I am an endless source of amusement for my friends, and they for me. Luci, my oldest friend (meaning I’ve known her the longest), sent me the following e-mail:
I feel like shit (physically) and I quit my job today. Got a better offer, will be working from home again. Long story, too tired to tell it tonight but will call you tomorrow.
I just looked at the blog…HILARIOUS!!! Chocolate Cherry Circus Freak will now be the name of my punk rock band (should I ever form one). Try Clorox cleanup spray on your sink and let it sit for awhile (you can soak a sponge in it). And if you’re tired of the goth kid look slap on a box of medium brown hair dye (will you please invest in some conditioner that cannot be purchased with pocket change) or if you’re feeling extra adventurous bring your ass up here and I’ll take you to Sally’s Beauty Supply (while trying not to infect you with the SARS I’ve been stricken with) and we’ll “fix” it and I promise you if you let me dye it I will keep it off your boobs and on your head where it belongs.
It dawned on me the other day that you and I are like Ferris Bueller and his friend Cameron. You’re the adventurous one and I’m the agoraphobe stuck at home with kleenex sticking out of my face.
Love you too, Lulu
OK, so a source of amusement and, for those of my friends who actually care that I look like a vagrant (or circus freak) when I leave the house- and it doesn’t seem to bother me, except for the eggplant hair- apparently a source of frustration. Lu’s got it wrong- I am a FREELANCE WRITER. My pocket change won’t even buy a bottle of cheap conditioner. I have to save up for that.
And as far as me being Ferris and her being Cameron, I’m not sure that’s right, exactly. I always thought of HER as the daring one. She dropped out of high school at 17 to get married, divorced the walking amoeba, and promptly started writing four guys overseas with Operation Desert Storm. One of them came into town on a Tuesday. She called me Wednesday. I called her back Friday. She had met and married the guy in that time. She also joined the army and has more tattoos on her person than I have socks. Not pairs of socks, socks, singular. Of course, her tattoos probably smell better then my socks, but that’s not important now. She is also the singularly most well-read person I know and, with among the three smartest people I know (and I’m not naming names, because I’ve traveled that road before and it ain’t pretty).
I prefer to think of us as Judd Nelson and Ally Sheedy from The Breakfast Club. I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that metaphor either, but what the hell, I’m just along for the ride.
