Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Happy Birthday Bindy!

Bindy asked me to write a post about her for her birthday today. Bindy, Bindy, Bindy. She loves to see her fake name in print. This may not be my best work as I just got back from the grocery store where my kids demolished my sanity, but I'll give it a shot. It's either this or closeout underwear from my eBay store (if anyone's interested I still have at least a couple hundred organic cotton thongs).

I think this is the first time in 20 years or so that I don't have a birthday present already set aside for Bindy. She really, really loves birthday presents. I should clarify that she loves getting them. I honestly can't remember the last time I received a present from her, birthday or otherwise. But this probably isn't the type of post Bindy was hoping for.

On the way home from the store, I was trying to think of stories I could share about Bindy. There are some funny stories. Daredevil tells them the best. She once entertained an entire bar with them for over an hour in Bindy's hometown. But those stories will only upset the birthday girl. If you know me personally and want to hear, remind me the next time I see you - you should really hear the top five.

Bindy and I became friends when we took the same yellow bus across town to our high school. (In case you're wondering, it was a long yellow bus.) I can remember talking to her about her cheerleading tryouts. You can actually see Bindy if you ever watch Cameron Diaz: The E True Hollywood Story. She's the other blonde in the photo of high school cheerleaders. You have to look quickly before they blur her face out and zoom in on Cameron.

We lived together in "the apartment" in college. Bindy was very outgoing and always liked to try new things. This led to many, many hours of playing hackysack, pool, cribbage and more recently, Guitar Hero. With the exception of the card games, I was never so participatory. She was also good at making friends. All of my college girlfriends (and one boyfriend) were hers first. For awhile, I felt like I lived in her shadow.

Around the time I graduated from college, I decided to try some new things of my own. One of those things was to change my hair, which had pretty much always been the same with the exception of the bad perm years in high school. I made an appointment at my friend Madison's favorite hair salon in San Francisco instead of my usual $7 barbershop. Bindy decided to tag along at the last minute.

While Bindy waited for me to have my hair dyed deep red, the other stylist talked her into a new haircut. She told the stylist she wanted something sexy and sophisticated. He gave her a bob a la the 12-year-old girl in The Professional, and that's exactly how old Bindy looked when he was done. She started crying before we even left the salon. I was excited about my new color but also a little nervous because it was so different. I didn't want people to make a big deal about it or anything when we walked into a party that night. And as it turns out, no one did . . . because they didn't notice . . . because they couldn't believe how different Bindy looked. The only thing that made me appreciate my sidekick status was the miserable look on her face.

But that was before we were real grown ups. We're years past that kind of competition or insecurity. Now, we compete through our three-year-old daughters. Her daughter's ahead in speaking but mine's rocking the potty skills. People occasionally remark about how fun it must have been when Bindy and I were pregnant at the same time. Bindy gets this serious look on her face when she corrects them, "Being pregnant isn't fun." But it is fun now when my girlfriends get together. The kids practically take care of themselves. My five year old worships her ten year old; our little ones hardly ever fight, probably because we've been throwing them together since they were less than a month in this world.

I don't even want to know what stages we'll be sharing in future years. I just know that whatever happens, it will be so much better with Bindy.

Picture: http://www.flickr.com/photos/pinksherbet/

No comments:

Post a Comment