Pretty is only skin deep: the untold story of Blondie and Moxie

I met someone named Blondie. She said once, pretty is only skin deep. I knew what she meant. She meant beauty is only skin deep. I would laugh till I cried, then respond yep it sure is! Of course no one would understand what it meant and why on earth were we cracking up like a bunch of hyenas. We didn't care. Blondie is some kind of cool. She can burp for a mile a minute without a pause, and almost has a black belt in karate. We once sat up till 2am staring into nothing, okay that's a lie, two friends trying to sleep in one bed and I rolled over, and a large arm wacked me in the face....followed by, "Whoops," then laughter. I'd text her at 5am just to tell her I was awake and send her a verse of the day, and if there was a crappy day for us at work or in general, it would involve Smirnoffs (smurfs, as we call them) were in order and should follow up with either dancing or time in the spa, proceeded by uncontrolled giggling. Blondie eats my peanut butter cookies, we sing along (or I hum rather) to music in the car, make fun of the dumbos we used to pass on the streets, dance like we are 80 or tango, the best team there is, even when I have no idea what step I'm on. She knows exactly what's up before I even say a word.  Memories all flood back: The trip to blues fusion in S.F. in that Aquarium spot, the stars at night with a bunch of friends, dancing till we couldn't feel our feet, sleeping in your best friend's car the whole way home, and stopping at a diner to eat; volleyball in the park, manchester, Dolce Vida gift, Halloween Party, goofing off at the Grad, taking the kiddos to the pool, praying together when things became hard, Manchester trip, pedicures, lunch, pretending to do homework, shopping for men, LMP trip, drinking in the car near a set of police cars, avoiding ruffles, and balls altogether, so uh I hope your face goes with those arms. Blondie and I are different, but we are also similar.  She was able to hold it all, I did the same for her. She and I would get in fights, but managed to forget what it was we argued about and didn't remember. no one can ever expect that of anyone. I try too hard with friendships because I care what people think of me, in fact it's a good quality, but it's also a bad one. I cannot expect people to meet and do what I expect, otherwise I will end up disappointed and hurt, searching for nothing and winding up with nothing. We screw up, make mistakes, say things we don't mean, do things we didn't mean to do. Saying sorry is not enough, it has to be real. See that's the beauty of that line she makes, pretty is only skin deep. People can see everything on the surface, but can miss what's important. Changing and trying to fix someone only hurts you not them. Also dually noted, if you make a big deal out of everything, it lands you in trouble, hurting, and worn paper thin like a vindictive cycle of awful. Blondie and Moxie, Fireball Whiskey and Jameson aren't supposed to be mixed together, but as best friends I never thought that way. So instead of making this a sappy story where the reader thinks it will end where we are hugging and crying, I'm going to be goofy, Blondie style. "Hey, there, you, yes you, your walk, it uh turns me on... whatcha got there girlfriend, nice earrings, I'm on two, quit talking skinny, and you might catch up, you look like death, go to sleep... Blondie it's Moxie, love you wherever we are or what happens in the end. I miss you like the duster misses cleaning the house or the dancer misses her old ballet shoes.... yea that made no sense lol...but you will get it.