parenting styles (they think car seats are a waste of money but they are carrying a Chanel purse to Mommy and Me play-dates) or perhaps they move more gossip than Us Weekly… whatever the reason, you butt heads or views and/or you both just sort of drift away… You/they start inviting other “friends” to the happy-hours, play-dates, drunk-o-bunko and your friendship is all the sudden null and void. When in fact, they were really never friends but instead Associates, actually Drinking-Associates (DAs) to be exact. There is no fault to be had, the relationship was just not that close. It’s OK. I’m learning that.

I have quite a few DA friendships that I hope will continue to blossom. A lot of these wonderful, inspiring women enlighten me daily to think and see the world differently. Many of these amazing woman are my Tweeners, as in somewhere in-between a DA and a BBF. I am learning that not all friendships need to be BBFs and that Tweeners and DAs are amazing blessings too! I am learning, a lot about myself in the process of all this mental scale making, and my corporate style friendship reorg. I put myself and my heart out there, often way too far and too quickly. I really try and want to get to know people. I share too much in hopes of opening up an honest friendship and dialog. I really do care (but perhaps too much). If I could make the rules I would have a whole gang of BBFs. Literally I am talking a gang… Think of me like the Al Capone of friendships. You would not want to disrespect “The Family”. Instead of wearing blue and red like the Crypts and the Bloods we would wear Lululemon and Burt’s Bees Lightly Tinted Lip Balm. Could you imagine the power of an all female gang of BBFs… We could take over the world, or at least Tarrant County.

After this is all said, I think I will always be a bit hurt and disappointed when I feel that I have put myself out there and other person does not reciprocate the same way. I know that I will still feel hurt and a bit confused at times when someone I thought I was developing a deep friendship with turns out to be really a Drinking-Associate. But I will remind myself that a DA is not a bad thing.

I have a lot of wonderful DA friendships that I am delighted to have. And I am going to keep trying and working to be a good friend and who knows I might just go on Amazon Prime and see if I can buy a few body-bags just incase I get The Call. I will continue to try to keep my mind and most importantly my heart in perspective. I have used and will continue to use this perspective to realign my expectations of my associates so I am not always hurt when things don’t go the way I hoped or expected. But most importantly I have thought a lot about how lucky and grateful I am to have my BBF who has the love and courage to speak honestly with me. I am more appreciative and eternally grateful for the depth of my BBF friendship that took over 20+ years, several different careers, a few husbands (even more x-boyfriends), a handful of kids, a lot of family drama, buckets full of tears both happy and sad and some seriously book analyzing… to grow.   I have come to realize that BBFs are extremely rare and you are blessed if you have even one. The rarity of them is perhaps what makes them so exceptionally special. But in the meantime being who I am, perhaps a bit of a friendly-ClingOn (or Klingon for you Trekkies) if I say hello to you beware… I just might try to become your “Friend”.

As Mother’s Day is almost upon us… I think it’s time for a new idea in the way we celebrate this glorious holiday!  While the road to Mother’s Day in my house is paved with the very best of intentions, I usually end my Mother’s Day feeling like an utter Mom failure. By the end of the day, I am left thinking about running away to join the circus…. Well not really the circus with all the dirty stinky animals and carny people… but more like if Prada, partnered with a funnel cake company and did a “carnival” themed traveling fashion show in Paris… you get what I mean… But before I can explain what I am asking of you all here, let me explain where I am coming from… Please see the below “general life” examples.  The names, dates and places have been changes to protect the innocent.  Here is how I see it… In a roundabout generic way…

Fathers Day (how it goes down):

Husband wakes up- Kids greet him with breakfast in bed (Mom has helped cook, kitchen is in its normal state).  He is smothered with kisses from the kids and he gives wife the wink, wink, “Am I getting a “Back-Rub” later?” look.  Husband gets up and goes and golfs with other Dad friends.  Dad comes home from golf to a home cooked dinner prepared by Mom, kids tell him how great he is and give him a hand-made with love World’s Greatest Dad picture frame for his office.  Mom puts kids to bed.  Dad washes his golf balls in preparation for his “back massage”.  The End!

Mothers Day (how it goes down):

Mom is woken up to the sound of a metal refinement plant crushing metal in her house (though it might just be Dad and kids cooking in the kitchen).  Which is quickly followed with kids yelling “I want to carry in the coffee to her”;  “NO I want to carry it, because you are too clumsy!”;  “I CAN carry the coffee, you carry in the eggs” (did I mention I hate eggs).  “I don’t want to carry the eggs because you dropped them on the floor so you should have to carry them in to her.”   Mom does her best Folgers coffee commercial wake-up act, acting as if she is being woken up by the wonderful aroma of coffee and the aurora of love coming from her beautiful family, and not the fact that the coffee is being splashed all over her new white duvet.   Her sweet family stands there holding rancid eggs and a now half full cup of very cold coffee.  Seriously so stinking sweet!!!  Mom will choke down a bite of cold eggs and drink cold coffee, because they where made with love and really how sweet is the whole thing.  Did I mention how darn sweet this all is?

Then the gifts will begin…  But first a quick and violent shoving match between the kids about who gets to give their gift first.  Dad will step in, referee and say “Hey guys, It’s Mom’s special Day, Let’s all be nice”, which might as well be the ringing of the bells for the Opening Ceremony of a WWF Ultimate Showdown Cage Match! LET’S GET READY TO RUMBLE!  The youngest child if not selected or even if selected will yell out what their gift to Mom is before she can open it… it’s just too exciting to keep it a secret for two more seconds! Mom opens her gifts; inevitably it is something that one of her sweet children has made from their very own hands.  Perhaps it’s another Hanes Tee-Shirt that has a garden and flowers made from her babies’ darling handprints.  So super cute… until the sweet giving child expects Mom to put the shirt on right then… and wear it all day… actually every day… all day… forever.  This shirt should be worn and honored as if it is a crafted one-of-a-kind tweed jacket woven by the hands of Karl Lagerfeld himself.  Did I mention it is a Hanes Unisex tee-shirt, no shape at all. The most unflattering thing in Mom’s closet, it exaggerates every negative part of her upper body and actually even has a way of making her behind look bigger.  All kidding aside, these gifts really are the best.  Seeing the pride on a child’s face is worth a million boxy fitting men’s tee-shirt days… and Moms will wear these gifts because they really are like being wrapped in love.

SO going on with the FUN of Mother’s Day… Keeping in mind that it is about 6AM at this point, as the kids and husband have been up since 5AM because they are excited, just so excited, to start Mother’s Day.  YEAH!!!  So breakfast in bed happens… I personally flush the majority of the eggs down the toilet when no one is looking and I smile like the Cheshire Cat and rave about how amazing everything was… But really it was amazing in the effort and thoughtfulness <insert feelings of guilt for not being more appreciative here>.  Mom then gets out of bed and see the disaster that has become the kitchen/ house, knowing full well that at some point she will have to put everything back in order and figure out how to scrape the kiwi off the ceiling.

Moving forward…. Dad then works so hard to dress the kids for church.  This task is not for the weak hearted.  Dad finishes the task with the same look that Jon Snow had after he battled the White Walkers for the first time (if you are not watching Game of Throne… do so now).  My daughter will come down “dressed” like she just had a free-for-all in Honey Boo Boo and Ke$ha’s closets. Every color and season under the rainbow will be represented as well as all possible weather scenarios… And there will be lots of glitter and an adorable baby animal plastered on her with a goofy saying. It will look something like this, starting from the head down… A huge red and green Christmas bow in her hair; with a “Kitten Kisses are Best” sweatshirt (there will actually be a kitty covered in glitter and kisses on this shirt); swimming cover-up shorts under a Halloween tutu (also covered in glitter) all paired with rain-boots and a very tacky poodle shaped handbag. My son on the other hand will be dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt. His outfit would be perfect if he was 7 but since he is 9, it’s a problem. His pants are so short they are no even “high-waters” they are thigh-knockers. His shirtsleeves are so short it could pass for ¾ sleeve shirt. He will wrap up this GQ look with the most beat down shoes he owns. He looks like the Tiny Tim of CrewCuts. The odd part about this outfit choice is that I had laid out a beautiful new outfit that would have looked great, on his dresser the night before, but he chose to go digging in the box of outgrown clothes on the top shelf of his closet to find these fancy duds. So everyone is dressed and the family is ready to head out the door.

When the family finally gets to church the kids will put their whining-pouter machines in full gear… because church is…. too long, too boring, too cold, too hot, too quite, too loud, too thirsty, too hungry, too crowded…. And since religion is such a personal thing to everyone, And I really try to not hold judgment of any regards to anyone else’s religion or lack there of,  I can only speak to what happens with me on Mother’s Day at church… And I can say I spend a large amount of the prayer time thanking the good Lord for my amazing life and family and the other part of the time I am appealing to the Virgin Mary herself to intercede and keep me from going all Joan Crawford on my kids.  All while my amazing husband is trying his darnedest to make the kids behave by saying things like “It’s Mother’s Day, Come on guys behave!”  He might as well be saying “It Groundhog Day, Come on guys!”. Actually that might work better, my kids know Groundhog day has serious potential to be a day where someone might get their face bit by a giant rodent (side note: You go Jimmy the Groundhog, I would have bit that mayor for waking me up too!)!  So staying with my family on the rest of this… whatever “this” is… We are not yet to lunch and already my husband’s management of our children is about as spot on as Michael Lohan’s parenting (Lindsay and my kids are doing whatever they feel like with no filter).  The drive to lunch is met with more tears than the original screening of The Notebook… “I don’t want to eat Mexican food”,  “I hate tacos!”, “Can’t we just eat at home!”, “I need my iPad”…  We eventually get to my favorite restaurant, Joe T Garcia’s, and after a sip of my margarita, my clouds of parenting doubt start to part. I see the love, kindness and overall family unit that is really what being a Mom it is all about.  I thank the good Lord for my wonderful family just as my delectable, steaming cheese enchiladas are delivered; which is also the EXACT second that my daughter will need me to take her to the “potty” for a good 10-15 minute sit-in (at this point I call again on the Virgin Mary).  As my food congeals, we sit (well actually she sits I stand) and we will discuss in great detail the ultra-rare glitter dog-collar Petkins Shopkins that she needs me to try to find and buy her the very second we get home, all this while my nostrils are being assaulted in ways that I’m sure you can imagine.  Let’s just say I will have to implore Jedi mind tricks to block this period of time from my memory so I can go back to the table and still have the ability to eat.  Not that I will want to eat the cold cheese stick wrapped in a soggy tortilla that is now my meal.  I’ll still eat it though… I’ll still choke it down because darn it THIS IS MY MOTHERS DAY MEAL and it should be AWESOME… At this point someone will start crying that they are BORED.  SOOOOOOOO SOOOOOOO BORED.  We will leave in a hurry and I will quietly spend the entire ride home wondering where I went wrong…  I’ll have visions of Aretha and I singing R-E-S-P-E-C-T as a duet with my kids front and center in the audience.  And it’s only 2PM!

So this year in preparation and after much thought and years of a similar scenarios, I have decided where I think I have gone wrong all along was I should have been celebrated Mothers’ Day like fathers celebrate Father’s Day.  #18HolesOfSpaDay!  But in reality, I wouldn’t give up the Mother’s Day madness for anything.  The sincere effort that my family puts into trying their hardest to make my Mother’s DAY special is better than a thousand hours at the best spa in the world.  But the key word there is DAY… I want to be with my family during Mother’s DAY… but not Mother’s Evening. It’s called Mother’s DAY because once the sun goes down, Mother’s should be OUT! So I am proposing that Mother’s Day has an end time. And I am proposing a new Mommie Dearest Night.  It’s like Mother’s Day only later and without having to tell anyone to “Stop that” or “keep your hands to yourself”.  By night time of Mother’s Day everyone and everything has started to slow down so really it is the perfect time for Mommie Dear to sneak out and have a bit of Mommie fun (wire hangers optional).  It Sunday, It’s a school night, so tell Daddy to put the little angels to bed and meet up with other Mommie friends and blow off some steam. Even Hillary knows “It takes a village” (and she was not talking about just to help delete an email server), it takes a village to keep a Mom sane.  The best village a Mom can have are other supportive Mom friends. So round up your Mom friends, pick a fun place to meet and hold a contest to see who had the best Mother’s Day drama, the winner gets a much needed free drink. Plus as a huge bonus, you can most likely rest assured that not one of you will be called upon to assist anyone in the bathroom during this meal!  So next year I’m going to host a Mommie Dearest’s Night for my friends… Who’s hosting for theirs?!

Let me just start this rant/blog off with a confession. I have been playing tennis for only like a full millisecond on the tennis timeline. But what I lack in the form of tennis years and finesse, I make up in my eagle-eye skills of observation of the obvious (and the occasional heads-up from an honest friend). Sometimes the best views come from a fresh eye and that I have.

I’m in my fourth tennis season now. In the middle of my first season one of my more “seasoned” tennis friends asked me if I had “played with a mean girl yet”? I was completely clueless to what she was talking about. Everyone I had played with at that point was so fun, kind and supportive to the fact that I was a new and a full-on tennis hack. But hey I was trying, right!? Unfortunately it did not take long to meet this not so mystical “mean girl”, or as I now refer to this type of player a “Tennis B”. You all know what the “B” stands for right, here’s a hint, it’s not “buddy”. Or as my son would say “It starts with a B and ends with CH… BATCH!”… only this is not batch either (and he has a saying like this for every cussword incase you where wondering… #MotherOfTheYear If only he could spell on his homework this well). If you can’t figure out what I am saying please discontinue reading this and please never talk to me again. So back to my encounter with the “lovely” girl <insert sarcastic tone and an exaggerated eye roll here> who inspired me to say for the first time in the tennis environment “That girl is a real B!” And bada-bing a new saying in my vocabulary was born. Our meeting happened at an interclub weekly tennis rally, as in at-our-club. It was not at a to-the-death-grudge-match, or a club against club pride match or an end of season playoff… It was simply something the club-pro put together to give members of the club an opportunity to play in the off season. The victor of the match was not getting a blue ribbon or her name on a pretty faux-wood plaque. We are talking 2.5’s-3.0’s here. The score did not ultimately matter in any way shape or form. So what did Mrs. Kindness do, let me reiterate that at this point I was still very green, super humble and scared to hell of the ball. She keep hitting the ball directly AT me, at my face, as hard as she could and then would smirk when the ball hit me as I stood there being deflated. I was shaking mad and almost in tears by the end of the match. Yes, she was a better player than me; no one could deny that. And Yes, she is a total B, no one would deny that either (I asked around… the jury came back in unanimous agreement… total B)! So fast-forward, three seasons later and I am still bitter… It’s right B-I-T-T-E-R!!! When I see here I do a “Hello Newman”… Actually I don’t even look at her. And it is my personal goal in life to hit her in the stomach with an overhead volley, when I learn to hit a good overhead volley. Actually I don’t really want to hit her with the ball (well maybe a little bit) but she did teach me a lesson… Unlike the unicorn, Tennis B’s do exist. It’s not just a game to these B’s… This is their life and they will cut you… or knock out a tooth! So to try to be helpful to my fellow novice tennis players here is a bit of insight into the deep dark world of Tennis B’s. They exist my friends! Tread lightly and carry a big stick, or racket!

The Wham Bam B: Slamming the ball at someone’s face is usually a choice! The Wham Bam B does not think so. It’s her way! But let’s be honest, there are times when slamming a ball at an opponent is ok. For example, if you are in a tiebreaker match, it’s the season finals or the other team you are playing are full of other B’s… then you do what you have to do in those situations! But purposely aiming at someone’s head… I don’t know, it just seems a bit like a full on B move to me! Accidents happen and I know it is smart strategy to aim at the net person… but there is a difference between aiming at the net person and aiming AT the net person… You know what I mean.   We all have had the desire to shove a tennis ball down someone’s throat (see above case in point), but doing it when the score is not on the line or the other players have done nothing to provoke such an attack is another thing. Here is the bottom line JUST BECAUSE YOU CAN “HIT IT” DOES NOT MEAN YOU SHOULD (this principal applies to more than just tennis… actually many single men need to learn this… and a few married ones too). I’m not saying you have to be everyone BFF on the court (or BBF if you read my last post), but no need to attack like you are the last four standing in the Hunger Games. There will be no cannons fired and no faces in the sky at the end of the match.

The Ice-Cream B: This B is as cold as her name. She would steal ice cream from a baby if given the chance. Why? Because she can (well depending on the flavor so would I, but I digress). She picks ON the weak to make herself feel strong.   She is the one who will hit HARD at older people or players not as strong as her. To continuously hitting the ball in a position that an older player or a lower ranked player cannot get when a match is not on the line (non-ranking matches, drills…) is an Ice-Cream B in my book. Of course you want to hit to the best odds, and the less experience player is the way to go. I am not talking about that. We all should be doing that. I am talking about picking on someone. Really going after one player in a non-necessary environment. The environments I am talking about here are situations like interclub (ladies from the same club practicing), drills or local community center tennis. And please note, when I say “old people”, I am not talking about the ladies in the double knee/elbow braces who don’t seem to break a sweat or move more than four steps an entire match. Those women can hold their own! I take a silent satisfaction when I see them school some cocky youngin who is flexing on them. I have also watched these ladies show quite a bit of grace and class when playing with less experience players. They have nothing to prove, they just want to play a good game of tennis. Yes, they can hit a slice/angle shot that their opponent has no hope of returning, but what is the fun in that. Point over… no rally, no fun! So I am not talking about those ladies… They can take care of their own and teach you a thing or two in the meantime. They play with grace. I am talking about women who are still playing for the love of the game, but now have physical limitations that restrict them. I am talking about the older/less experienced player who does not move as fast… So hitting a body shot at her might make you a B and an A-hole! I see this more often than one would think at my local community center drills. Did you catch that… community center drills… Not Wimbledon… Not the US Open… Community tennis center. We have 10 year olds to 75 year olds out there trying to get some exercise, enhance/maintain their skills and have some fun playing King of the Court points. In my not so humble opinion, I believe you should not beaming a ball with all your power at a learning 10 year old, 75 year old with physical limitations or much less experienced player or anyone in general with slower reactions. This does not make you a good player; it makes you a B. To the arrogant B who hits HARD at these players; we get it… you want to stay on the “king side”, you can hit hard and we also get that you are a total B. And please know that we are all talking bad about you while we are waiting our turns to avoid your death-beam. I’m not saying it is not OK to finish a point… but to the point of scaring someone in a friendly drills environment…. That makes you a tennis B, not a good player or person.

Chippy B: Chippy B are not someone who is chippy and happy. This is a B who has a huge CHIP on her shoulder. She says stuff like… “I know I’m an aggressive player and people get mad at me about it…” or “If you can’t take the heat…” or “It’s just a game it’s not personal” anything along those lines, makes a Chippy B. It IS personal if I have to go have my nose reset after playing you in a match and you don’t sincerely apologize for hitting me. If I get blood on my new LuLu tank I’m going to be pissed! It’s personal. If you are just a Negative-Nelly, and throw a temper tantrum and hold up play because you double faulted. It’s personal! If you are a Snarky-Sue and smirk and giggle whenever I double fault… It’s personal! Players are not getting mad that a Chippy B because she’s an “aggressive” player they are mad because they are having to spend their valuable tennis time playing with a B! When a Chippy B say a passive aggressive statement like “I know people think I’m a B when they play me…” they are just looking for the person they are talking with to say something like “Well if they can’t take it maybe they should not be playing at this level…” But what the person the Chippy Bi is talking with is really thinking is “Yup, You’re right… You’re a total B and people talk behind your back because you are overly aggressive and it is rude, so why don’t you dial it back a notch or two!”. That would be the real truth, but no one is going to say that to the Chippy B because no one cares enough about the Chippy B to speak the truth. It’s not worth their effort to confront her. So the person hearing this statement will say some noncommittal thing like “Oh you are just playing the game.” Or “Well you had to hit the shot” only because they don’t care enough to engage with a Chippy B…. Well most people, not me, I’m a Blunt B… that can be in my next blog.

Xanax B: Xanax Bs can bring down the mood of a match quicker than popping any pill. She cries, pouts and Lord knows “this is the WORST she has every played in her entire life”. She will threaten to quit tennis all together. She sucks and she will tell you ALL about it. She will blame her hurt knee, middle finger and third toe for her lack of performance. She did not sleep well last night, her stomach is upset or she worked out too hard the day before. The devil himself is annoyed with her negative attitude and nonstop B-ing. She will be so self-defeating and annoying she brings her partner down to her level. Her partner and all others on the court with her or near her have to do an on-court therapy session just to get her through the rest of the match. And PRAY that you are not the one who has to drive home with her. She spreads her negative vibe like a Jehovah Witness spreads their “word”… Advise… Don’t open the door! And don’t engage… Look away. Nothing you can say will be good enough. If you feed this lion it will only demand more. More advise… Pop a Xanax if you are playing with a Xanax B. It’s your only chance of survival.

Kanye B: Kanye B is the queen at talking DOWN about someone’s rank or playing ability. If you are not roll’n in her pose you are a target. If the words “She’s ONLY a 3.0” ever come out of your mouth in a snarky way when talking about a lower ranked player, then you just might be a Kanye B. If you are just making a general statement about someone’s rank, fine… But there are Kanye Bs out there who act like being a 2.5 or 3.0 is only for peasants. Maybe you are reading this right now thinking “Oh she’s ONLY a 2.5 what does she know about tennis!”   My reply to that is “Hello Kanye B! Don’t be a hater… HATER!” We all started at the bottom and worked our way up.  Maybe becoming a 3.0 might be my Grammy moment. So get off my stage. Taylor wrote her song about the Kanye B. “And all you’re ever gonna be is mean, why you gotta be so mean!” So loose the tude… and don’t be so rude! Most of us low on the totem pole ladies really look up and admire the higher ranked players. And most of these more advanced players are so great and helpful in mentoring us beginners… except for the Kanye Bs. But remember Kanyes… “Someday I’ll be big enough so you can’t hit me (with a tennis ball) and all your ever gonna be is mean!”

Bouncy B’s: Bouncy B players are the ladies who have to throw or bounce the ball 10+ times before her serve. Look if you have to throw and catch or bounce your ball more than a few times before each serve you are a Bouncy B. Go practice your toss! As Elsa would say “Let it Go” and hit the flipping ball! Bouncing the ball ten times before serving… You are just slowing play and wasting everyone’s valuable time. I have a bar to get to after this match… Let’s do this thing! Maybe a Bouncy B is good at getting into her opponents heads because chances are good that if she is a Bouncy B she is probably also a Chippy B too! She just does not see that everyone deep down or maybe not that deep down really hates her! So bounce with me bounce with me… and after the 10^th bounce consider yourself labeled a Bouncy B.

The next two Bs are more of “at risk” Bs. They ride the line of potentially becoming a B if they don’t answer the Clue Phone… Ring, Ring, guess what… it’s for you!

Liz Taylor Bs: Liz Taylor B’s are someone who pushes more perfume than the entire Dillard cosmetic department. She is wearing so much Michael Kors Acqua di Vomit, that your eyes cross. Can we just get right to the point here… Perfume and tennis do not mix! Just like Cheerios and Kahlua (don’t judge me). Look perfume should be reserved for…..well….never… but that’s a whole other blog about things I hate… But for the love of all things holy the court is no place for Channel No. 5, 8 or 11. I have a hard enough time huffing on the court without getting a migraine from the shower of stink coming from perfume laden players. Perfume is out! Just say NO! If someone says you smell nice, what they really mean is “Holy Crap did you accidently break the bottle over your head”. Perfume is supposed to be a slight LIGHT aroma you can smell when close up to someone, like in a victory hug or chest bump. A trail of your perfume smell should not follow you like you are Pepe Le Pew and it for sure should not stink up the entire court! Repeat offenders can and will earn the name of Liz Taylor Bs. Giving your doubles partner a migraine before a match more than once earns you spot on the list… so remember “a little dab’ll do ya”.

Dolly B: This one is all about ball placement. I am not talking about placement on the court… I’m talking about placement on your person. In other words where you store the ball you are not at the moment hitting. When holding an extra ball… your sweaty cleavage is NOT a viable option. I don’t care how plentiful the great-divide is… No one wants your boob sweat on a ball they have to hod in their hands in a few minutes. It is generally understood that Dolly Parton could easily hold a lot in her bountiful bust but I’ve never seen her pull her cellphone, lipstick or the second-serve ball out of her cleavage so I’m thinking we should follow her lead and not do that either! Continuing to stuff the balls between your girls, like you are stuffing a turkey will make you a Dolly B. Live and learn… Balls and Boobs should never meet… This is another life lesson many men could take a minute to ponder. Don’t pretend you are not doing a visual of how this could happen… I know GROSS right!

There are so many other B’s I could go on forever… But alas I have a tennis drills I have to run to and I don’t want to be late (and be labeled a Roller B… who rolls into drills/matches whenever she finishes her double soy latte… Ok, I’ll stop now)! So in closing, “To B or not to B” is the question. I am going to do my best to try not to B… But I’m sure I’m on someone’s B list. But I’ll work to be off the B list because life is too short. So unless you are at risk of loosing your Nike sponsorship… relax. Have fun, and keep the balls out of your boobs!

 

 

 

 

I am consistently amazed at how life keeps throwing me deep lessons about things I sincerely thought I had all figured out. Recently I was made privy to a term I had never heard, a “Body-Bag Friend”. I was talking to my “Body-Bag Friend”, or BBF as I will call it for short (definition forthcoming), I was whining to her about a “dear friend” who had hurt my feelings because of something she had done that I thought was disloyal. My feelings where hurt, I was confused and pretty sad about the whole situation. I was saying that I was hurt because the actions that this “friend” had done was something I would NEVER do to her. I did not understand why she did not “have my back as I would have had hers”. I did not understand why she had made some of the decisions she had and I did not feel comfortable (or close) enough to this “friend” to talk with her about the situation. So I was bending the ear of my BBF (Body-Bag Friend) when she said “You know that girl is not your friend, right?” Shocked, I replied… “But of course we are close friends. She’s in my inner-circle. She came to my birthday party, I went to hers. We go to all of each-other’s events. She entrust me with her children and I entrust her with mine … We are CLOSE!”. My BBF said… “No, she really is not your true friend. If she was your true friend we would not be having this conversation.”   Ouch right! Then she went on to say… “The problem here is not with her but with YOU and your perspective of who this woman is in your life. She is an Associate not a friend. Friendship is earned and developed over time. You have not had the time or the depth with this woman to make her a Body-Bag Friend”. Because of the perplexed tone in my voice she went on and explained… and I honestly I think this was my favorite part of our conversation. She said “A Body-Bag Friend is someone you can call in the middle of the night and say… “I just killed my husband” and her ONLY response is “I’ll be right over with a body-bag!” No questions, no comments… you need her, she knows it and because she really knows you, she is there!” BAM! WOW! Right?! What a wonderful and interesting (if not slightly morbid, but brutally honest) perspective of a friendship. In the darkest and craziest moment this “friend” is there. I have to say I loved it! While I have no intention of killing my husband (today), I have to say the idea of a BBF verses an Associate has been something that I have thought a lot about since our conversation. It has also allowed me to re-categorize many of my “friends” and realize we are not really friends, well not yet… maybe some day we will be and I really hope so, but for right now we are still just Associates who are getting to know each other. Associates who have kids the same age, live near each other, enjoy a few of the same things or have fun when we get together and perhaps have a drink.

Because I like to keep things simple and since I am a very visual, black or white person I have decided that while I know there are many different levels of friends and friendships to me the extreme scale of “What is a friend” has Body-Bag Friends on one side and Drinking-Associates on the other.   There it is! Dale Carnegie, take note! Here is how it looks in my little wacky self-helpping no one world.

Body-Bag Friends looks like this… A BBF you can have a fight with…I’m not talking swinging fists here. I’m talking a word-war. You can tell them they suck or they can tell you that you are some other unflattering thing going on about you but ultimately you love each other and as Robin Thicke would say “and all their dirty” (cuz you know we all got some dirty).   You will fight with and for a BBF friendship because they are worth fighting for. They are as close to you as a sister, perhaps even closer, because they are the sister you chose. They bring you value and you bring them value. You really know WHO each other is… I’m talking make-up/fake eyelashes/hair extensions off; husband/sibling/parents trashing; messy Hoarders style housekeeping; real scary future and current concerns about kids growing up to be serial-killers/strippers or circus clowns… You each have heard it ALL and you love them and they love you, not in spite of it all but BECAUSE of it all.

Drinking-Associates are on the other side of my scale. Totally fun to be around but the second the “shit starts getting real” (yes, I realize I just used a potty word… earmuffs) the fun ends. They start ruining your “buzz” or you start ruining theirs and girlfriend be OUT! This can be over any event or topic… disagreeing political views (they are voting for Hillary! GASP!) or disagreeing parenting styles (they think car seats are a waste of money but they are carrying a Chanel purse to Mommy and Me play-dates) or perhaps they move more gossip than Us Weekly… whatever the reason, you butt heads or views and/or you both just sort of drift away… You/they start inviting other “friends” to the happy-hours, play-dates, drunk-o-bunko and your friendship is all the sudden null and void. When in fact, they were really never friends but instead Associates, actually Drinking-Associates (DAs) to be exact. There is no fault to be had, the relationship was just not that close. It’s OK. I’m learning that.

I have quite a few DA friendships that I hope will continue to blossom. A lot of these wonderful, inspiring women enlighten me daily to think and see the world differently. Many of these amazing woman are my Tweeners, as in somewhere in-between a DA and a BBF. I am learning that not all friendships need to be BBFs and that Tweeners and DAs are amazing blessings too! I am learning, a lot about myself in the process of all this mental scale making, and my corporate style friendship reorg. I put myself and my heart out there, often way too far and too quickly. I really try and want to get to know people. I share too much in hopes of opening up an honest friendship and dialog. I really do care (but perhaps too much). If I could make the rules I would have a whole gang of BBFs. Literally I am talking a gang… Think of me like the Al Capone of friendships. You would not want to disrespect “The Family”. Instead of wearing blue and red like the Crypts and the Bloods we would wear Lululemon and Burt’s Bees Lightly Tinted Lip Balm. Could you imagine the power of an all female gang of BBFs… We could take over the world, or at least Tarrant County.

After this is all said, I think I will always be a bit hurt and disappointed when I feel that I have put myself out there and other person does not reciprocate the same way. I know that I will still feel hurt and a bit confused at times when someone I thought I was developing a deep friendship with turns out to be really a Drinking-Associate. But I will remind myself that a DA is not a bad thing.

I have a lot of wonderful DA friendships that I am delighted to have. And I am going to keep trying and working to be a good friend and who knows I might just go on Amazon Prime and see if I can buy a few body-bags just incase I get The Call. I will continue to try to keep my mind and most importantly my heart in perspective. I have used and will continue to use this perspective to realign my expectations of my associates so I am not always hurt when things don’t go the way I hoped or expected. But most importantly I have thought a lot about how lucky and grateful I am to have my BBF who has the love and courage to speak honestly with me. I am more appreciative and eternally grateful for the depth of my BBF friendship that took over 20+ years, several different careers, a few husbands (even more x-boyfriends), a handful of kids, a lot of family drama, buckets full of tears both happy and sad and some seriously book analyzing… to grow.   I have come to realize that BBFs are extremely rare and you are blessed if you have even one. The rarity of them is perhaps what makes them so exceptionally special.  But in the meantime being who I am, perhaps a bit of a friendly-ClingOn (or Klingon for you Trekkies) if I say hello to you beware… I just might try to become your “Friend”.

~Not sure if anyone will really read this… but I can tell you I know one person who will…. my BBF.  Thanks Girl!  You know who you are!

I always start the month of January out with the best New Years resolution intensions. Work out, eat healthy/less, in summary loose weight. I usually start January out strong… Wait strike that, I usually start out eating my body weight in greasy cheep Mexican Food because of the New Years Eve hang-over I am nursing… Darn Champaign! Ok, so by January 3 or 4^th (so maybe there are a few days of… “This is my last meal at KFC bucket” and/or “This is my last Doritos wrapped taco”) I am really rolling on my goal of eating packaged salads and trying all the Pinterest recipes I have pinned on my “Healthy Life” board. Then it happens… On my way into the grocery store to by organic Quinoa and Grass-Fed, Free-Roaming, Petted-10-Times-Daily Beef I see them…. Those darn little temptress in green, with their darn merit patches that you know most of their Mom’s did the real work for…. That’s right, Hater gonna hate! I smile at them and answer their question “I’ll see on my way out”. But what I want to really do is go up to their little brown folding table, with the homemade glitter poster-board sign and make it rain dollar bills. That’s right little Girl Scout, you can close down shop, Mamma is buying all your stash (you can freeze them, right?)! But then I remember my mission… Eat healthy, loose weight, stop my inner thighs from rubbing together, wear a two piece bathing suit this summer… But the obsession has just peeked it ugly head, I know it, that deceptive Girl Scout knows it too. She saw me coming in and knew right away that I am her perfect target market, in my LuLu Lemon yoga outfit that has obviously never seen the inside of a yoga studio. So for the next 23 minutes I am in the grocery store I will think about that little Girl Scout who is so kindly taking extra tip money to send cookies to military overseas. So sweet and so darn evil! The Girl Scouts of America Organization is a well thought-out machine. They know by the second week of January all us New Years trend dieters are sick of eating kale and the thought of one more meal replacement shake makes us want to cry. It does not take much to push us over the edge.  We are all living on the edge! They know it and they pray on us using glitter signs. So on my way out I buy a few boxes; after all I did promise the sweet little girl that I might… I can hardly walk past her now and not buy anything. Plus cookies will be really fun treats for the kids after they eat all their kale dinner salads (two lies, one sentence). The reality is that my kids will scream child abuse about the kale and say that I am trying to poison and starve them and when they have almost reached the brink of starvation… And literally just seconds before a relief worker from Feed The Children International knocks on my door I will give in and make my darling children Kraft Mac & Cheese… in the microwave (don’t judge I will mix the power cheese with organic milk). But what the kids don’t know is that I have the Girl Scout cookies hidden in the trunk of my car, sweet sweet Girl Scout Cookies.  And now after Kale World War III (Yes, there have been two others) there is now way in H-E-Double Hockey Sticks that I am giving them one lick of a Tagalong. They don’t deserve them, but do you know who does ME! I have busted my butt all day and all I want is just one (ok, maybe three) Peanut Butter Patties. I’ve been to war and back… I deserve a Caramel deLites or two. It all starts out pretty innocent…. Just open one and have a few, but that’s also how all epic hangovers start. So here we go… it’s party time for Mommy. It’s also time to go down the thrilling zero self-control or self-respect spiral slide straight into GS Cookie heaven and hell. You know the feeling… It’s the same feeling you get when you walk into Cracker Barrel, don’t act like you don’t know. Now I’ve never done Crystal Meth but I’ve seen enough Breaking Bad to know that there is something called “chasing the white dragon”, which in straight-laced middle America lingo means, trying to achieve the ultimate feeling again, chasing the sense of nirvana. The high that you get the first time you smoke meth or take a bite of a Thin Mint or a Do-si-dos. So I sit there alone in my kitchen and for a brief moment I am truly happy… I would say it is like the feeling you have after really great sex, but since we are being honest here… it’s better, you don’t have to take a shower afterwards. But the feeling is too short lived so you literally HAVE to keep shoveling cookies in your mouth like a clean Cookie Monster… Yum Cookies Good! Me not waste cookies by eating messy! Me no want cookie crumbs in my Dyson!  After there is not a crumb of cookie or dignity left in the kitchen and about 3 seconds after the final minty chocolate taste fades from your mouth the paranoia kicks into high gear… The evidence must be destroy. While twitching from my sugar high, I hide the empty boxes and silver foil wrappers down deep in the trashcan, under banana peels and coffee grinds and I erase the episode from my mind. I may be an addict but I am a functioning addict. You’ll notice no mention of my husband in this story, that’s because as far as he knows this story NEVER happened! I ate raw kale with a squirt of lemon juice for dressing, did cross-fit for two hours (can I do that in my bedroom) and spend the rest of the night reading romance novels that remind me of him…. I did not eat four boxes of Girl Scout cookies for dinner.  I did not weigh myself and then sit in the corner in cry…. Nope never happened!  Isn’t it just luck that he happened to have to work late tonight.  Like I said “functioning addict”. But I will weather this storm. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. My drug of choice is only available a few weeks out of the year. And come February I will be back to my goal of a healthy life, well right after I eat a heart shaped box of chocolate or two. But for sure by March or April… Oh dang it! Cadbury Eggs and Peeps… Forget it! New Goal… Biggest Looser 2016 here I come!