reason no. 58 I'm not good with secrets

I know someone who went under the knife...lighting of the doctor's office today.

No, really, I know someone who got a tube up the butt.

Yes, I sent an e-card.
And wished them a "shitty" good time.
Yes, puns are really funny.

I really am a good friend.  When you give birth to your first child, live in my complex, I'm the arch angel of sneaking-in-with-the-help-of-your-husband-and-doing-your-laundry.  I also bring you a 6-pack of beer as a "Yay, your vaheena is off limits for some weeks since it just passed a Mack truck" prize.  

I'll let you bitch about anything and everything military (because, Lord knows I've had my share of complaining about a certain NAS Pensacola being surround by inbred hooligans who don't have all their teeth.  Who wants to live there?).

I'll try to babysit your children, but when they won't actually lay down for their nap and would rather play with each other...that's not my fault.  Their toys are so much cooler than the ones I had.  I'd rather stay up and play also.

I'll drive you to the Emergency Room when you've blown your esophagus and are vomiting blood.  I'll wait there patiently with you, trying not to make New York Fashion Week model comments about bulimia, then make sure you stick to the all-liquids diet for a week.

I'll make you a training guide for your first 5K.

I plan on throwing one will-not-be-tacky-or-else-I'll-die bridal shower.

I at least text on your birthday.  Sometimes.

I'll hold your hair when you puke.

I'll talk you off the ledge when you're staring down depression's door.

And I'm great at buying pregnancy tests, camping outside the bathroom door, and screaming to you "So the verdict? You knocked up or what?"

I'll fly hours to a foreign country to spend 2 weeks of our lives, having fun, drinking local brews, eating weird food, and not wanting to come back.

I'll spend 2 hours squeezing over 20 grapefruits, then sieving the juices, just so your liver has a purpose in life. And that purpose is the best Greyhound this side of the county line.  Dream small, I say.

I'll cheer you on when you're nuts enough to contemplate a full marathon.

I just won't water your plants for you.  I'll kill them.