Category Archives: friends

A toast to soulmates

Posted on 10 November 2010 | 1 Comment

I found the loves of my life before I was old enough to vote, or drive or smoke. I was one of the lucky ones. I found Angie first, but it took us years of running into each other in Girl Scouts, drill team and math class before we finally became best friends freshman year. Samantha found me sitting on the school bus when we were in fifth grade. I found Chelsea in ninth grade social studies class.

High school brought us together and made us a foursome. College tested our friendship. Sometimes we went months without talking, but we always found our way back to each other. After we graduated we made it our mission to become better friends again. The kind of friends that call each other constantly, gossip about cute boys and complain about our shitty jobs. This weekend, after almost a year apart, we came back together. We talked for two days straight. We ate too much junk food, drank too much alcohol, laughed until we couldn’t breathe and cried until we started laughing again.

A year has gone by, but we all managed to stay the same. Samantha is still the silly flirt who says outrageous things without meaning to. Chelsea has the most infectious laugh and the best stories. Angie is the mom of the group. She keeps us on the same page and always gives the best advice. And I’m the one who always has a sarcastic comment and her calendar open. (Someone has to be the planner in this crazy group.)

To avoid sounding like a Hallmark card, I must include some quotes from our weekend. What can I say; my friends and I say the craziest shit.

On the road again
Sam: First Choice? That’s the name of a hair salon?
Me: It sounds like an abortion clinic.

Making fun of Chelsea’s inability to check her calendar
Sam: Sorry I forgot it was Homecoming weekend.
Me: Sorry I forgot my roommates hate black people.
Sam: Bitch you know what, she’s half black!

Raging alcoholism, party of four
Chelsea: Do you want anything to go with your tequila?
Me: A cup.

Ask Angie
Angie: I think it’s an awful idea.
Me: I think your hair looks awesome.

Wow, I can get sexual too
Angie: Suck my tit until it lactates.
Me: Pussy this, pussy that, hit me with a baseball bat.
Sam: You’re not making out with me tonight.
Me: I’m titty fucking myself with this necklace.

We’re disgusting
Me: My cold sore is crusty.
Chelsea: Remember that time we toilet papered their house and I shit on their driveway?

(Now that I’ve totally appalled you with my friends’ frat boy humor, I can go back to being sentimental.)

The high light of the weekend was Saturday’s dinner. We crowded into a booth at a local pizza parlor. Over two large pizzas and four glasses of wine, we talked about what we hate in our lives. Sam, Chelsea and I hate our jobs. Angie hates one of her bitchy coworkers who made her cry. We talked about what we love in our lives. I love eating dinner with my parents. Sam loves her boyfriend. Chelsea loves being on her own. Angie loves her big girl paycheck.

We talked about our hopes and dreams. I hope I move to New York. Sam hopes she finds a job she loves. Chelsea hopes she gets accepted to grad school. Angie hopes she gets a date with the cute doctor at her hospital. We all hope for marriage, children, and homes. We hope that when we have kids, we do as good a job as our parents did. “I hope I’m like my mom when I’m older,” Angie said. We all went quiet. Angie’s mom passed away more than a year ago, and we all miss her. She was a mom to all of us.

We made countless toasts. Some we’re silly (“To jobs that pay!”) Some we’re expected (“To being back together after a year apart!”) With only a sip of wine left in each of our glasses, I raised my glass one more time. “A toast to Angie’s mom,” I said, doing my best to get the words out. “She is reflected in Angie every day.” When the waiter came out, we all had tears in our eyes. Instead of making the moment even more awkward, he made a joke about our ability to devour two large pizzas. We all laughed. Then he brought us the last piece of tiramisu.

As we left the restaurant, I fell behind my friends. Our heels hit the pavement at the same time. That’s the thing about soul mates: Whether it’s been a month or a year, you always manage to fall in step.

You three are the loves of her life. Any man is just lucky to come in second. [Mr. Big]

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Titties & and Tourette

Posted on 22 October 2010 | Leave a comment

Samantha slapped a flier down next to my Guinness. On it was a close up shot of a woman’s chest. The words bikini, bubble bath, and wrestling all jumped out to me. Sam looked at me and said two words: “We’re going.”

As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve become a Tuesday drinker thanks to $2 draft night. This Tuesday was even better because it was my official reunion with Whitney. I’ve written about her before, but we had a falling out before graduation (read: I was a bitch and fucked things up) and we didn’t talk for five months. Fortunately for me, Whitney is a much more forgiving person than most so we worked things out. And to celebrate, she came down to my neck of the woods for a day. Girls in bikinis wrestling in bubbles just made the reunion that much more memorable.

When we got to the “match” we befriended two guys, Brad (who will always be known as Tourette’s guy) and his uber hot friend who doesn’t even need a name because he was that hot. They asked us why we were about to watch some girls wrestle each other for $250 and free drinks for a night. Well readers, I’ll tell you the same thing I told Tourette’s guy and hot friend: When drunk bikini-clad girls are about to wrestle other drunk bikini-clad girls, you don’t fucking miss that. I mean come on, at the very least you can cross it off your bucket list and talk about it for a week. (Or in my case, get an awesome blog topic out of it.) I don’t care if you’re male, female, old, young–and all of them were there–you can’t look away. It’s out duty as Americans to go and cheer for the girl covered in tattoos who looks like she could kick everyone’s ass. And that’s exactly what I did.

Have you ever seen a room of grown men watch girls wrestle? It’s kind of like watching a room of grown men slow clap during the pivotal game moment in “Varsity Blues.” Words will never do it justice. I’ve never seen so many cell phones set to camera mode. I’ve never seen so many guys look that enthralled. Someone could have walked in and yelled “Free drinks for anyone with a penis” and not one of them would have left that room.

Since drunk half-naked girls don’t do much for Whitney, Sam and I, we spent the time remarking on the entire situation:

“Ooh she has a belly button ring, that can’t be good.”

“What happens if a boob falls out?” (Tourette’s guy and hot friend proceeded to laugh and reply with, “That’s a good thing.”)

“How drunk is she?”

“What self-respecting woman would do this?”
“I guess you’ve got to make rent somehow.”

“Check out the creeper in the corner.” (Tourettes guy: “It’s the most action he’s gotten in 15 years. Come on, you know you were thinking the same thing.”)

“Are we the only girls in here?”

Unfortunately, my girl (the tattooed bad ass) didn’t win. Then again, I was probably the only person cheering for someone. All the guys were cheering for team exposed breast. The next day Whitney wrote this on my Facebook wall:

things from the past 24 hours:
-failed attempt at being cultured
-car accident?
-cookies… yum
-furry hat and guilt present
-amazing food
-creepy old men in all denim
-bubbles and boobs
-hot guys
-stalking people in the parking lot looking for purple polo
-too much food

success.

Bikini wrestling, cute boys, and best friends again? Oh yes, definitely a success.

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Pour me another pint of Stella please, Brooke

Posted on 13 October 2010 | Leave a comment

Any normal person would have gone home after working an eight-hour shift. A sane person would have known better than to stay out late drinking on a Tuesday, especially when you’re congested and tired.

But I’m not like most people. I’m the kind of girl who drinks too much Guinness, stays out too late and flirts with boys she shouldn’t. (Actually most girls are probably like this, but my mother would like to pretend otherwise.)

I’m the kind of girl who loves bars. I love everything about them, from the sticky floors to  the long lines. The last time I went to a bar I was a 21-year-old college student. Whitney was still my best friend, Adam was still my roommate and hot prof was still the object of my affection.

I was in dire need of a drink.

So my bff Sam (I blogged about her before)  and I went to the Fox and Hound for $2 draft night. Even though I’ve lived in central Ohio my whole life, I’ve never gone to one of the region’s many bars. Central Ohioans are a whole different breed. As soon as I walked in to Fox and Hound I wanted to say, “Toto we’re not at Glory Days anymore.” I’m used to college kids who order nothing but pitchers of Bud. I’m used to the same bartenders, the same familiar faces, the same booths, the same floors covered in peanut shells. There were lots of college kids drinking at Fox and Hound, but not my college kids. Not my college bar.

It didn’t help that I was with Sam. She’s one of those girls who attracts guys like crack attracts Lindsay Lohan. Exhibit A: Sam’s bar outfit consisted of blue tank top, denim mini skirt, flip flops and a Coach clutch. My bar outfit consisted of black skinny jeans, Converses, a vintage T-shirt, slouchy cardigan and a tote bag with Stephen Colbert’s face on it.

As we drink our beers, we talk about our usual subjects: jobs, boys and our hometown. When Sam goes to order another beer I scope out the surroundings. The bartenders are wearing corsets that make my back hurt just looking at them. The guys around us are acting like extras on the “Jersey Shore.” There are lots of palm slaps and fist bumps. Everyone seems to know everyone.  Sam comes back. After a quick hair flip, she sits down and tells me I need a boyfriend so we can double date. I roll my eyes and we continue our conversation. Well, mostly Sam talks and I laugh.

Sam (talking about her friend Tyler): I liked his personality.
Me: After his rock hard abs?
Sam: Yes.

Sam (talking about an old fling): I would have had a good life if I had chosen him.
Me: The Jew?
Sam: Yeah.
Me: Why?
Sam: He’s rich.

Sam (talking about her old roommate’s boyfriend): I wouldn’t want to undress that.

Sam (talking about another old fling): It was like day sex.

More laughing, drinking and overall good times ensue. And then we meet Beau and Jake. Beau is totally smitten with Sam. He talks. Sam flirts. He leans in. She leans in. Then I realize Jake is talking to me. A boy in a bar is talking to me, and all I can think is, “I am so blogging about this when I get home.”

More drinking, more talking, more laughing only this time we’ve scooted to the boys’ table. Jake asks me to come outside with him so he can smoke a cigarette. I think guys and smoking is the same as girls and going to the bathroom: they just don’t want to do it alone.

Nothing too much exciting happened after that. We chatted some more. Sam joined us after Beau ditched her for another girl. (He must have finally realized she had a boyfriend.) We all said our good-byes and that was it.

If you’ve read this far you’re probably thinking, “What the hell, Brittany? No kiss? No number exchange?” Sorry to disappoint, but tonight was pretty low-key, and I’m okay with it. I forgot how nice it can be to sit in a bar and drink with your friends.  Tomorrow I’ll be groggy and even more congested. I’ll curse myself for staying out late. I’ll wake up late and won’t have time to shower before work.

And then I’ll remember that the last thing I had before I went to sleep was a shot of Jack Daniels instead of my usual mug of hot apple cider. I’ll remember I met a cute guy named Jake and drove home singing to Against Me! at the top of my lungs. And then the grogginess, the congestion and last night’s make up won’t feel so bad. Sometimes it’s nice to be the girl who drinks too much, stays out too late and flirts with boys.

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