Ninja Sarah

I have a best friend/ninja. Her name is Ninja Sarah. We talk in half sentences. With pauses in between them. And she is aWeSoMe. Because she totally gets me. And we have the most redonkulous conversations together. I told her about my long term goal of traveling cross country in an RV with someone and she was instantly down. She never asked where we were going or what kind of RV we would get. She wanted to get a leg up on ordering matching track suits. And sun visors. And a pair of matching Crocs. What says best friend better than matching Crocs. Um, nothing.

Ninja Sarah and I have the longest conversations about absolutely nothing. They span for days – sometimes, months. They seldom make sense to anyone but us, and we are ok with that. We laughed so hard that once, we almost drove off the road and into a field because our eyes were watering and our heads were pounding as we had a 45 minute conversation about all the naughty things we wanted to do to our boss. Because although he has a huge head, and a wonky eye, he had an ass you could bounce a quarter off of.

We have conversations about men and their manginas. Feminine men who we can’t help but to love but who piss us off and need to grow a sack and man up. We have the same ideals on relationships and why our brains are crazy-psycho-upside-down-and-backward when it comes to long term relationships and happily ever afters.

We shop too much, drink too much wine, laugh too hard at our own jokes, spend too much money on purses and heels we never wear, enjoy buttered bananas and nutella cradled in sugary crepes to the point of inappropriate public orgasm, and we both have a broken filter. There is no swinging door between our brains and our mouths and so we tend to talk too loud, for far too long about things like poop, constipation, full butted underwear and anal sex.

Neither of us are morning people. We do not enjoy the feel of a steel rod (commonly known as, morning wood) pressing against our spines in the morning in some lame effort to get morning sex. We are makeup snobs, we are anti-wearing-your-pajama-bottoms-in-public, and when I was whining and complaining about being a Fatty McFatAss, she didn’t sugar coat a thing. She said, with all the love she could muster, “get off your fat ass and do something about it, or deal with it”. And I loved her for that.

She is the female version of my soul mate. I can talk to her about anything from an itchy vag to hemorrhoids and she doesn’t bat an eyelash or cringe or make a face. Instead she jumps right in like we are having a conversation about something as important and controversial as global warming.

She brings me lattes for no reason at all, tells me when those jeans make my ass look fat, tells me I’m pretty, and never judges me when I burp in public, pick my ass, have a zit the size of Mt. Everest on my face, or talk incessantly about how my boobs are different sizes and I am convinced it is because one of them is loaded with tumors.

I can’t remember the first time I knew we were Ninja soul mates, but I am pretty sure it was the day we spent an entire workday writing each other emails in song verse. We sent them back and forth for close to 8 hours using song lyrics from NKOTB and Barbara Streisand and since that day, I can’t get the lyrics “you don’t send me flowers anymooooorrreee” out of my head.

Everyone should have a Ninja Sarah. They should sell them on an endcap in Target. Mostly because when I told her I was writing a blog about her and asked if she had any stories I should (or shouldn’t add) she sent me this:

Aw Tear! All I have to say is that I love you, you are my soul mate and I remember the day I fell in love with you. It was a lovely warm day (I have no concept of month or time of yr) and we went to TGI Friday’s and had the worst dessert ever and that was the last time we ever ordered off the healthy dessert menu (dumbest thing we ever did) but it was our ride home that I truly knew that we were meant to be together. We laughed so hard our heads hurt and our throats were sore and we both told secrets to each other that will bind our love forever. It was first day of the rest of my life (or some bullshit like that) and at that point I knew I never needed to filter my life for anyone and it was fantastic. My give a damn was completely smashed by you and I am forever grateful. Although I had the zsa zsa’s for you the first day I met you that day made me truly believe that coming to NY was the best choice I ever made in my life b/c I found my ninja wife, my life partner and my HOAR!
I am not the writer in this relationship; I am just a Ma-chine.

I laughed, cried, farted and almost peed my pants when I read that. Let me explain a couple of things just so they make a little more sense.

1) Ma-Chine. I don’t know if anyone will ever get this unless you were there but I will make an effort to explain it. Ninja Sarah and I were driving in Geneseo one day and we were reading the bumper stickers on the back of something very Yugo-ish. The word ‘machine’ was on one of the stickers in some capacity, but when Sarah was saying the word, she forgot how to speak and it came out as too words. Ma. Chine. And it was hysterical. See, probably only funny to us, but funny just the same.

2) The zsa zsa’s (aka the zsa zsa zoo’s) are that crazy, gut, over the top, madly in love, butterflies in the belly feeling when you meet someone that just gets you and makes you feel alive again.

3) A HOAR is the same as a WHORE but with different meanings. For different reasons. A HOAR is someone who is off the charts, both whoarish and stupid as opposed to a WHORE who is just a skank in the average sense of the word. If you yell either one really loud, it sounds hysterical. The HOAR was derived from a trip home from Vermont, listening to the Playboy channel, and playing along to the Porn Alphabet. The lady on the radio said, in her best $2.99/minute voice, name a word that starts with the letter H, and without hesitation I screamed out HOAR. And that is when we almost drove off the thruway at 70mph from laughing like escapee insane asylum people. (And yes, I knew even at the time that it was spelled WHORE, but it just came out and has made for a great story ever since.)

4) Lastly, and most importantly, Sarah and I were bonded by our hatred for all things Perry. She came from Vermont and was here only with her boyfriend. I moved here from Buffalo with my husband and kids. Although her drive to see her family was 7 hours, and mine only just over an hour, we still felt like we were thrown into some alternate universe from hell. The culture and the atmosphere out here is unlike anything I have ever known. People talk different, dress different, raise their kids different, have different ideals and values, and think hot dogs covered in peanut butter are a food group. We were both miserable, and both attracted to each other by each others accessories. Partly because they were shiny and distracted us, but mostly because they were like some universal symbol that we, in fact, did NOT belong here. Our friendship has made living out here seem not only bearable, but at times enjoyable. It has forced us to find new places and new things like a giant life long scavenger hunt. Oh, and we have not one, but two matching tattoos. We both have a ninja tattooed on our necks, and we have a very feminine and beautiful bird/heart tattoo. We are ink bonded for life.



These are a few of the reasons why I am the person I am today. Because I found someone that allows me to be the person I am and smacks me with a shoe when my head gets too big or I whine too much. Thanks Ninja Sarah for being my keeper of all secrets, my tattoo buddy, and my family.