Eric sent me a rather aggressive email recently asking why I haven’t made a blog post in a while… I have no good answer.
I’m legally blind. My contacts prescription is -7.25 and -6.75.
Okay, that tidbit, or tad-bat (if you are Valerie while trying to say tid-bit as you are waiting in line for free chocolates from the geriatric ward… aka See’s Candy) was mostly two fold:
A.) to make you feel bad for me and a little less angry for not writing for a while and...
B.) as a diversion and/or procrastination tactic
Right now I am sitting in the passenger seat driving to Vegas. I am seeing how long it will take me before I get violently road sick while writing this post.
So far; so good.
I find it fitting that I write a memory involving Eric as he was the motivating factor to getting my blog on again; if you will.
Best friend Eric and I go way back. And I mean waaaay back… back to the days of floating down the river in an inner tube in our overalls. Well, at least that’s how long it feels. Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure we actually met in a 9th grade gym class. He was the new kid on the block, and I thought I was too cool for school whilst wearing my pooka shell necklaces an all, so needless to say our friendship didn’t really start then either; obviously. (I promise I’m a better person now.)
To tell you the truth I’m not rightly sure the point where we became best friends, our next attempt at friendship was also rocky. We had an English class together. Which I believe is a good time to interject that our teacher, I’m about 98.90% sure, was a underground Nazi cult leader or professional child snatcher. No joke, this woman had a complete bottom desk drawer full of knives. She also recommended me to read a book for a report and when I went to the library to check it out the librarian got all wide-eyed and asked why on earth I was looking for that book. I was then informed it was banned from all school libraries as “too pornographic”… yeah, thanks for that one teach.
Where was I? Oh yeah, Eric and I round two. So he sat in front of me in my class and after about a week into it, he made me sign a contract saying that I would not put my feet up on his desk, or sprawl out my arms onto his desk when I would take my post lunch nap during the Nazi propaganda lectures by said teacher.
Okay, I’m not making a strong case here, but suffice it to say - we are best friends now… and that’s all that matters.
Eric even got me a job at the restaurant he worked at. Which I’m not sure was the most productive decision ever made, putting us both in the same work environment and all, but none the less it made for some awesome stories along the way.
One night, a sassy lady (and not the good kind of sassy) came up to us asking for something as her son tagged along behind her while looking as white as a ghost. He was trying to get his mom’s attention but she kept ignoring him and insisted on assaulting us with request after request.
Then it happened.
The boy could be ignored no more… mostly because he began to vomit, and lets get real, vomiting gets anyone’s attention – which come to think of it, is probably the only reason why Mariah Carey is having a baby. Twins nonetheless. That’s like twice the vomiting, and thus twice the attention. That makes more sense than the disturbing alternative like that she actually wants to have offspring. Something to ponder.
Another random fact about me; I do not do well with smells and have frighteningly sensitive gag reflex. Eric looked over to me after the kid vomited right in front of us and the first words out of my mouth were, “Um yeah, you are going to want to clean that up unless you want to clean up mine as well as his.” Now I’m not going to say that that was the best thing to say as the mom is still standing right in front of us, but she just looked over with those annoyingly needy eyes as if to say, “Well what are you waiting for, clean that.”
Eric is a good man; he took care of it while I stayed at the opposite end off the restaurant while trying not to dry heave myself that evening as the event kept replaying in my head.
Another night that we were working and a sweet old lady was looking over the menu and looked up at me while Eric was next to me and asked, “Now what’s your chicken ka-boob?” Call it immaturity, but I dare any one of you to keep straight face if a grandma came up to you and starts asking you to describe, and question you about the quality of your ka-boobs,
“… and is that one ka-boob or two?"
Nigh unto impossible.
Morals of Post:
- Everyone should be Eric’s best friend. It’s kind of like having two drinks come out of the vending machine when you only pay for one, or kind of like finding a $20 bill in the gutter and having no one around watching, allowing you to not feel morally awkward taking it and spending it on two days worth of Chinese food in a row. Yeah, it’s a lot like that.