Buckle up the ride will be long and bumpy folks, but totally worth it...I hope!For good reason, I’ve been missing in action. OK OK, not for good reason but at this point if you read my blog semi-regularly you know that work begins to consume most of my day and I have little time to write. In any man’s river, I’m going to catch you up on er-thang Faith since the anniversary of my born day.
Because the boy drama of my life is more exciting I’ll lead with work drama. Drum roll please, I gots me a new gig! No you didn’t read that wrong. No more galloping around the free and not so free world for me. I’ll be parked in an office, OK more like a dressed-up cubicle, in the largest building in downtown Philadelphia. Alls yeah friends, I’ll be working in risk management in the hopes of becoming one of the youngest regional risk managers for an entertainment powerhouse. That might include a change of residency to LA… flashy lights!
Hold the phone! Can you imagine me in LA? What What! Sun kissed tresses and an all year tan, who gone check me boo (in my Nene Leakes voice)? I know I went down a fantasy spiral for a minute but here’s another, moving west appeals to me more than finding
Lance Gross butt butterball nekkid ready to dance in my bedroom. That’s major!
Vulgarity aside, I’ve always dreamed of a bi-coastal life. Not to mention, Model Friend already lives in the Hills. When opportunity knocks, opening the door is all I can do. On a practical note, I get my old life back. Yup, that means making plans with friends and actually attending.
Sidenote, I’m slightly nervous about the new position you know the whole am I making the right decision thing. If I can conquer this professional hurdle the race is already won. Taking on an uncomfortable experience only helps you grow as a person, in my opinion. I know I’m ready…I hope!
In boy news, Jon B. exited stage left with a big ole bang! During work hours he pulled a Brett Favre forcing me to change the iPhone settings, no more preview text messages. I was in the middle of a team room pounding the pavement when a ginormous schlong (no exaggeration) showed up. Sidenote: The man’s HUNG! I’m not a prude, however some things are just inappropriate. You don’t see me sending the vajajay via text and I would expect that an adult man would know that his peen is not welcome phone art, especially during work hours. And to add more grease to the pan, my phone sat between me and Juvenile Junior Staff Member. I pray he didn’t see the man meat. If he did, he didn’t mention it to me but of course that’s not typical office conversation.
Juvenile Junior Staff Member probably thinks I’m a freak #shamehernameisfaith!
Later that night I spoke very directly to Jon B. I asked him point-blank, are you trying to be my fcuk-friend? There was a long pause. Lately I’ve done away with tact! Since he’s sending his dcik through text, tact ain’t his strong suit either. His response, he didn’t think I was that type of girl but if I’m down, he’s down. Otherwise he’s really interested in “catching up.”
Hmmmm….again, catching up is reserved for old friends, not sure we qualify! I closed the door but left the window open, besides this peen picture misstep Jon B. ain’t too shabby. We did chat a scosh after the awkwardness of the fcuk-friend wore off. Turns out JB’s back in school and starting a non-profit. Sidenote, ladies if you’re in the market for a Jon B look a-like I can hook you up with a number. Added bonus being the peen! In any man’s river we haven’t spoken in a couple of weeks so I guess he smelled what I was cooking. His number’s saved in my phone though in case I need to dust him off and put him back on stage.
Mailroom Boy’s sporadic texting is slightly annoying. He keeps trying to re-insert himself into my life-space as if we shared something magical. Of course I can’t blame him, I am fantabulous. Sorry, I detoured down vain Faith lane, excuse my obnoxiousness. But seriously I think being friends with MB is counterproductive. We do have fun when we’re together but his brand of tea suits me not.
I’m just going to come out and say it, me and the Spaniard are together again. Somewhere inside of me lives a masochist! That might have gone too far but you know what I’m saying. I pray the third time’s a charm. Before you run off thinking I caved because I’m weak, I’m not and the thought has already crossed my mind. We hashed our relationship almost to death over the past few weeks. It shows effort on his part because men hate talking about anything, right? I feel we’re in a good place…most days.
The Spaniard has, for lack of a better term, respect issues which manifest in a lack of communication skills. Before going apeshit he’s not physically or verbally abusive, that hashish doesn’t fly in Faith-zone. In my mind, it’s partially religi-cultural. He’s an Arab Muslim, not typically known for their respect of womenfolk. I’m not knocking his religion or his place of origin. However, I do understand breaking a horse requires patience. Not to mention lifetime lessons aren’t unlearned in a day. I can’t expect him to change who he is at his core but I do expect behavior modifications. I told him this directly. Remember not about tact these days!
Before you menfolk get all snippy with me and say you shouldn’t be with someone if you want to change him, hold the phone! Change may not be the appropriate word but it’s what I used, so lump it. And for hashishes and giggles I’ll give you a personal example. Old Faith was a snarky bish. I’m comfortable admitting that because she is Faith no more. Years of childhood iskabibbles coupled with an undeniable mountain of arrogance created a monster. It hit me one day that if I ever wanted to form lasting connections with people I’d have to change my ways. Not that I needed to change who I was at my core (I’m good peoples) however, my behavior needed a make-over. And now, I’m still sarcastic but I wouldn’t call myself a bish. I understand the importance of treating others with the same respect I expect in return. To get it you gotta give it, works the same way for love, Booyah!
Anywho, I told The Spaniard his leash is short. I’m not walking him and shoveling hashish this time around. Either he wants to be with me, in an adult relationship, or he doesn’t. If he does, act right! And the same rules apply for me.
Ruining a relationship ain’t a one man/woman job, so I’ll take my share of the blame. My issue, I’m a non-confrontational passive-aggressive bottler, look who read a psyche book this weekend! It’s not in my nature to tell someone he hurt my feelings, it seems so wimpy. I’d rather just let the uncomfortableness (not a word) of the moment pass and dictate the resolution.
Example, The Spaniard makes tentative plans with me but never solidifies. Day of said tentative plans I’m stuck in limbo, sometimes he shows and other times he does not. In his mind the plans aren’t concrete so there’s no reason to say boo to me if he doesn’t intend to go through with said plans. In my mind this is not only rude it’s all the way DIRESPECTFUL, caps oh so necessary! Instead of piping up and delivering major o_O (stank eye) coupled with sistah girl tude, I prefer to make other arrangements. Problem averted, partially. Back up plans solve my time issues but don’t cure the underlying disease, his total lack of respect for my time and his commitment to me. It also causes issues if he’s only running late for said tentative plans and he shows up to empty house, restaurant, park…you smell what I’m cooking. In those situations, which happen more often than you may think, I have to deal with his tude. Granted his tude and my tude are way different…I don’t like being ignored. He is the king of ig and it literally drives me to levels of anger I didn’t even know existed.
Seeing red can’t be healthy. Sheesh for a bottler my emotions run high, right? I need to chase my chill pill with a dash of Vodka!
End of the story, we’re both working on making it right. Did I add we’re both stubborn as hell and neither likes admitting wrong?
In any man’s river, The Spaniard asked me to move in with him…
If the powers that be are out there in the cyberspace listening to me rant, work sucks (I kid I kid, because momma needs her paycheck). But really work is getting to be the bane of my existence as of late (explains the week long hiatus from blogging). Not that I don’t appreciate some of the perks, frequent flyer miles and hotel points but what I don’t like, oh man what I don’t like is the complete and total interruption of my life for all things work inspired. All of Sunday and I do mean all (16 non sleep + some early Monday hours) were devoted to work!
Additionally I think Work is contributing to my all to frequent housemate Insomnia, but I could be wrong.
Yes yes I know I am a corporate ladder striver, but I am also a red blooded American chick who likes to kick off her work heels in exchange for a pair of get em girl pumps and hit the town. OK OK in Work’s defense I did have a hella good time Friday and Saturday night (thank you Vodka you always know how to make a night right) which could explain how Work kidnapped me Sunday and ruined my plan to attend the family bbq but alas, I need a rant and this here is gonna be one whether Work likes it or not.
Dramaticals…anywho I should have saved that business trip to LA for some other time considering that Model Friend came home for the Labor Day weekend (not like I really had a choice). As a result there was no tear-less, I miss you so much hug-fess (I am not a hugger by nature it really does take a lot out of me to conjure up a good one) because I’d just seen her the prior week. Of course Male Nurse Friend showed his entire a$$, this is really to be expected it’s just the kind of hand-job (excuse the vulgarities but he pissed me off this weekend) he is sometimes, and didn’t show for any of the welcome home Model Friend festivities. Of which were very few because well her trip home was about la familia, totally understandable. As the dorks we are we decided an early night bowling match and possibly a drink to say welcome home nice to see you have fun with the ‘rents yada yada yada.
Nurse Friend tagged along since well she and Model Friend get a long pretty well and I was on the outs again with the Best Friend for reasons unknown and well Nurse Friend is fun minus and we work well as wing women for each other, nuff said. Model Friend brought along her Equally Model Sister and for some reason bowling morphed into dinner when everyone realized we all skipped trying to make the 9:30ish deadline. Dinner was better because my stomach was rubbing my back by the time everyone arrived.
We ended the night at some in the courtyard type hide-out club in Northern Liberties (hipster up & coming neighborhood in Philadelphia) called PYT (Pretty young thangs, repeat after me I said Na Na Na, Na Na Na…I'll Take You There….oops digression). What I enjoyed most about this out the basement turned through the bathroom backdoor club was the DJ. Alllls yeah he played some pretty good blended music. When I say blended I mean a mix of the hip hop oldies but goodies and new school body rockers that had me and my friends on the dance floor shaking but not breaking what our momma’s gave us.
Side note both songs are equally dumb but a fun not gonna hurt no body dance song makes me smile regardless of my mood. I loves me some muzak therapy!
In any event that night Nurse Friend and I decided to meet up Saturday for service (I am not a Seven Day Adventist I am pray fo Jesus Baptist born and bred however my church offers multiple services so everyone can attend regardless the work schedule.) I personally prefer Saturday because it doesn’t involve the tomfoolery of gotta wear your best fo da lawd tomfoolery of Sunday. The message was on point and all was is well with my soul, which happened to be the hymn and one of my personal faves.
For whatever the reason we decided after service no doubt….did I mention the scruptilciousness of the security guard as we entered the house of the Lord (someone pray for me), to get some drinks. You know nothing like praying your demons away and chasing them down with Vodka. We ended up at Mixto some little Cubano/Colombiano spot in Center City where the waiter commented on the absolute perfection of my Spanish. Ah muchas gracias guapo que la práctica de vez en cuando or many thanks handsome I practice every once and a while. He wasn’t guapo but I can be a bit of a flirt or so I’m told. In any event we left there after some tasty drinks to a watering hole near UPENN’s campus called the Marbar. In deed Nurse Friend was correct. As the night wore on despite the alcohol the prospects grew shorter and uglier. Normally under the guidance of Vodka this wouldn’t be the case but ugly is definitely to the bone.
Sunday, as we know was monopolized by tons of work that I desperately needed to complete for the client by Tuesday. No thanks to my LA manager in answering my SOS e-mails begging for an extension given the IT problems I’d been plagued with for two weeks. My requests clearly fell on deaf ears. I finished the work thankfully by 5AM Monday morning but ended up missing the family bbq, grumpy tomato I think yes. The highlight or lowlight of Sunday whatever you wanna call it being accosted in the drive thru window of my local McStrokes by a cutie. This is not a good look friend…I am mangled looking like petrified WTF because I was trapped in my bat cave all damn day why in the good Lord’s name did this cute guy want my number, conclusion he must have issues. I did the double O fake out and told him to give me his instead.
Why do I take guys’ numbers that I have absolutely no intentions on calling?
When I woke Monday afternoon yes I said afternoon I loafed around the apartment doing absolutely nothing besides watching the Golden Girls marathon. It felt good for about three hours before I became restless and felt the hunger monkeys craving a greasy slice of Lorenzo’s pizza from this place on South Street. I dodged an invite from Mailroom Boy just didn’t feel like driving to his part of town plus he mentioned something about hanging with his daughter (not my preferred cup of tea) so I ended up on South Street picking up a slice. After waving hi and bye to Mr. Bengali, he still works selling clothing at a store on that strip, and taking the mental note damn he’s still hella sexy and without a doubt one of the smartest(which is sexier) men I’ve ever dated …but sadly plagued by circumstance (a little something called citizenship).
Seeing Mr. Bengali made me think of my lucky shirt and the reasons surrounding our break-up (age difference among other things). No sense in dwelling on the past, what shall be shall be but the man is hella smart and fantabulously gorgeous….hmmm rose quartz or libido…the juries out on that one!
This is gonna be a little lengthy folks, so buckle up and enjoy the ride. May I start with saying that it was all types of great to see Model Friend! She looked the same, had the same gross so unladylike behavior (Including but not limited to her telling me she thought her pits were a little skanky. Why 90% of the male population finds her attractive baffling, I kid.) and it was fantabulous. Albeit very short lived given my two day jaunt in the sunny California weather but a nice treat between business meetings. She took me to a hella sweet Thai place where I ordered some flat noodle seafood vegetable contraption that I can’t pronounce, shrimp tempura and tasted some of her yellow curry chicken. Did I mention scrumptilicious! The leftovers we sent to her future husband for final consumption, he appreciated this
Great eats and great company make for a great night even with the slight jet-lag. Insert I’ve been on a lot of planes in the past few days right, this is rhetorical.
We hashed about He Who Must Not Be Named, evidently I forgot to tell her all the dramaticals. I tire of telling the tale. Anywho I spilled and she listened and then of course gave me the sistah girl oh no he didn’t face when I told her he called from the foreign number to get me to answer. As a true friend she did ask if I’m alright and I told her I’m fine, which is true it’s water under the bridge now.
And shocking news to her, not you faithful readers, that I’ve sorta been seeing Mailroom Boy. She gave me the side-eye for not telling her sooner.
Model Friend: Have you sexed him?
Me: Hell no! Just can’t picture it in real life. (No need to go into the dream sequence but as many have pointed out what happens in your subconscious is not indicative of what you want or desire to happen in the flesh.)
Model Friend: That’s a strong no…why can’t you go there?
Me: I don’t know.
Model Friend: Well you better figure it out soon because you already set the date kiss expectation and you know what that leads to.
Me: Maybe I should test it out right…
Model Friend: Uh yeah…NO!
We both laugh and change the topic. A little later I share a little morsel, part of the reason I presume why I can’t go there with him. Now underneath my killer drive to scale the corporate ladder, there is a part of me that wants the picket fence and what comes along with that little girl fantasy. But and it’s a big but Mailroom Boy already has half of that fantasy.
Let me explain. There’s something to be said, in my humble opinion and maybe this makes me slightly old fashioned, about sharing firsts with your husband, in particular buying a joint home, having children or hell even trivial stuff like sky diving, whatever. I don’t know I could be wrong I’ve never been married. Granted I don’t want children but as I told Model Friend I am completely willing to sacrifice that major lack of a want for a husband. And in that case if I were to go against my own grain I want my greatest sacrifice to be his first child, point blank period. On that I can make no concession. And because of this I may be very single for a very long time to come. In Mailroom Boy’s case he already has a 7 year old daughter, cute kid, not mine.
Model Friend says that I over-think everything. She asked why I was putting this much thought into one a guy when he’s probably not putting that much thought into me outside of do I like her don’t I like. I didn’t have an answer that night besides I thought she was right. On my wonderific (that is sarcasm) flight back to Philadelphia, the late night red eye from LAX I had time to really think about our conversation.
Seriously a lot of time to think considering the woman screaming behind me in Cambodian at her unruly children kicking my seat for 5+ hours not to mention I couldn’t even get a blanket because they were sold out. The flight attendants said something to her multiple times and her oldest son, he was seated across the aisle sort of translated. My assumption is she didn’t speak English at all but you don’t have to understand or speak English to know that at 1AM in the morning your kids should be sleep and you shouldn’t be yelling. You know putting your finger to your lips and mouthing shhhhhssshhh is universal, at least I thought so. Either way I could still hear and feel the commotion with iPod so I had a lot of time to think, my favorite pastime. Please excuse the digression.
It really wasn’t thought I was putting into Mailroom Boy per se as much as it was thought about what I want out of my life (Quarter-Life Crisis Anyone). True life isn’t an equation and love isn’t the X, to solve for. But at the end of the day I can’t be anyone but me, a person more driven by logical analysis than overrun by emotion. Minus two of course, I put my faith and emotions in two men in this young life. One of the two failed miserably shaping the Faith I am today. The other, Future Husband will be forever the one who got away and maybe because of that I am destined to see-saw through men who never quite meet the bar. Our lives, Future Husband and I, were in two very different places at the time and I wasn’t ready to share his path, end of story (sort of there’s a lot more but this post is already past my normal length). Settling just doesn’t seem like the appropriate option.
Anywho, Model Friend said that I need to accept my sidity, she may be on to something. My absolute number one pet peeve is lacking motivation. From what I know of Mailroom Boy he seems completely OK with his situation which I can’t stomach. And for him maybe it’s not a situation. I on the other hand see it very much as one. I asked him about his job and he told me that he took his current position because it’s easy and he can get away with doing whatever he wants which is normally nothing. Although recently he said he thinks he needs a career since turning 33 it’s about time. Interesting, but as Granny SJ says the proof is in the pudding. He is very unaggressive about his future, I don’t like that. I want someone who’s future oriented while I do live in the now I also plan for tomorrow. Someone with a similar theme is necessary or I will be a grumpy tomato.
OK I’ve already shared the child thing and how I feel about it so there’s no need to harp on the issues I see here. Not to mention that I don’t appreciate how he downs his daughter’s mother. As I’ve explained to him before his daughter’s mother is a reflection of him, he chose her. She didn’t impregnate herself, I make no concessions here and will not stand for the bad mouthing because I don’t know the woman and his side of the situation is just that, his side of the story. I asked him if she trapped him, he said no; well zip your lips then.
And this is just me being very sidity I know but it is what it is, I don’t want to be responsible for driving “us” everywhere or housing “us” if it’s late and we need somewhere to stay. I am not a teenager and don’t believe in the keep it quiet while my mom is sleep rule. Granted I have a roommate but at any moment I can kick my brother out and live alone, he doesn’t have that option since he lives in his Aunt’s home. You can’t make rules when it’s not yours. And I presume this wouldn’t bother me so much if he could at least pick me up. I drive for work I don’t want to have to drive for play all the time.
This also got under my skin on the night we went to the diner but I didn’t let it show because I don’t wave my money in anyone’s face (not that I have money because I feel the crunch of the recession like everyone else). When we’ve actually gone out in the past I’ve always offered to go dutch because I don’t want him to think I’m some gold digger, not that it would really apply in this situation. He’s never taken me up on my offer. Anywho our diner bill was a measly 14 bucks, I repeat 14 bucks…his card was declined. No no no! I’m not upset about paying the bill, I am curious about his financial responsibility though.
OK you guys can tell me how unreasonable and flakey and whatever I am being but at the end of the day I feel women seek men who make them feel secure. I feel not one ounce of security with Mailroom Boy. On a positive note, he’s sweet as pie, an absolute gentleman, can talk to him for hours without tiring and he makes me laugh…there’s something to be said for all of those things!
PS. The Little Brother said, “Damn dude need to get his shit right yah mean!”
Oh and he doesn’t like dogs….WTF?????
P.S.S I didn’t have to go to upstate Jersey today, I am all types of happy because Insomnia is back in full effect. Kick rocks Insomnia for real.
This is the actual diner at night.
So I am getting back into the groove of things. There’s but so much vacation in my blood folks. Mid-way through the week I fully logged back into work. Shoot me I am work-a-holic….some days. It could also have a lot to do with the friggin horrible weather I came home to. Thanks again Mother Nature I owe you one.
During the vacation I received word that upon return I would be hopping a flight or two to LA. Now under normal circumstances this would have been quite arse nibbling but as we know one of my bestest friends in this wide world, Model Friend, moved to the left coast. This “busines trip” provided the perfecto opportunity to catch up. Even with the Facebooking and Twittering updates of it all it still feels different that she’s not here. Which reminds me, I so need to turn my FB status updates off because getting Model Friend’s messages at 3AM on a work night aren’t all that fun anymore. Not that we spent every waking minute together because we didn’t but it was nice to know if I needed a sounding board I didn’t have a 3hr time difference to calculate.
Nurse Friend says I’m not allowed to cry when I leave Model Friend to board the plane back home. Nursie-poo-poo forgets I’m as tough as nails and crying is for babies and men who win championships, of which I am neither.
Anyway before returning from South Beach Nurse Friend and I decided we were going to this Black ‘n’ White party at the Double Tree on Saturday night. With any party, doors open for new shoes or a new dress or both. In this instance I had some fresh never worn get him girl pumps lying in wait ready to pounce out the box so I decided that a new dress would suffice. A trip to Urban Outfitters proved useful as I was able to pick up a cutabulous little number on Thursday. Jumping slightly ahead for the sake of time we never made it to the party due in very large part to the tsunami like conditions afflicting Saturday night in the tri-state. Again, Mother Nature giving me her ass to kiss, she should consider this post flipping her off in blog form. We are no longer on speaking terms!
Anywho let’s backtrack a taste. On Friday night The Best Friend asked if we could meet up for yet another girl’s night in. Uh sorry NO! Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy a little men suck every once and again just like the next muchacha unfortunately my body was craving some male attention and my wallet was screaming empty. Shoot me, we’re in a recession!
Somehow or another I ended up, late night on my way to display my fantabulous amateur bowling skills to Mailroom Boy. Unfortunately by the time we made it to the lanes they weren’t setting up any more games instead we grabbed a drink at the bar. A drink that was wasted as I watched the bartender wet his hair and slick it back with his hands sans gloves. Yeah major germ-o-phobe moment as I imagined his nasty greasy wet follicles floating in my Vodka with a splash of pineapple. Heartbreaking and it was too late to complain to management.
Yes I’m that girl when it comes to personal hygiene type things.
It was too early to call it an evening so we went to a diner to grab a late night snack. I opted for a piece of butter cream cake, which was all types of scrumptilicious I don’t remember what Mailroom Boy had besides a cup of tea, he claims he was cold providing a passable excuse for resting half his lanky body under mine. He was just on the edge of uncomfortable close but I let it go. We talked for what seemed like hours and really were hours, did I ever mention that the boy can talk. By the time I got home it was 4:30AM.
Mailroom Boy sent a great night as always text and have a safe flight which I thought was very cutesy. He told me he would miss me….I hope this guy doesn’t like me too much as I don’t see this ending in a positive light. My feelings toward him are very torn.
I sense snobbish tendencies creeping back up my spine…
One thing I did learn from The Man Wander Married, you should never sh*t where you eat! His words not mine, not that he followed them but then again he also said don’t do what I do, do what I say. Words to live by….I give great advice but have a hella hard time following it.
Maybe a slight dating hiatus to clear my mind is in order…so much for the Rose Quartz.
Peoples I’m back…not really back in the sense I will have a post a day but I am back into the whole blog thing with some new energy. Since it’s been awhile I will give you a blow by blow of what’s been up with me. For the last month and half; work vs Faith and work won the first couple of battles but I know I will prevail in the war. At the end of the day that’s all that matters. Model Friend moved to the left coast. I cried. She took photos to hold over my head….well she only caught a tear on my cheek because I hid my face beneath my hands. Yes I am that immature.. Mailroom Boy seems to have gotten the not so subtle hints that I am not interested in his schlong. It works out well for me because I hate uncomfortable conversations about how you’re a nice guy but I just can’t envision doing the freaky sneaky with you. He’s still a cutie but it starts and ends there. He also made a sideways comment that all black women have attitudes and for a second I almost got offended but I thought about it briefly and said to myself, Faith he isn’t worth the thoughtful argument you have pre-saved in your memory banks. On the down side, I think that means no Chrisette Michelle concert for me.
It’s better this way because well I am in a relationship (I hate this word even more than the word commitment and boyfriend).And since you brought up the relationship why don’t I just talk about it a little. The Spaniard is good I guess. If you talk to him let me know. As I said work won most of the recent battles and I just haven’t had time for him. Being the corporate ladder climbing monster that I am could be my undoing and partly why I may never get married, he just comes second or third or well point being he isn’t first. I have trouble allowing a man to be my sole source of motivation or concentration. I see how many a woman I know turned out because of this and the cons clearly outweigh the pros. Men exist as a side dish but never the main course.
One day this might change but I don’t see it happening until I make a six figure salary. My goal is before I hit 32 (age adjusted from 30 due to the current recession). Due in large part to the downturn I don’t anticipate a raise because a raise when half the working public is getting laid off is downright irresponsible.So I went off on a little tangent. Anywho over the summer I elected or better was selected by The Little Sister, to continue her driving lessons. Word to the wise and a ginormous note to self buckle up and pray I make it out alive. Just the other day she nearly killed me in the middle of an intersection. (Might have been a rookie mistake, maybe I suck as an instructor, but whatever the reason it made the heart flutter) Of course she claims her foot hovered ever so nicely above the brake but with the car picking up speed toward an obvious red light I tend to think not. She insists she was simply inching to see the oncoming traffic….no need to inch when the light is clearly red and you aren’t making a turn. Side note I will avoid getting my blood pressure taken until the end of this because I’m sure I’m in the higher levels due in large part to outright fear. The Little Brother turned ghost-face white the other day when I allowed her to drive to the laundry mat and unfortunately for him I don’t know CPR (bad Faith I know I am putting myself on punishment- I wonder if the Y teaches this?) so he might want to stay clear of the car when the Little Sister takes the wheel again.
He mentioned later his life flashing before his eyes but you know how he exaggerates.And through all of this Dapper Dan continues to haunt/stalk The Best Friend. One of these days she will give up and concede due to pure and utter exhaustion. Personally deep down inside I think the Best Friend enjoys this sick twisted on again/off again game they play with each other. I on the other hand tire of hearing about it but I won’t let her in on that little secret. Blog Friends keep it on the DL (down low for those out of the know).
Nurse Friend kicked Designer Jeans into the wind and has moved on to greener pastures. And when I say greener pastures I do mean greener. No smoke screen, the newbie seems nice. I won’t give him a name just yet because he is too new. If he lasts the month I will give a better update. Wander is as Wander does; still shooting the shit with the man she married.
As an aside I noticed something rather odd about NYC chicas (I’m on assignment in the big apple)…why do they wear get em girl pumps in the subway. I do say I prefer the laidbackedness (you know that’s not a word) of my fellow Philadelphians who stick the uck me pumps in the bag/purse/laptop carrier and rock the sneakers for the walking the streets of it all. IDK (ooh there I go again with that text talking) it’s just a thought!
Model Friend is moving with her soon to be husband to LA. There is no other couple more suited for fun in the sun really. If I weren’t about anonymity around these parts of the woods I would show you a ridonkulously fantabulous picture of the duo. This of course it not just my biased opinion. Wander agrees in their cutetabulousness and Wander doesn’t lie about things like this. In all honesty she is quite the critic and has given the WTF face to some not to cute friends of mine. Hey the world ain’t a beauty pageant.
Digressing I know but it’s so much easier than writing what I need to say!OK big girl pill swallowed; here it is I am going to seriously miss my friend! Not that we’ve always been chummy. Actually during college I didn’t heart her at all. This isn’t news to her as I assume she didn’t heart me either. Hey I was a different person then. Family ish weighed me down and I didn’t, looking back do a great job of hiding an all around cranky tude. I know I know it’s hard to imagine me without the sunshine but it is what it is.
Anywho we didn’t really travel in the same pack. She was the model/athlete and I was just an average student who thought she was smarter than the regular populous. Which actually hasn’t changed much; she’s still the model maybe less athlete and me slightly less arrogant, hey a zebra’s stripes don’t fade immediately. And you know what this post ain’t about me so zip it! In any event our paths crossed because she shared an apartment with mutual friends.
My favorite college memory of us, stealing pizza from “Up Til Dawn” one night (poor college students whatever don’t judge us) and I almost killed myself on the damp train tracks and nearly brought Model Friend down with me. She was like why did you grab me and I was like duh because I didn’t want to fall by myself seriously. To this day I am all about group embarrassment!
Did I mention how she was the brokest (is that a word) student I knew and still made it out every weekend, we used to joke about that a lot. Anyways after college we went our separate ways until about three years ago. If I remember correctly (good thing I never smoked weed) we met up at MNF’s poetry party. Now I could be wrong but I think poetry sewed the fabric for this friendship. Before the party I’d actually stopped writing, I did some old pieces that night and after I was done Model Friend asked me to write something for her.
That small request sparked a slow dying ember. I started writing again. So I guess in some strange way I owe her for helping me find my voice again. (Don’t tell her she can be a bit vain, kidding kidding!) Forever in her debt but she is not getting any of the proceeds if I sell.
And we just started talking, OK to be fair Model Friend started talking. Anyone who knows me well, knows I am a bit of a bottler. It takes ginormous amounts of twisting before I let anyone beneath the surface. We are opposites in that respect; she is more of an open book kinda person. But as friendships go she called me right onto the carpet about it. She accused me of being a one-sided friend. I take in everything and even give some sound advice (at times) but I don’t let anyone do the same for me and because of that I miss the benefit of having a true friend.
As a forever evolving person I took her words very seriously and slowly began opening up but not just to Model Friend but to everyone. It’s made a better friend out of me so I guess I owe her old tall lanky butt for that too. Damn it’s so weird how true Granny Frannie was when she said people come into your life for a reason or a season.
Model Friend and I will likely be friends for life unless she gets all Hollywood on me (I will sell embarrassing pics to the tabloids if you do). She could really be one of those paparazzi stalked chicks and then of course they would learn just how gross she can be but all that aside she really is a great person. Ugh I can’t believe I just wrote that. It’s so un-Faith like.
Bottom line I will miss you Model Friend, know I shed a tear typing this post and wish you and future hubby all the best. I admire your dream grabbing approach to life. Don’t let distractions deter your destiny and don’t ever confuse nervousness for a sign not to reach further.
Ugh so I got real mushy in that last paragraph, goofy you better have a couch or crate I can prop my feet on when I come visit!
