misplaced mama

Some heavy writings for the near future of this blog; I am so close to unraveling these heart stings and passing out a key to a peepshow of my emotions.  I need to use these words as a vehicle to navigate through life’s richest and deepest experiences, the ones that ain’t too pretty; the ones that question my ability to love, guide and be a better parent. 

But for now, let’s just have some fun and celebrate Rebecca.

Rebecca Love has been my friend since I was 19 years old.  Both upstate New York Gals (you know what they say about upstate gals, and it’s true). We both share the same best friend, and as time rolled on our friendship status expanded and mutated from both being Leigh’s best friend, to owning this incredible bond in our own right that I utterly cherish. We both shared the same bootlicious desire to shake it all night long and have done so often together.  We both are utter fire.  We both have been blessed with extreme wanderlust and when we can’t go by foot we do so in our minds. We both of have impeccable taste in shoes, bags and jeans. We posses an uncanny resemblance to one another, (except her breasts are fabulous and full and her legs go on forever). People often assume we are sisters (the kind who share the same mama) when we link arms and take on the night together.

Rebecca can be considered Diva Of My Day for a basket full of reasons; her vitality, her zen-like strut as she maneuvers through life, her refined psychic and intuitive abilities, her knowledge of the planets and the stars, her soft, smushy, kind heart mixed with her fearless howl when she sees fit to vocalize herself.  Her love for her friends is selfless. The way she mothers and loves my children is effortless and natural; even though she is not yet a mother, I am just in awe of how perfectly patient she is with my kids and how she communicates with them; with respect and love always allowing her wise innermama to emerge. I look forward to borrowing more from her when I get to watch her become a mother herself someday.  She is also on her way to becoming heavily involved in philanthropy, so if you have money to give away, ask her where to give it away to.

But none of these reasons qualified her as my diva.  All my friends are utterly fabulous.  But not all of my friends keep a little pocket rocket in their glove box so that when the traffic on the 10 Freeway going across L.A. gets thick and pretty much stops, pleasure can be found.

"You what?  You get-off with a vibrator when your stuck in traffic?" 

"Hell yeah.  I just realized one day that if I rolled up my tinted windows, stuck it down my pants,  I could scream as LOUD as I wanted and nobody would give a damn. Beats sitting in traffic."

"Wow.  You are my hero."

It’s that simple.  My diva’s use their time very, very wisely.