A very thoughtful life quandary. At least I thought so:
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
The Not-So-Sparkly List
One of my favorite quotes of all time is by famed producer, director, general "everything man" Mel Brooks:
"If you're quiet, you're not living. You've got to be noisy and colorful and lively."
I came across this quote randomly and felt it jump out at me, like someone had literally taken the three adjectives that I would want someone to describe me as being and made it real.
And then I started to cry. And bear in mind, I do not cry prettily. I actually suffer from the UCS (Ugly Crying Syndrome), where my eyes burn and get all red, my snuffles sound like a foghorn, and my throat starts to close, making me panic, and do the kind of breathing I imagine women going into labor do. I haven't felt 'noisy and colorful and lively' in awhile. I just felt like everything that I had been so hopeful about once the new year started, was starting to shrivel into nothingness. Oh, and it could also be because, yes, it is That Time of the Month. You know, the IT. Surfing the crimson wave of hell. So as I sit here with my heating pad and hot water and lemon (and as I re-read this sentence, I wonder if I've turned into a ninety-year-old woman), I am composing a new list. A Grumpy List.
Why 2012, A Seemingly Sparkly Year, Has Currently Turned Me Into A PMS-Y Cynic:
1) I have writer's block, in the worst possible way. I'll get an idea, I'll sketch something out in my notebook...but then when I sit down to type it out, I...can't. I don't know why, but everything that I write sounds horrible. And I erase every single thing I write because it isn't what I wanted and then there's nothing. Then I get cranky.
2) I feel like I'm still putting on an invisible jacket of, "Please don't swallow me" every time I step out of my apartment. I love LA. I do. But I get so antsy before I leave, mainly because I am convinced today is the day a truck is going to take my life as it barrels down a 40-MPH road. I get into these moods where if I have everything I need (food, water, various social media outlets, face wash, a full DVR, coffee maker, and a sushi takeout menu), I really don't have to leave my space. So the Kiran Cave goes into full effect, with me applying to more jobs, hating my writing, doing yoga in front of my lifted television, and not leaving. I am social. I love being social. I am not used to exploring on my own, especially when I feel like all I do is get lost and panic as my car shakes on the highway.
3) I can't find my chocolate-covered Cheerios. Also, our DVR is full of Criminal Minds. This is not good for my sleeping habits.
4) I can't find my CamCard. Duh, I'm not a student but I want it. And plus, there was a gift card to Target in there. Dammit, WHERE IS IT?
5) I still need to unpack.
6) I am really starting to see that in "the business," sometimes if you have a plan, it really doesn't matter. At all.
7) My Words With Friends account FORFEITED all of my games because I didn't play while I was at home. So now it says that I lost a bunch of games, when really, with the exception of my roommate, I was kicking everyone else's ass.
8) MY THIGHS TOUCH.
9) An old professor of mine told me I should think about doing stand-up, and all I can think about is having a panic attack on stage and having NOTHING TO WRITE ABOUT.
10) I would just really like all of my friends to live in the same neighborhood. Because I miss them and the fact that they know me really well and that I don't have to start over.
11) My ex-boss has not paid me, yet I still have access to his social media accounts. Hmmm.
12) I think my dad snuck one of his shirts into my suitcase on purpose. Because now I miss home all over again. Stupid girly monthly visitor.
13) My next post will be positive. Perhaps I'll go out and take pictures of all of the hot men I see.
Friday, December 23, 2011
The Grooming List: Some Thoughts
This may be TMI, but you're choosing to read this of your own free-will, therefore I will not worry. My eyebrows are like the hair atop my head: they grow quite quickly...like scary-quick. As in, I can go get my eyebrows done and then the next week I am wondering why a very long and dark caterpillar has decided to take residence on my forehead. There have been many days when I bemoan the idea of being a woman. Don't get me wrong, I celebrate the female gender: I love my girly shoes and clothes and the fact that the male species has to hold the door open for me. But then I look at men with their (sometimes) sexy facial hair, fully grown brows, and hairy forearms and legs and get mad that somehow my gender has to be the one to groom. Though I don't take a stance like Norma Rae and grow leg hair long enough to braid, I curse every time I have to make a trip to my version of a grade A torture palace: the waxing facility.
When I was eleven, my mother decided that while I had a penchant for tube socks (see a couple posts below), didn't really know what to do with my "she could either be a member of Lionel Richie's band or the ethnic Orphan Annie" hair, and baby fat along with boobs that could knock a dinosaur over, my eyebrows did not have to suffer and that I should be more girly. Therefore, she took me to a beauty parlor to give my eyebrows a "shape". During the whole car ride I was alarmed at the idea that someone was going to stencil triangles into my brows, making me even more of a "quirk-ster" than I already was. However, what happened was much worse.
My mom loves Middle-Eastern beauty parlors because they do threading. Threading, in my opinion, is what could bring even the most ornery of criminals confess to their crimes. A lady, most likely the height of a smurf, takes two pieces of what looks like floss, creates some sort of Cats Cradle shape within their hands and goes to town on your eyebrows. It can be painful at times, but mostly it just feels awfully uncomfortable. That day, I was already anxious because it was my first time and I got seated next to a woman whose moustache rivaled the late Pavarotti's. So anxious that I started to shake and accidentally kicked the smurf/woman doing my eyebrows. Needless to say she quit. I'd like to think she found a higher calling.
I am a creature of habit. I have been going to this beauty parlor since that fateful kicking day, and each time it doesn't get easier. The results are always fabulous ("Oh my GOD, I don't look like the caveman from that commercial!"), but you'd think I was about to be pushed off of a cliff. In California I haven't found a place I like-the first place I walked into, one woman was dozing in her chair if that's any indication. So I waited until I got home. This morning I looked in the mirror and knew that my sweet caterpillar had to go. Therefore, my latest list compiles the thoughts that went through my head while I was being made presumable for the public:
1) "That damn floss again. Shit, what's that? It looks like there's something on it...is that...oh God, is that food on the floss? What the...? Oh, no, it's not. Wait. Why is it moving?"
2) "If I were a war criminal, this is how you'd get me to confess. No waterboarding necessary. Just put me in this chair and threaten to wax my legs, I'll start talking within seconds."
3) "Still, it'll be nice to have shapely eyes. They are starting to run together."
4) "Oh, God, oh, God, my heart's racing. No, no, no, this is how people have strokes. Just breeeeeathe. You're doing great! You'll look infinitely better than your neighbors back in LA...people were probably starting to think you were related because of eyebrow similarities."
5) "Man, eff this. Why can't guys get waxed? Do they know how much we do to look 'pretty?' I'm going to start carrying around wax paper ready to go and just start chasing the random passerby."
6) "OH, GOD, HERE SHE COMES. Why is she smiling? Biatch."
7) "Different smurf. She just looked at my eyebrows and judged. I know it. I hope she gets in kicking reach."
8) "STOP SHAKING, KIRAN. YOU'RE TWENTY-THREE YEARS OLD. GROW UP. Oh, God, I'm twenty three..."
9) "Is this what's going to happen if I become a successful actress? I'll have to get groomed every week? Maybe I can start a new wave of actresses...bring back the Neanderthal look."
10) "OW."
When I was eleven, my mother decided that while I had a penchant for tube socks (see a couple posts below), didn't really know what to do with my "she could either be a member of Lionel Richie's band or the ethnic Orphan Annie" hair, and baby fat along with boobs that could knock a dinosaur over, my eyebrows did not have to suffer and that I should be more girly. Therefore, she took me to a beauty parlor to give my eyebrows a "shape". During the whole car ride I was alarmed at the idea that someone was going to stencil triangles into my brows, making me even more of a "quirk-ster" than I already was. However, what happened was much worse.
My mom loves Middle-Eastern beauty parlors because they do threading. Threading, in my opinion, is what could bring even the most ornery of criminals confess to their crimes. A lady, most likely the height of a smurf, takes two pieces of what looks like floss, creates some sort of Cats Cradle shape within their hands and goes to town on your eyebrows. It can be painful at times, but mostly it just feels awfully uncomfortable. That day, I was already anxious because it was my first time and I got seated next to a woman whose moustache rivaled the late Pavarotti's. So anxious that I started to shake and accidentally kicked the smurf/woman doing my eyebrows. Needless to say she quit. I'd like to think she found a higher calling.
I am a creature of habit. I have been going to this beauty parlor since that fateful kicking day, and each time it doesn't get easier. The results are always fabulous ("Oh my GOD, I don't look like the caveman from that commercial!"), but you'd think I was about to be pushed off of a cliff. In California I haven't found a place I like-the first place I walked into, one woman was dozing in her chair if that's any indication. So I waited until I got home. This morning I looked in the mirror and knew that my sweet caterpillar had to go. Therefore, my latest list compiles the thoughts that went through my head while I was being made presumable for the public:
1) "That damn floss again. Shit, what's that? It looks like there's something on it...is that...oh God, is that food on the floss? What the...? Oh, no, it's not. Wait. Why is it moving?"
2) "If I were a war criminal, this is how you'd get me to confess. No waterboarding necessary. Just put me in this chair and threaten to wax my legs, I'll start talking within seconds."
3) "Still, it'll be nice to have shapely eyes. They are starting to run together."
4) "Oh, God, oh, God, my heart's racing. No, no, no, this is how people have strokes. Just breeeeeathe. You're doing great! You'll look infinitely better than your neighbors back in LA...people were probably starting to think you were related because of eyebrow similarities."
5) "Man, eff this. Why can't guys get waxed? Do they know how much we do to look 'pretty?' I'm going to start carrying around wax paper ready to go and just start chasing the random passerby."
6) "OH, GOD, HERE SHE COMES. Why is she smiling? Biatch."
7) "Different smurf. She just looked at my eyebrows and judged. I know it. I hope she gets in kicking reach."
8) "STOP SHAKING, KIRAN. YOU'RE TWENTY-THREE YEARS OLD. GROW UP. Oh, God, I'm twenty three..."
9) "Is this what's going to happen if I become a successful actress? I'll have to get groomed every week? Maybe I can start a new wave of actresses...bring back the Neanderthal look."
10) "OW."
Thursday, December 8, 2011
The Home List
I feel it in my fingers, I feel it in my tooooo-es...
Even when I am eighty years old, I will still get chills from the beginning of Love Actually. I could watch this movie all year round...but I feel like I'm cheating when I do. So I wait until December 1st and then bust that and the soundtrack out. To me, this signifies the beginning of the holiday season, and encompasses every single emotion that can occur.
I love Christmas. I love the month of December. Gingerbread lattes, the end of exams, the feeling of boots, Christmas trees, music, giving...I love it all. And I found out in November that my boss decided to give me two and a half weeks of Christmas vacation, and honestly, I got a little teary. I had been sad about the possibility of not going home, and now, I get to. Being away from home for a long time makes me appreciate it miles more, and I cannot wait to do the following:
1) Go to The Pit.
2) Go to the Royal Bean and read a book.
3) Visit Meredith, my second sweet home.
4) See all of my friends and cry hysterically when I see them.
5) Put on my Corn sweatpants and sit on my couch with my special blue mug filled to the brim with coffee and watch The Blues Brothers with my dad, a Christmas tradition.
6) Go for a walk on the Greenway trail take a picture over the bridge.
7) Not get killed by traffic.
8) Have a day where I can just sit and write.
9) Try to force my dog Bear into sparkle boots.
10) Sit with my mom and sister on the deck.
I'm already making my packing lists and planning my New Years' outfit...soon, sweet NC, SOON!
Even when I am eighty years old, I will still get chills from the beginning of Love Actually. I could watch this movie all year round...but I feel like I'm cheating when I do. So I wait until December 1st and then bust that and the soundtrack out. To me, this signifies the beginning of the holiday season, and encompasses every single emotion that can occur.
I love Christmas. I love the month of December. Gingerbread lattes, the end of exams, the feeling of boots, Christmas trees, music, giving...I love it all. And I found out in November that my boss decided to give me two and a half weeks of Christmas vacation, and honestly, I got a little teary. I had been sad about the possibility of not going home, and now, I get to. Being away from home for a long time makes me appreciate it miles more, and I cannot wait to do the following:
1) Go to The Pit.
2) Go to the Royal Bean and read a book.
3) Visit Meredith, my second sweet home.
4) See all of my friends and cry hysterically when I see them.
5) Put on my Corn sweatpants and sit on my couch with my special blue mug filled to the brim with coffee and watch The Blues Brothers with my dad, a Christmas tradition.
6) Go for a walk on the Greenway trail take a picture over the bridge.
7) Not get killed by traffic.
8) Have a day where I can just sit and write.
9) Try to force my dog Bear into sparkle boots.
10) Sit with my mom and sister on the deck.
I'm already making my packing lists and planning my New Years' outfit...soon, sweet NC, SOON!
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Reckless=Wreck List
The phrase "tryin' times" has always made me laugh for some reason...I don't know why, maybe it's because I picture an old Southern man with a cowboy hat with a blade of grass hanging out of his tobacco-laden mouth saying, "Yep...them's some tryin' times." However, after this past week I think I sympathize more. This week was the epitome of "tryin' times."
People being reckless=creating a new kind of list=The Wreck List.
1) My cell phone disappeared in a bale of hay: This is what I get for going to a fall festival and not reading the labels clearly and drinking quite a lot of cider from the, "Cider With A Little Somethin' Special" pot. Seriously. This past weekend Brian, Terri, and I made our way to Pasadena to see Ashley and celebrate her roommate's birthday. The backyard had been turned into this gorgeous fall landscape, complete with tea lights, fall food (pumpkin ale, brie-and-cranberry tart, mulled wine, pumpkin pies, and er, alcoholic cider...), a beer pong table, a beautifully painted banner, rocking chairs, and yes, bales of hay. Five hours after, on my way home I realized my phone that I am painfully anal about, was missing. And since last week it has not been seen since.
2) My car was totaled: Irony of ironies is more like it. The three of us had been having conversations during the week about how we had never been in a "serious" car accident and what type of car insurance the other had, etc. etc. On Wednesday I was supposed to go with Brian to meet Terri on UCLA's campus...while I was getting ready to go, something stopped it. I don't know what it was. Divine intervention? I don't know. But all of a sudden I didn't feel like going anymore. So, since Brian's car was in the shop, I gave him my car for the afternoon. And since I didn't have a phone at the time, I settled on the couch for an afternoon of writing and an apple and goat cheese salad. Suddenly, Terri Google chatted me, and all she said was, "This is not a joke. There's been an accident." And I cannot tell you how my heart plummeted. I felt my throat constrict and my eyes instantly fill. Brian had been driving through a light and this woman in an SUV sped on through to turn left and, without yielding, slammed right into my car, completely tearing the front. The car is gone. Like, there is no hope of reviving my dear Scoot-Scoot. But thankfully, by the grace of, well, something, Brian is fine. I am fine. When really, after this, it could've been much, much worse:
3) My 'I' key on my computer isn't working unless I punch it.
4) My pajama pants shrank, making me live up to middle school nickname, High Water: Shut up.
5) The fire from the stove almost took off my eyebrow when I was trying to extract a piece of carrot from the middle.
6) I turned 23 and almost had another crisis.
Reading numbers three through six makes me smile and marvel at the fact that these were my biggest concerns this past week. On my birthday, some of the people whom I had counted as my "best and closest friends" didn't call or text or Skype, and when my Netflix stopped working or the day, I almost had a tantrum. And then, after this week, I took a close look at my priorities.
The thing of it is, this 'Wreck List' seems bad. But really, it highlights the good, the great in fact. I'm alive and well (I mean, I could cut down my intake of bread and chocolate covered pretzels, but whatever). I have a job that I like a lot. I get to create. My real friends and hysterically quirky family love and support me. And at least I own pajama pants. So really...in spite of this list, I have a lot to be thankful. And the trifling things, like a so-called "friend" not staying in touch, a broken cell phone, or even a dead car...don't matter in the grand scheme of things. And so, as I sit here with a plate of falafel, wearing a long pair of mismatched argyle socks, I'm oddly content and ready to start anew.
:)
People being reckless=creating a new kind of list=The Wreck List.
1) My cell phone disappeared in a bale of hay: This is what I get for going to a fall festival and not reading the labels clearly and drinking quite a lot of cider from the, "Cider With A Little Somethin' Special" pot. Seriously. This past weekend Brian, Terri, and I made our way to Pasadena to see Ashley and celebrate her roommate's birthday. The backyard had been turned into this gorgeous fall landscape, complete with tea lights, fall food (pumpkin ale, brie-and-cranberry tart, mulled wine, pumpkin pies, and er, alcoholic cider...), a beer pong table, a beautifully painted banner, rocking chairs, and yes, bales of hay. Five hours after, on my way home I realized my phone that I am painfully anal about, was missing. And since last week it has not been seen since.
2) My car was totaled: Irony of ironies is more like it. The three of us had been having conversations during the week about how we had never been in a "serious" car accident and what type of car insurance the other had, etc. etc. On Wednesday I was supposed to go with Brian to meet Terri on UCLA's campus...while I was getting ready to go, something stopped it. I don't know what it was. Divine intervention? I don't know. But all of a sudden I didn't feel like going anymore. So, since Brian's car was in the shop, I gave him my car for the afternoon. And since I didn't have a phone at the time, I settled on the couch for an afternoon of writing and an apple and goat cheese salad. Suddenly, Terri Google chatted me, and all she said was, "This is not a joke. There's been an accident." And I cannot tell you how my heart plummeted. I felt my throat constrict and my eyes instantly fill. Brian had been driving through a light and this woman in an SUV sped on through to turn left and, without yielding, slammed right into my car, completely tearing the front. The car is gone. Like, there is no hope of reviving my dear Scoot-Scoot. But thankfully, by the grace of, well, something, Brian is fine. I am fine. When really, after this, it could've been much, much worse:
3) My 'I' key on my computer isn't working unless I punch it.
4) My pajama pants shrank, making me live up to middle school nickname, High Water: Shut up.
5) The fire from the stove almost took off my eyebrow when I was trying to extract a piece of carrot from the middle.
6) I turned 23 and almost had another crisis.
Reading numbers three through six makes me smile and marvel at the fact that these were my biggest concerns this past week. On my birthday, some of the people whom I had counted as my "best and closest friends" didn't call or text or Skype, and when my Netflix stopped working or the day, I almost had a tantrum. And then, after this week, I took a close look at my priorities.
The thing of it is, this 'Wreck List' seems bad. But really, it highlights the good, the great in fact. I'm alive and well (I mean, I could cut down my intake of bread and chocolate covered pretzels, but whatever). I have a job that I like a lot. I get to create. My real friends and hysterically quirky family love and support me. And at least I own pajama pants. So really...in spite of this list, I have a lot to be thankful. And the trifling things, like a so-called "friend" not staying in touch, a broken cell phone, or even a dead car...don't matter in the grand scheme of things. And so, as I sit here with a plate of falafel, wearing a long pair of mismatched argyle socks, I'm oddly content and ready to start anew.
:)
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Poppin' the Pumpkin-Carving Cherry
I had a pretty normal childhood. Growing up, fall made me so happy. Mainly because of crunchy leaves, warm colored sweaters, the fact that I could now buy my Starbucks drinks HOT and celebrate the first day of the season with a pumpkin spice, homecomings, Powderpuff, my birthday, and Halloween.
Halloween. I can't help but laugh a little because I go back to the scene in Mean Girls where Cady Herron voices what this day really means for a girl: the only time of year we can be as slutty as we want to be and get away with it. I suggested to Terri that we go as a bottle of Adderol and a blue exam booklet (Study Combo, anyone?) and she laughed. And then wrinkled her nose and went, "But it's not super seeeeexy." Oh, how we chuckled. But really. There you go. Never my style, but so true when you think about it.
I had the 'typical Halloween' when I was younger: trick-or-treating with my friends, while my dad alternated between yelling at me to thank the person giving me candy and muttering about the fact that children begging for sweets qualified as a holiday (although he'd become much cheerier when I saved all of my Almond Joys for him), creating costumes, and basically being in a sugar coma the next day. However, there was one tradition that I'd completely skipped...until yesterday.
Carving a pumpkin.
Yup.
I'd never carved a pumpkin before!! While a part of me shrugs and says it's okay, another part of me is all, "SERIOUSLY? WHY didn't I ever carve a pumpkin?! That's not begging for sweets! Secretly in the pit of my mind, I KNOW I've always wanted to knife a scary, jagged shape into a harmless pumpkin! That's it. I officially come from a broken home." All was remedied last night when our two neighbors, Nicole and Christopher, asked us if we wanted to partake in pumpkin carving. Before they even finished asking the question, I excitedly said, "Yes!"
I'd had a migraine for the past three days. But this did not stop me. In fact, I sort of figured that maybe if I took out my anger at having a migraine on a pumpkin, I'd feel better. Twisted logic? Maybe. Did it work? Trick, yeahhh!
And so, I present to you, Culver Boulevard Apartment's pumpkin:
If you look closely, you will see that we carved a haunted house with little windows into our pumpkin. The graphic book said that this was the hardest and I think me, Terri, and Brian were all feeling super competitive. Regardless, I think it is beautiful :) And it was so much fun! I had to scoop out the pumpkin first (and scared Terri when I pretended to throw some at her) and then help cut. Granted, I got a little nervous when it was my turn to carve some of the big pieces. I was so afraid I was going to mess it up and make a really ugly gash or something...but when drinking cider, listening to fun music, and laughing about how one's roommate acts like Sheldon from Big Bang Theory (Brian), you remember to breathe and just enjoy!And so, though I feel like this was a long time coming, I wouldn't have wanted to pop my pumpkin carving cherry with any other pair of roommates!
Sunday, October 9, 2011
The Best Friend Rules
Those who know me know that I have a borderline obsession with The Office. A seemingly dry work environment that is in fact chock-full of sharp wit, sarcasm, a beautifully sweet man named Jim, and a to die for character named Kelly Kapoor who says things like, "I don't talk trash, I talk smack. They're totally different." And the actress who plays her, Mindy Kaling is definitely at the top of my "Actresses I Want To Be For 24 Hours" list. And she is a part of who inspired this blog post.
Mindy is about to write a book called Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns). I have no doubt in my mind that this will be a hilarious read. However, there was a sweet sentiment to one of her chapters--the chapter about the Best Friend. She recently posted a link that called for people to write down their "Best Friend Rules and Regulations"...i.e. what makes the two of you work and inseparable. I read it and I immediately started to smile because who else should pop into my head but my own best friend?
This is Hilary, the other half who inspired this post. I have known Hilary since middle school...clearly we were meant to be because I was a thirteen year old chubster with oddly-shaped glasses, triangle hair, sarcasm, and a penchant for wearing tube socks to gym class...and she still wanted to be friends with me. Hell, I wouldn't have even wanted to be friends with me!!! Fastforward to high school where she was my number one go-to girl about all things important: the location of my latest boycrush, the code words we invented for people we disliked, the times I cried after a fight with my family, the time my hair was frizzy for my freshman school picture and she helped me put it into a bun...everything. And of course, after high school came college...and incidentally we both ended up at our beloved alma mater, Meredith. We were joined at the hip for the first two years, though a brief falling out left us flying solo for junior year and a bit of senior year. Even though I still felt like we weren't completely separated, I felt a bit empty for awhile. However, when all things were restored, it was like no time had passed at all and we were still a duo-riffic US, finishing each other's sentences, talking at rapid-speed about various celebrities, musing over our futures, giggling over THE MOST RIDICULOUS THINGS (like planning our weddings in tandem via wedding blogs/putting on Southern accents and yelling "YEE-YEE!" at the end of a sentence...madness, I tell you), but things that make me laugh even today.
Hilary is the epitome of what it means to be a best friend: she listens. Whomever wrongs me, she hates (within reason...whatever, she hates). She tells me the truth. She makes me laugh harder than anyone I know and will spend hours upon hours doing so. She supports me. She bakes cupcakes and I eat them. Really, what could go wrong in this friendship? But most importantly, she has seen me at my worst and has never judged me for it. Hilary is an assurance that I am just fine and dandy the way I am, and she will probably never know how much I appreciate that. And so, readers, I want to share with you, the 'Best Friend Rules' that I submitted.
THE BEST FRIEND RULES:
-If I call you at an obscene hour of the night, you must come pick me up, even if it is at the skanky dive bar that you warned me not to go because I could get an STD (don't worry, I'll repay you in coffee).
-If one of us goes through something horrible, like if the pair of hella amazing flats we hid in the men's underwear section at Target is not there anymore (or worse: a death, a break-up, a friend issue, etc.), the other will bring the following: cupcakes, funny movies, wine, trashy magazines, a laptop to Facebook stalk, and a shoulder to cry on.
-If you are sad, I will stay with you for hours until you are happy. Because I know you would do the same for me.
-If you are about to do something shiesty (like wear a multi-colored leopard print dress out in public, talk to your ex, or buy a fur muffler), I can be honest with you because I love you.
-When I move across country we will snail mail once every other week, call/text daily, Skype weekly, and communicate telepathically...because really, if we don't stay in touch, THERE IS NO ONE ELSE LEFT.
-You will be the maid of honor at my wedding. Duh.
-If I am unhappy about the same thing for awhile, you will help me figure out how to change it/take me to get Fro-Yo.
-If I sing the lyric, "I ain't got no car to take you on a date" from the baller song, "The Way I Are" a la Timbaland and Keri Hilson, you will immediately dance and mimic the lyrics because hello, we're a duo.
-I hate who you hate and vice versa. Okay, well, hate is a really strong word, but really. If someone wrongs you, I will dislike them intensely and wish them severe weight gain and bloated feet until they apologize/buy you something really cool.
-We make up code names/phrases for everything. For example: if I am on a bad first date and text you, "THE PAINT IS DRYING!!" you will know to immediately call me fake-crying about how you have a flat tire and are stuck in Bumfuck NowhereLand and I need to come "get you" (which really means sit on a bed with Goodberry's and wine and cry about how there are no good men left and the fact that my ovaries are going to shrink).
-You will be one of the godparents of my future child. If I have a child. Which I might. But still. It's gotta be you, babe.
-You constantly assure me that I would be a good mom and not accidentally break my child if I gave him/her a hug.
-I always tell you that you're pretty and vice versa. And it still makes me smile when you do!
-When I am making an acceptance speech YOU need to be my date so when I get to the, "Aaaaand to all of my haters...." the camera will pan on you smiling widely while you flip through a Rolodex of everyone who was mean to me.
-At your wedding I will cry because I'll feel overwhelmed at the notion of even HALFWAY letting you go.
-When we have homes, we each have a designated "Best Friend" room. Meaning no one but the two of us can go in there and hang out and anyone else who does will be killed.
-If you say you want to live in a city and travel and go camel-riding, I will support you. Because, hi, I'm coming with you.
-If I say I feel fat, you tell me to shut up.
-If my parents are embarrassing you don't mock them, but you just go with it.
-You will let me eat the last piece of pie.
-I will let you eat the last handful of M&M's because I know you love them.
-We can talk about PPB: Periods, Poops, and Burps. But we still get tickled over these notions.
-You will make me laugh like a hyena over everything, and hopefully, vice versa.
-We know that even though we're not from the same DNA pool, we're related.
-This isn't even about getting a signed copy of Mindy's book. Reading over this list makes me more thankful and teary and happy and just plain old LUCKY that I have you for a sisterfriend.
:)
Mindy is about to write a book called Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns). I have no doubt in my mind that this will be a hilarious read. However, there was a sweet sentiment to one of her chapters--the chapter about the Best Friend. She recently posted a link that called for people to write down their "Best Friend Rules and Regulations"...i.e. what makes the two of you work and inseparable. I read it and I immediately started to smile because who else should pop into my head but my own best friend?
This is Hilary, the other half who inspired this post. I have known Hilary since middle school...clearly we were meant to be because I was a thirteen year old chubster with oddly-shaped glasses, triangle hair, sarcasm, and a penchant for wearing tube socks to gym class...and she still wanted to be friends with me. Hell, I wouldn't have even wanted to be friends with me!!! Fastforward to high school where she was my number one go-to girl about all things important: the location of my latest boycrush, the code words we invented for people we disliked, the times I cried after a fight with my family, the time my hair was frizzy for my freshman school picture and she helped me put it into a bun...everything. And of course, after high school came college...and incidentally we both ended up at our beloved alma mater, Meredith. We were joined at the hip for the first two years, though a brief falling out left us flying solo for junior year and a bit of senior year. Even though I still felt like we weren't completely separated, I felt a bit empty for awhile. However, when all things were restored, it was like no time had passed at all and we were still a duo-riffic US, finishing each other's sentences, talking at rapid-speed about various celebrities, musing over our futures, giggling over THE MOST RIDICULOUS THINGS (like planning our weddings in tandem via wedding blogs/putting on Southern accents and yelling "YEE-YEE!" at the end of a sentence...madness, I tell you), but things that make me laugh even today.
Hilary is the epitome of what it means to be a best friend: she listens. Whomever wrongs me, she hates (within reason...whatever, she hates). She tells me the truth. She makes me laugh harder than anyone I know and will spend hours upon hours doing so. She supports me. She bakes cupcakes and I eat them. Really, what could go wrong in this friendship? But most importantly, she has seen me at my worst and has never judged me for it. Hilary is an assurance that I am just fine and dandy the way I am, and she will probably never know how much I appreciate that. And so, readers, I want to share with you, the 'Best Friend Rules' that I submitted.
THE BEST FRIEND RULES:
-If I call you at an obscene hour of the night, you must come pick me up, even if it is at the skanky dive bar that you warned me not to go because I could get an STD (don't worry, I'll repay you in coffee).
-If one of us goes through something horrible, like if the pair of hella amazing flats we hid in the men's underwear section at Target is not there anymore (or worse: a death, a break-up, a friend issue, etc.), the other will bring the following: cupcakes, funny movies, wine, trashy magazines, a laptop to Facebook stalk, and a shoulder to cry on.
-If you are sad, I will stay with you for hours until you are happy. Because I know you would do the same for me.
-If you are about to do something shiesty (like wear a multi-colored leopard print dress out in public, talk to your ex, or buy a fur muffler), I can be honest with you because I love you.
-When I move across country we will snail mail once every other week, call/text daily, Skype weekly, and communicate telepathically...because really, if we don't stay in touch, THERE IS NO ONE ELSE LEFT.
-You will be the maid of honor at my wedding. Duh.
-If I am unhappy about the same thing for awhile, you will help me figure out how to change it/take me to get Fro-Yo.
-If I sing the lyric, "I ain't got no car to take you on a date" from the baller song, "The Way I Are" a la Timbaland and Keri Hilson, you will immediately dance and mimic the lyrics because hello, we're a duo.
-I hate who you hate and vice versa. Okay, well, hate is a really strong word, but really. If someone wrongs you, I will dislike them intensely and wish them severe weight gain and bloated feet until they apologize/buy you something really cool.
-We make up code names/phrases for everything. For example: if I am on a bad first date and text you, "THE PAINT IS DRYING!!" you will know to immediately call me fake-crying about how you have a flat tire and are stuck in Bumfuck NowhereLand and I need to come "get you" (which really means sit on a bed with Goodberry's and wine and cry about how there are no good men left and the fact that my ovaries are going to shrink).
-You will be one of the godparents of my future child. If I have a child. Which I might. But still. It's gotta be you, babe.
-You constantly assure me that I would be a good mom and not accidentally break my child if I gave him/her a hug.
-I always tell you that you're pretty and vice versa. And it still makes me smile when you do!
-When I am making an acceptance speech YOU need to be my date so when I get to the, "Aaaaand to all of my haters...." the camera will pan on you smiling widely while you flip through a Rolodex of everyone who was mean to me.
-At your wedding I will cry because I'll feel overwhelmed at the notion of even HALFWAY letting you go.
-When we have homes, we each have a designated "Best Friend" room. Meaning no one but the two of us can go in there and hang out and anyone else who does will be killed.
-If you say you want to live in a city and travel and go camel-riding, I will support you. Because, hi, I'm coming with you.
-If I say I feel fat, you tell me to shut up.
-If my parents are embarrassing you don't mock them, but you just go with it.
-You will let me eat the last piece of pie.
-I will let you eat the last handful of M&M's because I know you love them.
-We can talk about PPB: Periods, Poops, and Burps. But we still get tickled over these notions.
-You will make me laugh like a hyena over everything, and hopefully, vice versa.
-We know that even though we're not from the same DNA pool, we're related.
-This isn't even about getting a signed copy of Mindy's book. Reading over this list makes me more thankful and teary and happy and just plain old LUCKY that I have you for a sisterfriend.
:)
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