Monday, December 10, 2012

We Go Back Like Fat Crayons

Today started out like any other Monday. I overslept, thought I locked my keys in the house, and made it to work just in time for a meeting. It was a pretty normal day. Or normal for me. 

At lunch, we started talking about what we did as teens and I started telling stories of days with my crazy ass friends. And I had a lot of them. Crazy and friends. Neither seemed to be mutually exclusive. 

I have had some of the best friends over the years and I seem to be able to still find them. These friends are the type of people that are fully devoted. If I call in the middle of the night because I did something stupid, they answer. If I need them to help me trace my steps to find my phone in the freezer, they will listen to me ramble. 

My friends make fun of my vertical challenges. They mock my lack of organization, and they aren't scared to call me out if I'm being a bitch. These ate the types of friends everyone needs. And no, you cannot have mine. They only have time for one fuck up in their lives, and I filled that slot long ago. 

In honor of friends, I will tell a story of one. We will call her Trick and that name is perfect for her. She's always pulling some magic out of her lame ass purse and providing me with exactly what I need at exactly the right time. 

Trick and G picked me up from work one night and we headed out to have a night of fun. Our nights of fun consisted of driving aimlessly listening to bad hip hop and ending up in some neighboring state. They were stoned. I wasn't. Drugs are bad. I was exhausted. I worked at the hospital as a customer service rep. Which loosely translated into "call up people who won't pay and let them cuss you out" and that day had been a particularly bad one. 

Trick was driving. We stopped at this gas station so we could get some cigs and chocolate. I went in as I still had on my "I can be seen in public clothes" and I talked to the clerk who knew me. I was in there every friggin day. He fucking knew me. This is important why? Well just wait you impatient bastard. 

Now that you have distracted me, I have to regroup.............. Ok. 

Anyway, as we start to drive off, and this all happened in slow motion, Trick slowly pushed the Rubbermaid trash bin into the side of the building. It lifted up and slowly toppled over, spilling its filthy contents all over the pavement. 

The gas attendant stared in horror as if we were going to drive straight through the building. Our other friend, G, the one who always makes bad decisions yells "just fucking go! Let's get out of here." as if we had just robbed a bank. Trick stormed off. 

I was all "let's go back! We need to help him clean!" I felt horrible and I didn't want to leave that mess for that poor guy.  Besides, it was the closet gas station to my house and I didn't want to have to avoid it. 

G and I were like the devil vs. angel that you always see portrayed on TV. G was "run" while I was "stop." Trick was so fucking confused but I don't feel bad for that bitch because in the end, she sped off as I looked back in sadness at the poor guy who had to clean up that mess. 

To this day, I cannot understand why Trick listened to G. She knew she was never the reasonable one out of the three of us. Either way, Trick and G both have supported me through my ups and downs. Through marriage, through birth, through death, and even a divorce. Those are the types of friends they are. 

Ride or die, bitches

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