Grrrlfriends, raunch and delicious dilemmas: Just another Thursday morn

Just got a call from Lulu, my dear friend from the days of Women Studies graduate school yore. My friend who was forever on a miso soup and scotch detox diet and had this crazy/strangely compelling idea of (this is the point when all relatives must look away, at least until the third paragraph) fashioning a vibrator to a suction cup and then
attaching it to a pedal-operated trash can to really...ummm...well, you
get the picture (and I know you have a picture). How could I not love
her?

By day we Venn diagrammed feminist theories and by night we drank pitchers of Hank and
talked about body piercings, boys and all that other good stuff that
only comes up when you've been drinking crap beer and over-analyzing
French socialists all day.



Like mysticism. And our clear psychic superiority. And shoes. Oh gaw, how we talked
shoes. We were each other's hiking partners, shoe traders, clothes
borrowers, Sunday night dinner makers, coffee getters and conspirators
for a couple of critical years. She is much more rocker chic and
Earth-friendly and animal-committed than I am. Her hair is a better
color and her boobs are far more magnificent. And I am a mama and on my
way to being single and in a very different career. And still, like
those damn binders full of Venn diagrams, we find this space to connect.



Today, it was over phone sex. (Relatives, is this the paragraph I told
you to skip to? Ignore that and proceed directly to the post about
silver clogs...safe, silver clogs). Lulu has found some loving.
Long-distance loving. And by that I mean, long-distance looooooving. It
is fun and good and has (as apparently, it should) refreshed her
spirit, which has been rather isolated from the manosphere in the last
few years as she's developed her business and focused on being quieter,
more spiritual, getting fit and centered.



When she called this morning, I was expecting news about a blind date
or a follow-up on the set-up she had with a neighbor a few weeks ago.
Instead, it was a manmergency about phone sex. This is how my day, and
my convo with my grrrl Lulu began.



She wanted to know why it is that in her 40th year, this is suddenly so
fun, so freeing, so OK. She was curious why there is this (ahem)
release to be a sessy goddess at this point, especially after the
previous years of tending to her work and dogs and abs.



The dilemma was not so much about what to do (good Lord) as "Oh my God!
What am I doing?!" Really, not even so much that as "Oh my God! Check
out what I am doing?!" And kittens, with the smile and the little coy
laugh that followed and the conversation that reminded me of the one we
had the day she told me I must have a belly ring when I turned 25,
there really was no dilemma to be discussed.



Just cheered on.



When a client of hers called and I needed another cup of coffee and to
get back to my own work, the (cough) buzz of the conversation still
(whistles) hung in the air. I thanked the goddesses and French
feminists and all that Henry Weinhard's beer consumed and the binders
of class notes that now sit in taped up boxes in my new apartment and
life as it happens and those who stick around through it and the
universe and all things giddy and good, that my life extends back and
beyond playgroup and preschool and potty training.



I thanked my lucky stars that I am still who I am and I still have
these grrrlfriends to see me through. Mommy? Yes. With more? Of course.
Especially to talk and text and ping about on a Thursday morning.



No question. No dilemma.