From the folks in the background, Steph and I were teenagers in the '70's. Love the safety mat. Life should come with a safety mat.
Remember that lunch I mentioned in passing a while back? No? Why ever not? Don’t you memorize every word I write? Well, I’ll remind you – I’ve turned into a social retard, I was going out for lunch with my oldest friend (oldest as in I’ve been friends with her the longest), we haven’t seen each other in a year, I was worried I’d forget how to speak because I’m a social retard and that’s kind of what we do. We shell up and die a little on the inside, all the while collecting sweat puddles in our palms and wondering why people want to be around us because we suck.
It turns out that, while some of my choices of friends in high school were questionable, I made a good decision to latch onto this one. She’s a talker, in a good way, which is an excellent pairing with my being a not-good-talker. I’m a good listener by default, but somehow she gets me speaking. And not in incoherent tongues; actual sentences with some semblance of proper structure and only the occasional stutter. I remember to ask follow-up questions, I only have to look away once in a while to collect my rambling thoughts, and I’m not embarrassed when I do actually occasionally stutter.
"Steph and Jen" at prom. If I hear ONE THING about the unflattering above-the-ankle dress and lioness hair, I'll...do nothing. Give me a break. They looked good at the time. Which was LAST YEAR.
In college, we were inseparable. She was the one who drove. I was the one who…didn’t. She was the one with a huge head. I was the one with…an even bigger head. She was the one with short, thick hair. I was the one with…short, thick hair. We didn’t look anything alike but we were both the same-ish height with the same-ish coloured hair and the same-ish build and most people didn’t know which one was which. It was just “Steph and Jen”. And we liked it that way.
We took the same things which normally wouldn’t be noteworthy, but we took a bit of a meandering path to get to our diplomas. We started out in journalism – I liked to write and I loved to edit other people’s work; she liked to talk to people. We both realized it wasn’t for us – I didn’t like talking to people and she just changed her mind - so we opted out (fancy for “quit”). She lasted a semester longer than I did; I took General Arts & Science in the meantime because I was worried that if I left school all together, I wouldn’t come back.
When it came time to choose a different path, I took her lead. I had (have) no idea what I wanted to do with my life, I just knew I had to do something. Business seemed safe, and human resources made sense. In good economic times, companies need people to do their hiring. In bad economic times, someone has to do the firing. What did we know? We were kids.
But after school was done and we both had met our future husbands, we grew apart. By way of geography, not by choice. I was her Maid of Honour and she was my very-pregnant bridesmaid, but even then it was fading. Obviously I knew she was where she needed and wanted to be for herself and for her future, but I knew what we had as “Steph and Jen” was over. It was sad, but it was also a part of life. An unfortunate part of growing up.
The prettiest Brides-Mama ever. This dress came dangerously close to falling indecently south on several occasions. Pregnant ladies with big pregnant-lady boobs should always wear straps.
When she was gone, and my other school friends were long gone, I felt partly alone. I had my family, who I’m lucky are so great, and of course I had AH, who I’m lucky makes a great friend. But any woman knows, there’s nothing the same as a girl friend. You can’t talk about the same things with your family as you can with a girl friend and husbands make horrible gossip cohorts.
We’ve done a terrible job at keeping properly connected. I blame myself. I suck at the phone, I’m bad at emailing, and I’m the worst at visiting. My excuses have been work and prior commitments and children who travel poorly (very, very poorly), but they’re just excuses. I should have put forth more of an effort. What we had as best friends was worth more of an effort.
Sorry, Steph. I skeefed this off Facebook. Not exactly a Glamour Shot, but whatever. You still look good.
Today was the first time since she moved away that we had a “date”. She’s visited a few times, but there were children and husbands involved and it just wasn’t the same. Today was just us over Tex Mex, talking about things we should already know about each other - how our families are doing, trips we’ve taken, what her house looks like – shopping, laughing like we used to. It made me miss what could have been if she had raised her family here or if I wasn’t such a crappy friend and visited her at all, let alone more often. It made me miss what never was, like someone to see each other through pregnancies and child-birth and help move into new homes and calm nerves when starting new jobs.
Steph was ok all these years. She makes friends in a snap. But I don’t. For years, before I met Carly, I didn’t have anyone but AH and my family (thank God for them). It would have been nice to have a friend. I should have made sure I had a friend.
You can pick your friends…
AH: I love you.
Eirinn: I love you, too.
AH: And I love snuggling with you.
Eirinn: I’m picking my nose.
***
There’s no accounting for taste
Eirinn: Mom, you should learn how to cook better.
***
Age ain’t nothing but a number
Eirinn: I remember when I was two and I was in the car with Baba and Trace because Trace had to go to the bank and I was telling Baba that I didn’t want to be three because I still wanted to pee in my Pull Ups. I still pee in my Pull Ups.
***
On the thirteenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…
Me: What’s your favourite part about Christmas?
Eirinn: Presents.
Me: What’s your second favourite part about Christmas?
Eirinn: Poop.
I was going to make you wait until Saturday to announce the Grand Prize Winner Of A Smidge Of My Love but I’m kind of bored and nothing cures boredom better than doing something. Am I right?
- Henry Hill – Ray Liotta in Goodfellas – “As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster.”
- Nicky Santoro – Joe Pesci in Casino – “A lot of holes in the desert, and a lot of problems are buried in those holes.”
- Vito Corleone – Marlon Brando in The Godfather – “I’m gonna make him an offer he can’t refuse.“
- Frank Lucas – Denzel Washington in American Gangster – “See, ya are what ya are in this world. That’s either one of two things: Either you’re somebody, or you ain’t nobody.”
- Tony Montana – Al Pacino in Scarface – “Say hello to my little friend!“
- Vic Vega (or Mr. Blonde) – Michael Madsen in Reservoire Dogs – “Eddie, you keep talking like a bitch, I’m gonna slap you like a bitch.”
- Mickey O’Neil – Brad Pitt in Snatch – “Nobody brings a fella the size of you unless they’re trying to say something without talking, right boy?“
- Jules Winnifield – Samuel L. Jackson in Pulp Fiction – “Hey, sewer rat may taste like pumpkin pie, but I’d never know ’cause I wouldn’t eat the filthy motherf****r. Pigs sleep and root in s**t. That’s a filthy animal. I ain’t eat nothin’ that ain’t got sense enough to disregard its own feces.”
- Frank Costello – Jack Nicholson in The Departed – “When I was your age they would say we can become cops, or criminals. Today, what I’m saying to you is this: when you’re facing a loaded gun, what’s the difference?“
And the winner is….
This sprinkle doughnut* sitting here, patiently waiting to be barbarically consumed (don’t worry, doughnut, you’re time is near). He aced 8 out of 9 characters, faltering on Vic Vega because he incorrectly identified him as John Travolta’s character in Pulp Fiction. No, doughnut. John’s character was Vincent Vega not Vic Vega. Nice try, though. You did better that some of these schmucks.
Oh, sorry. I was just saying that to make him feel better. He’s a perfectionist. You’re not schmucks, you’re gorgeous. And, yes, I know gorgeous is not the opposite of schmuck. Try not to read too much into that.
Regardless, doughnut here gets the love. I’m pretty sure my sister came in second and she’s already got a smidge of my love so she wasn’t getting any more anyway.
Thanks for playing! Maybe next time there will be a real prize. Don’t hold your breath, though.
***
* There is no sprinkle doughnut. That makes me sad on a couple of different levels. 1) I just had a conversation with not only a doughnut, but an imaginary doughnut and b) I wish there was a doughnut. Doughnuts always cure boredom because they make people happy.
So, I was driving home for lunch the other day because I’m super lucky and I work, like, 5 minutes away from home. When I got in my car and turned it on, I was auditorily assaulted by The Christmas Shoes by Bob Carlisle. Assaulted, I tell you.
I first heard this song a few years ago. At the time I was all “This song is lame. WTH. Christmas shoes? Who wants to hear about some stupid Christmas shoes, anyway? And WTH are Christmas shoes? On Christmas I pretty much just wear my regular old sneakers and probably my slippers but I don’t even own anything I’d call ‘Christmas shoes’. They’re probably ugly and jingle-bally and sparkly but not cute sparkly like a unicorn.”
And then my brain shut up for two seconds and I was instantly bawling like a baby. A blubbery, pregnant, adult baby.
The kid’s buying shoes for his mama IN CASE SHE MEETS JESUS TONIGHT? Merry Effing Christmas, Bob. I know people die every day of the year and it’s horrible and sad and a fact of crummy life but that’s why we DON’T WRITE CHRISTMAS SONGS ABOUT IT. Christmas is for making the yule tide gay and decking the halls and kissing Santa Claus and excluding Rudolph from reindeer games and asking for hippopotamuses. Christmas is NOT for singing about saintly mothers losing their battle with terminal illnesses. That’s not fair to those of us who keep our emotions inside. Because it’s not pretty when they get out.
I had the same reaction to Where Are You Christmas by Faith Hill (Oh My God, where are you Christmas? *sob*) and also I’ll Be Home For Christmas, but only by Josh Groban. His version has the recorded messages by soldiers fighting overseas and they will be home for Christmas, but only in their dreams. Jesus, that sucks. *S.O.B. sob*
But this year is different. This year I’m exceedingly and thankfully not pregnant (nothing more superficially depressing than either being too sick to stomach your favourite meal of the entire year or being too stuffed full of fetus to eat more than a couple of peas and a bun) so logic told me that I could properly listen to The Christmas Shoes in it’s entirety and properly rip it a new butthole for being so lame.
Yes, still lame. Yes, still a stupid song about stupid shoes that probably don’t exist and if they do they probably look like this:
Or maybe like this:
But probably more like this:
Ugly, is what I’m saying.
But then I made the mistake of turning my thinker off to pay attention to traffic for one second and that one second was the exact second that Mr. Carlisle was telling me about this little boy he just met who didn’t have enough money to buy his mom some grotesquely deformed shoes that he was convinced she’d look beautiful in IN CASE SHE MET JESUS TONIGHT.
That was it for me. Once again, this time without a mood-altering human jellyfish to blame, there I was. Niagara Falls. Making me cry? Me? I didn’t cry on my wedding day or when either one of my kids was born (I’m not bragging or anything; I’m just giving you an idea of how often I cry. That is to say, not very.).
I call that assault, Bob. Assault with a deadly weapon called Compassion.
PWCE7SQ2FKZQ
Ok, so I don’t have any prizes because…I just don’t. But what I do have is love. Lots and lots of love. And my reward to you is some of my love. Not a big chunk; the majority of it is already spoken for by my family and friends and baby rhinos. And chocolate. I love chocolate, too. But there’s a little bit of love left and you can win it! Yay!
The Contest
Leave a comment correctly identifying all of the characters to your immediate right along the side bar. I’ll need movie titles and the actors who portrayed them.
Hint: None of them are me. Because they are characters from gangster movies and I’m not an actor nor am I a mob boss, in case you haven’t guessed. I’d employ jazz hands far more often than the script calls for and I look horrible in a trench. Just so we’re clear – NOT ME. Also not Kaiser Soze.
The Rules
No using IMDB because that’s cheating and no one loves a cheater. And isn’t that why you’re participating? You want love? Well, don’t cheat and then maybe you have a shot.
Winners can not be a relative. You can play, but you can’t win because you already have my love and that’s not fair to those who don’t. You don’t want to be greedy now, do you? Because no one loves a greedy-pants. And then you lose x 2. So if you play and technically win, I’ll give you credit for your ability to search IMDB expansive knowledge of gangster movies. BUT NO MORE LOVE FOR YOU. Second place gets the love.
Disclaimer
No one’s going to play, are they?
*crickets*
Hello?
* I FORGOT TO MENTION THAT THE WINNER WILL BE ANNOUNCED AS SOON AS I REMEMBER TO WHICH I’M HOPING IS TOMORROW AFTERNOON BUT IT MIGHT NOT BE UNTIL SATURDAY AND DOES ANYONE KNOW WHY I’M YELLING?
