April 03, 2009
What Up, Birthday Girl!
Tomorrow is Heather's BBQ Birthday Bash (all parties titles must alliterate -- it's the law). Also the law: never show up to a birthday party empty-handed. I don't care what Mr. Heather's gracious invitation said -- gifts on birthdays are NOT optional!
Therefore, today after work, I will be driving, during rush hour, to a very specific store several towns away, to buy Heather's birthday present. Because my Mama raised me right!
I will be attending Heather's party; however, Husband will not. Why? Because he can't stand to be around Heather and I when we're together. He has come right out and said it, and I can't get mad at him. Not even a little bit. Because he is absolutely 100% justified. The word INTOLERABLE doesn't even begin to describe Heather and I as a set.
Don't get me wrong -- he likes Heather and genuinely enjoys her company... when I'm in the other room. He thinks Heather is a total crack-up, when I read her text messages to him. But when she comes over, he hides. And rightly so.
Separately, we are both fairly decent people. We are kind and tolerant with co-workers, even the ones who don't deserve it. We are fiercely loyal to our families and would cheerfully commit horrible crimes to protect them (or, let's be honest, to amuse them). We have many friends whom we don't even have to sleep with in order to keep them around.
We are witty, gracious, talented, well-groomed and beloved.
Except when we're together. The sum of our whole is faaaaar less than the sum of our parts. We are catty, immature, rude, crude, sacralicious, racist, kitten-hating, baby-eating spawn of Beelzebub.
No one wants to be around us. Hell, we don't even want to be around us. I will have to be on my very best behavior tomorrow so that Mr. Heather doesn't eviscerate me with grilling tongs. He was once trapped in a car with us while we sang along with the entire soundtrack of "Wicked." In harmony. With dialogue.
"Alfie... now that we're friends..."
And that little tidbit alone, delivered appropos of nothing, in the middle of Canton Tea Garden, is enough to send Heather into hysterics, simply because it was uttered by me.
You see? We are even more annoying because we make no sense. No one listening to our conversation would ever think we are funny, or even think we are speaking English. I cannot stress enough just how genuinely stupid and asshatty we are together.
Take, for instance, this photo...
...first posted here in June of 2006, when I was rambling on and on about eBay.
Heather took one look at that photo, named it "What up, bitches!" and proceeded to laugh herself to internal bleeding.
And of course, if Heather is laughing about something, then it automatically becomes funny to me, too, even if I have no idea what I'm laughing about. Html coding? Hilarious! Mutual funds? Farcical! Russian literature? Riotous!
What Up, Bitches! has become part of the Heather/Wenchie lexicon. Of course, it must always be accompanied by the Hiel-Hitler-esque wave of one arm. And it is always followed by crippling laughter.
Not a chuckle. Not a guffaw. Not even a har-dee-har-har. I'm talking snorting, crying, stumbling-around, wheezing, face-contorting, seizure-inducing, speaking-in-tongues laughter. The kind of laughter where you have to hide your face because you know just how ugly it looks, especially with your mascara all under your eyes.
A couple weeks ago, we went to see "Fired Up!" together. On purpose. Because mocking others makes us feel closer to each other.
Admittedly, we were pretty wound up -- like toddlers on chocolate after bedtime -- so it's no surprise that we were finding humor with everything on the planet. But when she let fly with a random "What up, bitches!" in the bathroom, it was like setting off the atomic bomb of supreme wit.
I was laughing so hard (see above paragraph "Not a chuckle."), I had to lean against the wall and grab onto the sink because I was feeling lightheaded. I was actually losing vision. I think one of my retinas might have detached momentarily. I have, quite literally, never laughed harder in my entire life. It was like an out-of-body experience. Actually, it was kinda scary.
And this is why I am going to Heather's party alone.
Please keep Mr. Heather in your prayers.
Comments
Best. Birthday. Blog. Ever.
I have never been prouder, Wenchie.
what up, bitches!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
laughing so hard, I, too, am crying,
Heather
Posted by: heather at April 3, 2009 11:58 AM
That's a kick ass friendship. I have that with G-Andy (gay Andy).
We went out two weeks ago and decided we had two options. We could have a few drinks and go home in a respectable manner, or we could make it 'Hope & Andy's Big Gay Night". The decision was made by our third drink when Andy played every Supremes song on the juke box and taught me the choreography to Stop In The Name of Love as we sat at the bar with everyone watching the NCAA tourney :)
The next day I had to tell Andy he broke his hand when he fell on the dance floor.
Posted by: Hope at April 3, 2009 03:14 PM
I am a huge huge fan of Heather/Wenchie. I sit silently in awe of them. Then I try to make them laugh a little.
Posted by: Vicki at April 3, 2009 03:18 PM