August 25, 2005
the shelf life of a friend

today is the 25th birthday of Kady's Pet. i have known her for nearly twenty years. that statement scares the bejesus out of me. (bejesus only because we have already established that there is no crap. the faeries have come and gone, people. nothing to see here.) so apparently the shelf life is like 17 years and counting. come nuclear war, it's gonna be cockroaches, cher, pammy's breast implants and me, the friend that will not die.

in honor of her special day, i will share with you some memories and general knowledge of the illustrious Kady's Pet.

we met at a summer camp- a jewish summer camp- named "camp simchah." now seeing as how i'm all lapsed in my jewness, i'm not sure i'm still allowed to use The Hebrew, which means we must call this camp by its english name. camp happy. clever, i'nit? one day, by the giant rock that tore through many of my jordache and esprit jeans, i told this little girl her eyes looked like blue marbles. see? i was weird even then. and then we were friends.

in high school we did a production of pippin, wherein i played pippin's crazyassed momma. who here is surprised? (i see no hands have been raised. well geez. thanks.) before play practice every single day, we would rush out to her ultracool sebring convertible and smoke 826354 cigarettes while driving laps around the school, so that we wouldn't get caught on school property and wouldn't collapse into nicotine fits halfway through "morning glow." that song was our favorite because we could sing it really freaking loud. actually, we were known to sing so loudly and with such frightening enthusiasm that the altos standing in front of us were blown completely off the stage. we also wore leotards. in front of people. and i'm pretty sure mine was some shade of pink.


we cofounded a secret society known as the usalytes. we had code names. mine was white trash. dear Kady's Pet was "spic." which really was not a racial slur but an acronym, standing for something like "short, can't remember the p word, itchy chick." fo' real.

she does not like to have her stomach touched.

she's really good to laugh with, especially when it's about boys.

one time i called out of work to play barbies in her basement. we were 17.

when i broke up with my exboyfriend (which was Hard, with a capital H) she took me to jose macintyre's in boston and we got some drink on. she also made me feel like it was going to be okay. which eventually it was. which brings me to...

we danced in her living room to dashboard confessional and she totally put up with my emo-ness (this was before the massive emosplosion of pop culture) as i expounded on the virtues that are Boy.

she keeps calling me even though i rarely pick up. this is not a reflection on her. i just hate phones. but every once in a while, she catches me in a mood and we talk till all the grocery shopping is done and she has helped me decide what type of air freshner to buy from 2526.06 miles away (estimated distance, of course.)

and now i give you this 25th birthday-related comic from the always nerdily entertaining cat and girl.

and for those of you who have not yet named the cow (or have more suggestions) please continue to yesterday's post and name away. just because i have the good sense to buy the cowie chair doesn't mean i can name it. because really, i can't. and the chair deserves a name!

so help.


Blogger Quirkalot said...

I think you should cal the chair Elsea, but not necessarily with that spelling. It's not only a popular cow now, but also an old lady name. Since you are determined to knit and do old lady stuff in the chair, then you should name it as so. Maybe if it were a sex chair you could call it "sexy Rexy", but it's ultimately your call. p.s. thanks for my birthday gift. I forgot about the barbies!

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