Yo
Bora Bora?
Come away with me
Sand between our toes
Salty sea
Hands to yourself 8 hours a day
While you sleep beside me
And I pray
But not to a God
No way
Hand on my thigh
Oh... my
Sex and books
In the bed, on the beach
And I reach
For you
And I whisper
It's okay
To feel something for me
Okay? (Pkay?)
And you say shhhh
Let me have my way
With you
Shhhh
Words will not do
But for me
Yes
Words
So with my hands on your face
And my lips at your ear
... I love you
No!
It's brain chemicals, yo!
Science, bitch!
Didn't you know?
Time to go home
There is no love here
No Bora Bora
Only fear
But what about...?
No
Just no
I told you already, yo
Time to go
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Funny Ideas
I have two best friends. Heartache and Loneliness.
I didn’t choose them. They chose me.
I sometimes try to ditch them. Say I don't want to be friends anymore. Tell them to go away.
But they are not the type of friends to give up so easily.
They really like me, and so they stick around. Loyal, you might say.
And so, after a while, I invited them in.
If nothing else, they feel comfortable.
They are jealous friends though. No one wants a jealous friend.
Jealous friends chase everyone else away.
Love? No way in hell is Love allowed in the circle. They told Love to fuck off.
Happiness? Okay, Happiness can stop in once in a while for dinner. But, after dessert and coffee, buh-bye.
Too much Happiness can make a person sick, they say.
Intimacy? What? With someone besides us, they ask?
I say, sure, why not?
And they look at each other and laugh.
Apparently that’s funny.
I didn’t know.
They don’t want to share me.
Don’t get any funny ideas, they tell me.
Funny ideas will only disappoint you.
Stick with us and everything will be just fine.
Climb in the warm bath we’ve poured for you. Lay back and relax. Let us wash over you.
Ahhhh.
Feel that? Doesn’t it feel wonderful?
Tears burn at my eyes.
Don’t cry, they say.
Hush now.
Don’t cry.
Let us towel you dry. Let us climb into bed with you.
We will warm you. We will keep you company.
There, there.
Oh, to be on a first name basis with Heartache.
He’ll eat your soul.
And Loneliness?
Watch out for that one.
He’ll cuddle up to you and dig his claws in.
Never let go.
But we know you so well, they say.
No one knows you better than we do.
That counts for something.
We’ve got your back.
We love you.
Best friends forever.
I didn’t choose them. They chose me.
I sometimes try to ditch them. Say I don't want to be friends anymore. Tell them to go away.
But they are not the type of friends to give up so easily.
They really like me, and so they stick around. Loyal, you might say.
And so, after a while, I invited them in.
If nothing else, they feel comfortable.
They are jealous friends though. No one wants a jealous friend.
Jealous friends chase everyone else away.
Love? No way in hell is Love allowed in the circle. They told Love to fuck off.
Happiness? Okay, Happiness can stop in once in a while for dinner. But, after dessert and coffee, buh-bye.
Too much Happiness can make a person sick, they say.
Intimacy? What? With someone besides us, they ask?
I say, sure, why not?
And they look at each other and laugh.
Apparently that’s funny.
I didn’t know.
They don’t want to share me.
Don’t get any funny ideas, they tell me.
Funny ideas will only disappoint you.
Stick with us and everything will be just fine.
Climb in the warm bath we’ve poured for you. Lay back and relax. Let us wash over you.
Ahhhh.
Feel that? Doesn’t it feel wonderful?
Tears burn at my eyes.
Don’t cry, they say.
Hush now.
Don’t cry.
Let us towel you dry. Let us climb into bed with you.
We will warm you. We will keep you company.
There, there.
Oh, to be on a first name basis with Heartache.
He’ll eat your soul.
And Loneliness?
Watch out for that one.
He’ll cuddle up to you and dig his claws in.
Never let go.
But we know you so well, they say.
No one knows you better than we do.
That counts for something.
We’ve got your back.
We love you.
Best friends forever.
Thursday, November 13, 2014
Proposal
On New Years Eve 2003, my now husband took me for a night on the town. He pulled strings and got us a reservation at Tribute in Farmington Hills. This restaurant closed in 2009, but for many years, it was quite the landmark... often making the list of top 50 restaurants in America.
It was something. I don't think I had ever been in a restaurant quite like this before. We had an entire team of wait staff. Each team is dedicated to serving just one table. Their whole goal is to pamper you and give you a night to remember. Which they did.
We ate fancy French cuisine. It was like course after course of deliciousness, presented in such a pretty way. Almost too pretty to eat, but eat we did.
When it was time for dessert, the wait staff carried out covered silver platters to present to us. In turn, they each lifted the lids from their respective platters... when the final lid was lifted, there sat a beautiful diamond ring surrounded by flower petals. A platinum ring with a canary yellow diamond. My heart jumped. (Later, my husband would say he chose a canary yellow diamond because it was "cute" like me.)
I looked into Walt's eyes... and he said (get ready for this)... "Well?"
No "Will you marry me?" No romantic overture or sentiment. Just "Well?" I think this is known as the No Nonsense Proposal. Get 'er done!
Maybe he was nervous.
Irregardless, my response was... "Well what?"
(That'll show him.)
And so he asked me to marry him and I said yes. And we kissed and the wait staff cheered and made a big production of it all. And we were too full to eat the pretty desserts.
I love my canary yellow diamond. It's unique and different. I don't personally know anyone else who has one. Whenever I look at it, I think of frog leg soup and flower petals and a gorgeous man who chose me to be his wife.
It was something. I don't think I had ever been in a restaurant quite like this before. We had an entire team of wait staff. Each team is dedicated to serving just one table. Their whole goal is to pamper you and give you a night to remember. Which they did.
We ate fancy French cuisine. It was like course after course of deliciousness, presented in such a pretty way. Almost too pretty to eat, but eat we did.
When it was time for dessert, the wait staff carried out covered silver platters to present to us. In turn, they each lifted the lids from their respective platters... when the final lid was lifted, there sat a beautiful diamond ring surrounded by flower petals. A platinum ring with a canary yellow diamond. My heart jumped. (Later, my husband would say he chose a canary yellow diamond because it was "cute" like me.)
I looked into Walt's eyes... and he said (get ready for this)... "Well?"
No "Will you marry me?" No romantic overture or sentiment. Just "Well?" I think this is known as the No Nonsense Proposal. Get 'er done!
Maybe he was nervous.
Irregardless, my response was... "Well what?"
(That'll show him.)
And so he asked me to marry him and I said yes. And we kissed and the wait staff cheered and made a big production of it all. And we were too full to eat the pretty desserts.
I love my canary yellow diamond. It's unique and different. I don't personally know anyone else who has one. Whenever I look at it, I think of frog leg soup and flower petals and a gorgeous man who chose me to be his wife.
Friday, November 7, 2014
Mike, Mike and Mike
Men named Mike. I had to swear them off a long time ago.
In fact, had my husband's name been Mike instead of Walt, I would have turned down the first date. Really. It's that significant.
Mike #1
There is no trauma associated with Mike #1.
I only mention him because his name was, well, Mike.
We went to high school together. Hung out with the same group of friends. He was best friends with Joe, who eventually became my boyfriend. But Joe was dating Jennifer initially, and so Mike asked me to prom, and the four of us went together.
Mike's mom asked him to ask me what color my prom dress would be so they could plan accordingly.
I wore black. Not a popular color in 1987. But that's who I was.
So what did Mike do? He got a gray tux with a teal colored tie and cummerbund. We clashed horribly.
We danced to Lady in Red. He had never touched me before. I didn't actually know if he even liked me. We were just friends, really. Although I did kind of like him.
"Lady in red is dancing with me cheek to cheek..." (Red=black in this case)
By the end of the evening, I felt slightly smitten. Not overwhelmingly so, but smitten, nonetheless.
He drove me home... walked me to the front door... and shook my hand goodnight.
Shook my hand.
Shook my hand?
Mike #2
Quite a lot of trauma associated with Mike #2.
We worked together. I was in a committed relationship. But that didn't stop me from falling hard for Mike #2.
There was a ridiculous amount of chemistry between us. Like enter the same room and the temperature goes up 20 degrees kind of chemistry. Make eye contact and the rest of the world falls away kind of chemistry.
Craziness.
I tried to set him up with a couple different friends. We'd all go out together so I could introduce them, see what might happen... but it just drew us closer together. He was supposed to be interested in my friends. But he was interested in me.
On one of those nights, I drove him home. He invited me in. I should have said no. Instead, I said yes. He offered me a glass of water. We sat on the couch and sipped our bottles of water. And then he reached over and pulled me onto his lap. He slid his hand under my top and unhooked my bra. He kissed me. And kissed me some more. And kissed me for, I don't know, a very long time.
And then I went home.
And the guilt was torturous. And the infatuation I felt for him was torturous. I fell in love with him.
We never kissed again.
And he moved away.
I was heartbroken. I thought about him daily for 4 years. And then every other day for another 2 years. And then I accepted that it was truly over, this relationship that never had a beginning or a chance or a proper ending.
I can still picture him, as clear as day.
Mike #3
Mild sadness related to Mike #3.
When I was going through my divorce, while still living in Texas, I met Mike #2. During one of my visits to Michigan. He was friends with my friend's boyfriend.
On Halloween, I went to a nightclub with my friend and her boyfriend, and we ran into Mike #3.
I was dressed as a cow.
He hung out with us a little, and then not. And then again.
We all went back to my friend's house and climbed in the hot tub. It was one of those chilly nights when it's really awesome to be in a hot tub. Warm water, crisp cold air. Heaven.
My friend and her boyfriend had had enough of the hot tub and excused themselves.
Mike #3 and I stayed in the hot tub half the night, talking. Just talking!
I learned that he had never had a professional massage before. As a massage therapist, this broke my heart.
The next day, I told my friend I wanted to go buy Mike #3 a gift certificate for a massage. So off we went. I flew home shortly after, and she gave him the gift about a week later.
She said he grinned from ear to ear.
I visited Michigan a few more times before moving there.
One night, he spent the night at my friend's. It was really late and I told him not to drive home. Said he could stay in my bed... in the guest room...
As soon as we got into bed, he drew an imaginary line down the middle and told me I couldn't cross that line.
I agreed.
I stayed on my side and he stayed on his side. And then he said, "Can I give you a kiss goodnight?"
And we crossed the imaginary line. But only for that kiss (and maybe a few more kisses).
He started calling me. It wasn't easy. He traveled for work, all over the country. I hadn't actually moved to Michigan yet. I had no business seeing anyone.
I saw him once more. We went out with other friends, and he hugged me... the longest hug anyone has ever given me.
My friend and her boyfriend broke up. And my contact with Mike #3 started to become further and farther apart. Until it just... stopped.
A few months later, when I actually moved to Michigan, I didn't call Mike #3. I don't even know if he was ever aware that I was living not more than 15 minutes from his house.
My middle name is Michelle. Had I been a boy, my mom tells me my name would have been Michael. Just something to mention.
In fact, had my husband's name been Mike instead of Walt, I would have turned down the first date. Really. It's that significant.
Mike #1
There is no trauma associated with Mike #1.
I only mention him because his name was, well, Mike.
We went to high school together. Hung out with the same group of friends. He was best friends with Joe, who eventually became my boyfriend. But Joe was dating Jennifer initially, and so Mike asked me to prom, and the four of us went together.
Mike's mom asked him to ask me what color my prom dress would be so they could plan accordingly.
I wore black. Not a popular color in 1987. But that's who I was.
So what did Mike do? He got a gray tux with a teal colored tie and cummerbund. We clashed horribly.
We danced to Lady in Red. He had never touched me before. I didn't actually know if he even liked me. We were just friends, really. Although I did kind of like him.
"Lady in red is dancing with me cheek to cheek..." (Red=black in this case)
By the end of the evening, I felt slightly smitten. Not overwhelmingly so, but smitten, nonetheless.
He drove me home... walked me to the front door... and shook my hand goodnight.
Shook my hand.
Shook my hand?
Mike #2
Quite a lot of trauma associated with Mike #2.
We worked together. I was in a committed relationship. But that didn't stop me from falling hard for Mike #2.
There was a ridiculous amount of chemistry between us. Like enter the same room and the temperature goes up 20 degrees kind of chemistry. Make eye contact and the rest of the world falls away kind of chemistry.
Craziness.
I tried to set him up with a couple different friends. We'd all go out together so I could introduce them, see what might happen... but it just drew us closer together. He was supposed to be interested in my friends. But he was interested in me.
On one of those nights, I drove him home. He invited me in. I should have said no. Instead, I said yes. He offered me a glass of water. We sat on the couch and sipped our bottles of water. And then he reached over and pulled me onto his lap. He slid his hand under my top and unhooked my bra. He kissed me. And kissed me some more. And kissed me for, I don't know, a very long time.
And then I went home.
And the guilt was torturous. And the infatuation I felt for him was torturous. I fell in love with him.
We never kissed again.
And he moved away.
I was heartbroken. I thought about him daily for 4 years. And then every other day for another 2 years. And then I accepted that it was truly over, this relationship that never had a beginning or a chance or a proper ending.
I can still picture him, as clear as day.
Mike #3
Mild sadness related to Mike #3.
When I was going through my divorce, while still living in Texas, I met Mike #2. During one of my visits to Michigan. He was friends with my friend's boyfriend.
On Halloween, I went to a nightclub with my friend and her boyfriend, and we ran into Mike #3.
I was dressed as a cow.
He hung out with us a little, and then not. And then again.
We all went back to my friend's house and climbed in the hot tub. It was one of those chilly nights when it's really awesome to be in a hot tub. Warm water, crisp cold air. Heaven.
My friend and her boyfriend had had enough of the hot tub and excused themselves.
Mike #3 and I stayed in the hot tub half the night, talking. Just talking!
I learned that he had never had a professional massage before. As a massage therapist, this broke my heart.
The next day, I told my friend I wanted to go buy Mike #3 a gift certificate for a massage. So off we went. I flew home shortly after, and she gave him the gift about a week later.
She said he grinned from ear to ear.
I visited Michigan a few more times before moving there.
One night, he spent the night at my friend's. It was really late and I told him not to drive home. Said he could stay in my bed... in the guest room...
As soon as we got into bed, he drew an imaginary line down the middle and told me I couldn't cross that line.
I agreed.
I stayed on my side and he stayed on his side. And then he said, "Can I give you a kiss goodnight?"
And we crossed the imaginary line. But only for that kiss (and maybe a few more kisses).
He started calling me. It wasn't easy. He traveled for work, all over the country. I hadn't actually moved to Michigan yet. I had no business seeing anyone.
I saw him once more. We went out with other friends, and he hugged me... the longest hug anyone has ever given me.
My friend and her boyfriend broke up. And my contact with Mike #3 started to become further and farther apart. Until it just... stopped.
A few months later, when I actually moved to Michigan, I didn't call Mike #3. I don't even know if he was ever aware that I was living not more than 15 minutes from his house.
My middle name is Michelle. Had I been a boy, my mom tells me my name would have been Michael. Just something to mention.
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
Life Line
A very long time ago, I had a male friend... who happened to have cerebral palsy. Some of his challenges were physical... issues with balance, spasms, gait, speech... and some of his challenges were cognitive. But he was able to get around ("I can walk," he used to say. "Who likes to jump, anyway?") and he really appreciated life. He was sweet and funny.
We would sometimes go to movies, sometimes out to eat, sometimes shopping. And we would go to random festivals and street fairs. He liked to be around other people... and to people watch. And he really liked cotton candy.
At one festival, we decided to visit a fortune teller. We both had our palms read. I don't remember many of the details of what she forecasted for me, but I do remember what she said to him... that his life line was very long... longer than mine. And he got upset and said that my life line needed to be as long as his. Otherwise he would have no one to go to fortune tellers with down the road.
After we left the fortune teller, we were walking down the street together, talking and eating our cotton candy. A car full of guys drove by and slowed down when they neared us. One of them yelled out the window, "Hey! What are you doing with the 'tard?! You can do better than that!" And they all laughed. I looked over at them and stuck both of my middle fingers up in the air as the car peeled off.
We shrugged it off. Losers. But we were both a bit frazzled, and I could tell he was upset even though he didn't say much and tried to laugh it off. It made me wonder how often he was subjected to the ignorant cruelty of other people.
Our favorite thing to do together? Go to old libraries and wander the stacks. One of the libraries has over 10 million items. You can literally spend an entire day wandering around. One floor is just maps and globes... another floor is comprised of photographs from the 1850's to the 1980's. We spent a lot of time there, exploring and learning.
One day at the library, we were perusing the archives. We were joking around about something and he got a little handsy with me. He grabbed me, kind of rough. I told him no and he stopped, but things got very uncomfortable very quickly, and I said we should leave. So we left. We said an awkward goodbye, and then I walked home... with a huge heavy lump in my stomach and some tears.
I didn't spend time with him after that. I was afraid, I guess. I would still see him on occasion in group settings... and I couldn't think of one single thing to say to him. It made me feel sad and kind of sick. And then my life circumstances changed and I moved. We never saw each other again.
That was so very long ago.
Whenever I see a sign for a fortune teller, my eyes involuntarily peek down at my life line. It's kind of short, when I really stop to look at it. It's just a fleeting thought, only to disappear as quickly as it surfaced. Memories can do that... invade, and then go... poof.
We would sometimes go to movies, sometimes out to eat, sometimes shopping. And we would go to random festivals and street fairs. He liked to be around other people... and to people watch. And he really liked cotton candy.
At one festival, we decided to visit a fortune teller. We both had our palms read. I don't remember many of the details of what she forecasted for me, but I do remember what she said to him... that his life line was very long... longer than mine. And he got upset and said that my life line needed to be as long as his. Otherwise he would have no one to go to fortune tellers with down the road.
After we left the fortune teller, we were walking down the street together, talking and eating our cotton candy. A car full of guys drove by and slowed down when they neared us. One of them yelled out the window, "Hey! What are you doing with the 'tard?! You can do better than that!" And they all laughed. I looked over at them and stuck both of my middle fingers up in the air as the car peeled off.
We shrugged it off. Losers. But we were both a bit frazzled, and I could tell he was upset even though he didn't say much and tried to laugh it off. It made me wonder how often he was subjected to the ignorant cruelty of other people.
Our favorite thing to do together? Go to old libraries and wander the stacks. One of the libraries has over 10 million items. You can literally spend an entire day wandering around. One floor is just maps and globes... another floor is comprised of photographs from the 1850's to the 1980's. We spent a lot of time there, exploring and learning.
One day at the library, we were perusing the archives. We were joking around about something and he got a little handsy with me. He grabbed me, kind of rough. I told him no and he stopped, but things got very uncomfortable very quickly, and I said we should leave. So we left. We said an awkward goodbye, and then I walked home... with a huge heavy lump in my stomach and some tears.
I didn't spend time with him after that. I was afraid, I guess. I would still see him on occasion in group settings... and I couldn't think of one single thing to say to him. It made me feel sad and kind of sick. And then my life circumstances changed and I moved. We never saw each other again.
That was so very long ago.
Whenever I see a sign for a fortune teller, my eyes involuntarily peek down at my life line. It's kind of short, when I really stop to look at it. It's just a fleeting thought, only to disappear as quickly as it surfaced. Memories can do that... invade, and then go... poof.
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
Dirt
I was in an abusive relationship when I was younger. It's still hard to admit. There is so much stigma. People wonder... why would she stay? She must be stupid. What is wrong with her? She deserves it. And so on.
I was madly in love with a very complicated man. I had never been in love before, and so you can imagine how I might have been feeling... that whole first love thing. It's incredible. I was completely consumed with loving him.
I won't go into all of the details of how our relationship came to be. Even that was complicated. It evolved over time and involved a lot of confusion and drama. But it did come to be.
(Wow, this is hard to talk about.)
I knew being in a relationship with this person, loving this person, was unhealthy. He had a lot of demons. Even though I had a vague sense of this from the beginning, it didn't stop me from loving him. I thought, oh, he just needs ME to love him... he will change... if I love him enough, he will love me enough.
When I was a freshman in college, my roommate dropped out. A high school friend moved into my dorm room (because it was far superior to her dorm room). She was a confidante. And she was a witness to this hailstorm of a relationship. She was the one who actually said the word "abusive" for the first time. Out loud. I had thought it and I had felt it in my gut, but I couldn't articulate it. Hearing her say it... oh my God. Oh my God.
I didn't leave though. Why? Because he was smart. And funny. And could be so sweet. He was endearing. We had passion. I was closer to him than any other person. And he would apologize. Beg for my forgiveness. Make promises. Tell me how much he loved me. And so I stayed. And stayed. And suffered. He never beat me, but there was physical violence. He was controlling. He would cheat on me, and then tell me details about his sexual encounters with other women. He made me feel like dirt ("You, you are so special, you have the talent to make me feel like dirt. You, you use your talent to dig me under... and cover me with dirt"). The emotional suffering was intense. A part of me died. I'm not kidding. It sounds melodramatic, but it's true. A part of me died.
I'm not able to pinpoint the ending of our relationship. As with everything else, it was complicated. But it ended. And I went on to date other men, fall in love, get married, get divorced, date other men, fall in love, get married.
I share this story only to shed light. Not for sympathy or shock value, as I know most of you don't know anything about this, including my own husband. I don't talk about it. Not because of the stigma so much, but more because it is not important. It does not define me in any way.
Yes, there have been long-term consequences related to being in an abusive relationship. Some have resolved over time, some have not. A long time ago, I forgave him and, more importantly, I forgave myself. I have no ill will toward him and wish him the best. I rarely think about our relationship. It tends to rear its head when I find myself struggling with certain things... confrontation... letting someone know they did or said something to hurt me... saying I'm sorry... letting go of "walls" that keep me from being closer to someone. In those moments, if I really stop to think about it, I can trace it back to him. How it affected me over the long haul. I guess there will always be certain scars.
But I don't consider myself a victim. Not at all. I am a strong woman. And I still have an enormous capacity to love. That was not taken from me. My heart is pretty open to possibilities. This sarcastic and surly chick is still an optimist.
I was madly in love with a very complicated man. I had never been in love before, and so you can imagine how I might have been feeling... that whole first love thing. It's incredible. I was completely consumed with loving him.
I won't go into all of the details of how our relationship came to be. Even that was complicated. It evolved over time and involved a lot of confusion and drama. But it did come to be.
(Wow, this is hard to talk about.)
I knew being in a relationship with this person, loving this person, was unhealthy. He had a lot of demons. Even though I had a vague sense of this from the beginning, it didn't stop me from loving him. I thought, oh, he just needs ME to love him... he will change... if I love him enough, he will love me enough.
When I was a freshman in college, my roommate dropped out. A high school friend moved into my dorm room (because it was far superior to her dorm room). She was a confidante. And she was a witness to this hailstorm of a relationship. She was the one who actually said the word "abusive" for the first time. Out loud. I had thought it and I had felt it in my gut, but I couldn't articulate it. Hearing her say it... oh my God. Oh my God.
I didn't leave though. Why? Because he was smart. And funny. And could be so sweet. He was endearing. We had passion. I was closer to him than any other person. And he would apologize. Beg for my forgiveness. Make promises. Tell me how much he loved me. And so I stayed. And stayed. And suffered. He never beat me, but there was physical violence. He was controlling. He would cheat on me, and then tell me details about his sexual encounters with other women. He made me feel like dirt ("You, you are so special, you have the talent to make me feel like dirt. You, you use your talent to dig me under... and cover me with dirt"). The emotional suffering was intense. A part of me died. I'm not kidding. It sounds melodramatic, but it's true. A part of me died.
I'm not able to pinpoint the ending of our relationship. As with everything else, it was complicated. But it ended. And I went on to date other men, fall in love, get married, get divorced, date other men, fall in love, get married.
I share this story only to shed light. Not for sympathy or shock value, as I know most of you don't know anything about this, including my own husband. I don't talk about it. Not because of the stigma so much, but more because it is not important. It does not define me in any way.
Yes, there have been long-term consequences related to being in an abusive relationship. Some have resolved over time, some have not. A long time ago, I forgave him and, more importantly, I forgave myself. I have no ill will toward him and wish him the best. I rarely think about our relationship. It tends to rear its head when I find myself struggling with certain things... confrontation... letting someone know they did or said something to hurt me... saying I'm sorry... letting go of "walls" that keep me from being closer to someone. In those moments, if I really stop to think about it, I can trace it back to him. How it affected me over the long haul. I guess there will always be certain scars.
But I don't consider myself a victim. Not at all. I am a strong woman. And I still have an enormous capacity to love. That was not taken from me. My heart is pretty open to possibilities. This sarcastic and surly chick is still an optimist.
I Love My Friends, Volume Three: Jen
This is Jen. Everybody say, "Hi Jen!" I met Jen online about 2 years ago. No, not on a dating site. Silly. We met through an online garage sale site. Because we both like to buy and sell crap. Stefanie used to take dance in Howell, and Jen and I would meet on a street corner for our transactions. Yes, transactions. On a street corner. We called it "our corner." Jen and I talk all day long... online. We talk about all kinds of things, but pretty much all of our conversation is tinged with humor or sarcasm or both. Because Jen is damn funny. She is witty and smart and freaking hilarious. I try to keep up with her banter, but she runs circles around me. She's quick. I'm like, slow down, I'm trying to be funny here! But she leaves me in the dust. There are a lot of inside jokes in our friendship. We could have a series of Seinfeld episodes. Some of the titles could be... 1) The Mexicans 2) The MDQ 3) The Ruby and The Greta 4) The Poodle Skirt 5) The SIDWA with a dose of POOS and Betty 6) The Gay Bedding 7) The Bowling Green One of the greatest things about Jen is her generous spirit. She has helped me with projects and other things, and she is always willing to do a favor for me. She is my favorite favor sharer. I can't think of anyone else who is so happy and nice about doing favors. I try not to take advantage of her kindness in this arena. Jen is full of sage advice, incredibly supportive, a great encourager, and did I mention damn funny? If not, I just want to say she's damn funny. Damn. Funny. |
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