Tag Archives: best friends

Hello Sexy Pants


Thought I’d send you a little catch up email since I miss you terribly! Let’s see..my hair is getting long, awesome. I lost 12 pounds on this “Biggest Winner Ultimate Thinner” challenge the Club I work at put together, dad lost 30 POUNDS!!!! He looks tiny, so proud of him, and I am hung over, fucking typical. We have this staff party tonight at the Garage up on capitol hill and lord knows I’m about to get my drunk on. Can we talk about how we both have boyfriends?! What the hell, who knew, I thought we’d just grow old together chucking eggs at each other’s houses and drinking gin and tonics on our front porches swearing at kids. Well, we’re probably still going to be doing just that, but there might be men to hold us back when we threaten to beat little shits with our walkers.

Instead of catching up, I’d like to reminisce a bit, because let’s be honest, we have some amazing, pee your pants its so funny stories, that are probably only funny to us but who cares:

Remember when I came to visit you in Berkeley and the first night I dumped beer on your frumpy mop of hair after we won in beer pong? Or when you put a fat sombrero on my head and made me drink 151 and then I chucked my stupid ass phone at Jigga George the cat code name BO JANGLES! Or how about when I woke up and honestly believed there was a hunched backed Mexican with a pistol staring at me when it really was the fucking cat litter and that goddamn sombrero, and no…you didn’t tell me to turn on the light, you told me to turn on the Leg. Or when I slept in your roommates bed and I couldn’t find the door to get out for a mid sleep pee, so I hoisted the biggest mirror in the world off of the wall thinking there was some goddamn witch and the wardrobe curse on me and I knocked and knocked trying to wake your snoring ass up.

Lets take this back even further to when mom asked us to water the lawn so we made vodka lemonades and brought lawn chairs out to the front, turned on the sprinkler, and drank ourselves silly while watering the already dead grass. Or how about that same day when we couldn’t find you, only to see you googly eyed with vino in hand in the hot tub- BY YOURSELF!

Jumping forward to my 23rd birthday where we got our “chef” on, raiding the Island and City with our crazy duo. AGAIN, I cannot find you because alas you went off to probably suck on a bottle of red to your lonesome and when I asked you where you’d been you gave me the most honest answer anyone has ever given me, “Oh you know, here…there…here” I didn’t even question it. Oh and let’s not forget that I woke up half in the kitchen half in the living room and almost chest bumped Greg’s roommate at 6am.

Okay, moving backwards now…way backwards, remember when you went off roading on your Schwinn? And by offroading we mean you went up a hill and almost popped a wheely while we biked to our usual Tacobell/Coffee Bean/TCBY date, and lets not forget the jelly bean raid, buttered popcorn jelly beans for life. Or how about when I slapped you so hard with a DVD sign when we spotted Bobby Schubert, your gay Brooklyn lover in a Blockbuster, I wonder what that crazy kid is up to now.
And let’s just bring this elephant out of the closet, we made home videos for English class- me about camping, you about water polo. And I will never, ever forget your rendition to Joan Jett’s I Love Rock and Roll. I had to literally think about the title just now because I Love Water Polo was the only thing that came to me. And stupid Jenna, that perfectionist, with her little strut while we ran around throwing raw hotdogs at each other and eating oreos with an old camcorder. I guess while it’s all coming out, I should say I’m sorry for giving you a black eye, but hey for the record- I did strap you with pillows and a helmet before I chucked lacrosse balls at you, convincing you it was helping me become a better player. And who said there were rules in tomato wars?! Those dumb bitches were just too dumb and bitchy to think about stuffing their tomatoes with rocks like we did. Yes Mook- we were tomato terrorists. And when they ceased fire we just said fuck it and started throwing them at ourselves- classy broads we are. I guess since word vomit is the name of the game let’s also lay down the fact that we watched a Knights Tale and danced and danced and danced, and then watched Brittany Spears in Crosseroads at 3am. And I have to just say this, I did hear Charlie pissing in the house, I just couldn’t get enough of you thinking you were the only one listening to that flood gate of a pee while I fake snored on the couch. (I’m laughing so hard I’m crying right now…by myself, in my office, picturing your sleepy bug eyes yelling ‘JANE, CHARLIE IS PEEING IN THE HOUSE!’) Also the fact that you called that 6 foot ginger monster mormon Katherine a bitch was the best thing ever- I supported it 100%. And the fact that we will forever know that 4:45 means a steamroll is pure beauty- I think I’m going to get that tattooed, and you know I aint lying.

Oh the good old days, 8th grade…where SSR was really code for writing hilarious notes to each other and getting kicked out of class. And when throwing our food at each other was way better than eating it. And playing hand ball really meant, let’s watch Meghan fucking boot this ball over the 3 story gym wall and not even play because you fucking put our ball on the roof.

And Rich Corso would wrap your grilled cheese in tin foil and I would get a perfectly stapled brown bag lunch with flowers drawn all over it. I knew we’d be best friends when you pulled out your sister’s underwear from your coat pocket and waved it around like a flag (or maybe I was the one that did that) – better yet I knew we’d be old hags together when you pulled out a goddamn tv remote from your binder and then proceeded to laugh saying, I wonder if I’m fucking with my dad, while clicking all the buttons. But let’s be honest, when I saw you looking like a homeless woman with a broken backpack and a torn brown grocery bag full of your school supplies I knew we were a match made for absolute craziness and mayhem. And even though you fell on your ass post pasta war, you still defended me, and even though you let those boys put me in the trash can, with the lid on, I held my beer up proud and you helped me out of the cest pool. Lord baby jesus Love us.


Miss you Mook like you don’t even know. Stay Gold you crazy fuck.

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You Know How I Know You’re Gay?

No surprises in this little story. My best friend is a lesbian, we have matching tattoos that take a few minutes to explain. And we spent an interesting dinner at my parent’s house listening to my father defend his theory that all Lesbos have tats. Myself, straight, Schu practically a daughter to my dad cried we were laughing so hard. I mean, how gayer could it have gotten, our tattoo is placed appropriately so when we side chest bump they touch.

When Schu accepted her gay-ness, it was about a year and a half after we had become very close friends, and about a year and a half after I had already known she was into the ladies. We went for a “drive” five blocks from our house to the McDonalds parking lot, I assumed we were just getting dollar sundaes, until she pulled into a parking spot, deep heave, and said “Janeo, I need to tell you something.”

I stared at her for a second, “Well yes? I’d like to go in soon.”

“Jane, I’ve figured out who I really am.”

Here’s the pivotal moment of our friendship, do I sympathize her position? Do I tell her I understand what she’s going through? Do I run through the very few girls she could possibly hook up with? Nah, I’ll just talk to her as I always do.

“Schubie, are you gonna go full blown dyke on me?”

She gave me permission to give her all the lesbian jokes and comments I possibly could.  I don’t think I’ve abused it yet…

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If you have never been to a drive through zoo, ignore what your hippie friends say about it being unnatural and cruel to the animals. These buggers have room to run my friend, and they love it. For the big deuce deuce my mother of all people, decided to take myself as well as my best friend from middle school, my sister and her close friend slash the equivalent to my long time bf-fer to this little fairy tale out in Sequim. Ok, the drive sucked and when we got there it looked like the great-lost planes. We all had to pee and the stalls were sized for midgets, and when we went to pay for our tickets they gave us loaves of bread to feed the animals.

We entered and drove along, my mother acting like her father: tense, uncomfortable, and awkward comments inserted constantly. Up the hill we went, click click, click, our own desert splash mountain.

We drove down to enter into steer land. These fellas came up to our car door windows, sniffing and eye balling all of us 20 some year olds in awe. And of course, we squealed and cooed at the furry, incredibly up close creatures. As my sister shrunk in her seat, and my mother forgot she was driving- hence the neutral shift to the right, off the beaten trail, I stuffed my face as close as I could manage to the steer, grabbing their horns and patting their long noses.

You know who weren’t friendly? The fucking zebras, they bucked our rear view mirror and shivered their black and white stripes- I quickly began to dislike them as much as refs (stop zebra fans, they are cute from afar).  So the trek continued, to the bears who waved at us for slices of whole-wheat bread- no really, they would wave at us, it was the kind of cute that makes you vomit.  We saw the rhino…sleeping, lame. We then entered the “dangerous” territory of elk and bison. The only dangerous thing about bison, minus their obtuse dingle-berries is their breath. One whiff of that and you’ll be nauseous for hours. I was desperate for more wildlife animal interaction, so in my attempt, I licked slices of bread and slapped them on to the windshield. My mother (insert my grandfather’s personality, think edgy, in an off-putting way) “What, what, Jane, what the fuck are you doing?” Without glancing over to her ticking neck, I finished my bread Picasso. “You’re going to bring all the damn seagulls to shit on my car Jane!” She clearly couldn’t see the mastermind at work, creating a trap for animals to enter only to fall for me to grab them gently and embrace them with my, ahem, love. We drove through the open terrain, about to finish off the tour, when the last pack of bison and elk emerged. I stuck my hands out, in a gun like fashion and jabbed persistently at my bread windshield. For those who don’t know me, when I get excited, an odd masculine voice takes over.

I yelled, “THIS IS MY MOMENT!”

Uh, False, watching a damn deer lick off residue from a windshield is not “My MOMENT” but merely another excuse to go to the car wash.

So after a solid two hours of being harassed by animals, and vice versa, more versa, less vice. We explored the world of Sequim, where they have signs next to life vests saying “KIDS DON’T FLOAT”, and a John Wayne memorial (one of my all time favorite actors).

We decided to make a quick late lunch stop, at some marina grill where 70-year-old women drink electric blue cocktails while adorned in bright pink lipstick.

Laughing that hard while animals tried to suck bread from our hands had taken the better of us, we stared at our clam chowder and salads in exhaustion- knowing that we had the birthday event to attend to that night.

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Serva Me Serva Bota

In my creative writing classes, it is so easy to get sucked into my own stories- nonfiction focused, feeling like I might betray someone by not telling something accurately, or doing so and exposing some unwanted truth. As for this piece, I turned a story about an amazing friendship into a prose poem.

We stole these leather bracelets on our sporadic road trip to Berkeley. They were from the Marc Jacobs store stuffed tightly into the Haight and Ashbury streets of San Francisco. We called it an accident, I had already spent a pretty penny on plaid boxers and a wallet that I probably didn’t need. We held this Latin phrase, save me and I will save you, on our wrists not realizing the truth in it. Two months of weathering the leather through midnight runs to the pier for a quick dip and letting sun dry out our over tanned skin, you and I both lost our bracelets in the lake nearby. The seaweed and ducks took them down to the depths of the silken mud. But not to worry, in a few months we gave our phrase a permanent home; me on my left hip, yours on your right. We didn’t tell anyone when we went downtown and let the ink sink into our sides. It’s one of my favorite tattoos, did you know? People always ask us why the hell we did it, and if I had the time or care to indulge them, I think I would tell them something like this:


I lay with you out on our rooftop. Our bodies just barely fitting between the ridges of the tin garage cover supporting us. It wasn’t a clear night, but we could see enough through the gray smug clouds for you to imagine past nights of star gazing with him. I made the hot chocolate too strong. Sorry. But you still craned your neck up to the oversized mug to dip your lips into the steaming concoction. We bundled in thick soccer socks and two sweatshirts apiece. I held your hand while you tried to cry silently; I heard you the whole time, did you know? I’m sorry I said. But you only laughed and replied, Why? We’re celebrating his birthday, not his death.

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