You are my friend.
I have come across very few people who have not, at some point, had a falling out with a dear friend. It can happen for lots of reasons: moving far away and being lazy about keeping in touch, an arguement over something big or small, or a misunderstanding.
2 years ago I had a series of fights with my best friend, Jessica. We were both partying too hard, drinking and getting into fights. I started a full time job and calmed down, she met this guy and was moving that way...and it fell apart. We are both extremely stubborn and proud people, and what was a waiting game of who would break first became just: waiting, waiting, and then nothing.
But now having reunited on a sidewalk in Brooklyn, we found that over the past 2 years there was not a landmark moment in our lives when we did not think of the other, and that we still told stories about our adventures to new friends we had met, like a dear colleague who died long ago.
For anyone who knew Jessica and I, as a collective, we were dangerous. If you went out with us, something was bound to happen. If you have ever met someone whom you feed off of, then you know what I mean. We are like a snowball that is rolled down a hill and gathers even more snow, becoming kinetic and huge. We are, in the simplest of terms, fun.(I've actually had this livejournal since 2001, so you can indeed see plenty of entries about our evil doings).
In any case, Tuesday night we had plans to go to this guy's birthday party:
But I'm broke, as I've established a few times already. So remember that huge bottle of champagne I stole from last entry's adventure? I said, let's drink that. It is a special occasion. George and some of his friends were going to meet Jess and I after I got off work to drink this champagne. I've never met George's friends before..I wish I was a little more prepared, as one of them said he was "saving up for a new tooth."
It was kind of chilly, so I said let's go drink in Burger King. That's right, we pregamed in a Burger King around the corner from where I teach. Jessica went to buy sodas; we had to make some purchases so that it looked legit, we did NOT want to draw attention to ourselves. Yeah, THAT worked:
We moved to another table to avoid the rivers of Cola. We had the whole top floor to ourselves. So we pop the champagne, and not only does the cork ricochet off the ceiling and then the table, but it sounds like a GUNSHOT. It made us deaf for 30 seconds. I swear everything stopped, even the registers downstairs. Sure enough, the manager comes running up to see whats going on and sees our spilled soda all over the next table and we all smell like booze.
We can't find a cab to take us to the bar, so some Jamaican dude says he'll take all 6 of us to Williamsburg for 15 dollars. There is much sitting on laps, losing of circulation and having to duck when a cop car drives by. The entire time we all talk loudly about sex and drugs, or some combination of the two, and the driver is wondering what he got himself into.
Again, being poor, I stop at the nearest liquor store when we get to the place to buy a $4.35 flask of rum. I order a coke at the bar, acting like I'm all straight edge and the martyred sober driver that really cares about how her friends get home. Yeah RIGHT!
I pass it around and we're immediately wasted. We take the one-toothed kid's shoe and throw it in the street when he's not paying attention, then vehemently deny that we did it. Good times.
So it's time to break the seal. Jessica and I stumble into the bathroom, trying to breakdance and doing impressions of losers we used to know, when we see that there is some poetry on the walls.
What's this? For a good time call:
So we do call it, because who couldn't use a good time? It turns out to be somebody's business number in some photography department. But the message Jessica left went something like this:
"Hi, um, I'm in a bathroom in Brooklyn and it says to call you for a good time. It says "Penni" and there's a really hairy dick next to it. I really need a good time...my mother just died. She just died. Could you, call me back? Please"
When we get back to the party, George is talking about how he is so deep in credit card debt. He can't find a job, has rent to pay and a social life to nurture..he's taken out all the cash on his card's advance and is really getting into trouble. So we decided to borrow the scissors from behind the bar and solve his problem.
"George, we cut up your credit card! ha ha we are drunk and this is so funny!"
<---George
That's ok, because George got drunk to numb the pain and fell..luckily there was a Christmas tree to land his fall.
Jessica tried to grab a cute, loving pose with her boyfriend but one of George's friends (not the toothless one) decided to hump them on the DL:
The train home was pretty empty, and it was taking forever, so the boys got rowdy.
Meanwhile some douchebag is watching us intently with his sketchpad and pencil, drawing us. We are drunk and doing somersaults off the handlebars, what are you possibly drawing?
And so I chronicle another night of Bacchanalian debauchery.
I'm pretty sure the world should be terrified that we are friends again.
Jessica, as one of my 1st graders expressed to his cubby mate:
Copyright Jane Callahan 2006