The monkey made me do it

Lub

Lisa is one of those friends whose details have begun to escape me through the passage of friendship-time. Where we met? What I thought of her at first? Have we fought? I vaguely remember one fight, and this weekend when we were hiking she reminded me that it was about how to decorate the house we shared for about a year. She’s big on wolves and eagles and a maroon/navy blue/forest green color scheme. I’m big on modern/abstract/Gaudi-ironwork/bright colors in the right places, but since I can’t afford much of that I make my own style. Unfortunately, not featuring either eagles OR wolves (or Native Americans in profile, though she had some of those too). I don’t know if that counts as much of a fight, though. She has psychoanalyzed me through her advanced studies in psychotherapy (and she still talks to me!), I talked her in to letting me get a crazy, abused pound dog and then helping me take her on her daily walkies, and we’ve hiked and camped all over this area and have never yet killed each other.

Ahh, friends.

One of the defining moments of the friendship happened when she and I became self-elected Activities Directors for the church we both attended at the time. We planned all sorts of hikes and trips, and since our committee was founded in February, we decided to have an Anti-Valentine’s Day party for all those single (‘n’ bitter) folks. I think we scared people. The first party was held at my rental house, and we ordered Chinese food and talked for hours about the men whose names we were writing on our Simpsons valentine’s day cards. Then we burned the cards in my fireplace (admittedly, sometimes accompanied by a "BOO-yah"). Over the years, I’ve realized that these names get more and more far-reaching as the evening goes on and we should really stop before I get to entries like “Rod Stewart” and “that guy on the bike this morning”. After the burning we settle in with our chow mein and watch “Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion”, which we have scientifically proven to be the least romantic movie on the planet. Then we do a little ritualistic chanting, make Sweet Hearts poetry, and call it a night.

We've done it since 1999, I think. This year we burned them on my BBQ since the current homestead is lacking in fireplaces, but the spirit was still the same. We also added Vodka Crans, so the festivities this weekend were also characterized by very abstract Sweet Heart Poetry (one of mine: "BE MINE" "MY DEAR" "GET REAL" "(smiley face)" "(smiley face)" "E MAIL" "MY LOVE") (I dunno either).

But this year I wasn't quite feeling it.
May have found a brake-light checker.

posted by LadyJay @ 4:19 PM