Hiatus.

Some of you may have noticed that it has been nearly two months since my last post. And you probably figured that I was being my lazy self and moved on. You would have been only partially correct. Shortly after my last post, events transpired that put a damper on my blogging abilities, or at least my ability to sustain this particular blog.

April 7th, around 6 pm

I'm in the women's locker room, getting ready for an intramural tennis match, when my phone rings and shows that my bestie is calling (this is unusual in itself because we normally only talk after 9, when minutes are free). I answer.

"Hey fatface."

"ccsssssxssxxxhhhhhhhhhh. CRR-CRRRRR-CRRRRR. csssscxrrrrssshhhh."

"Hello???

"(muffly muffle mcmufflerson.....)"

"Uhhh... bestie?"

Click.

Fifteen seconds later, she calls again and the same thing happens. Another fifteen seconds and I'm getting a call from a mutual friend, K-Town. Except when I answer, it's not K-Town but my bestie, clear as day.

"Umm I think you pocket-dialed me. Twice."

"No, I real-dialed you. Twice."

"Oh, well you were muffly mcmufflerson."

"Yeah, I dropped my phone in a clam pool."

"...In a... what?"

"A clam pool. Listen it doesn't matter. What are you doing May 6th?"

"Umm I don't know, that's in like a month. Why?"

"I may or may not have a mandatory court appearance in Cannon Beach that day..."

So, to recap, my bestie was calling me from a borrowed phone to tell me that hers was no longer working because she had dropped it in a clam pool in Cannon Beach, where she was going to have to re-venture in a month for a court appearance.

The indictment, you ask? The illegal climbing of Haystack Rock, which is apparently a wildlife refuge for things like mussels and probably the clams of the aforementioned clam pool. So, the conversation ended with an understanding that I would be travelling to Cannon Beach in a month and that, given that it got clammed, my bestie's phone would be out of commission for at least a week.

It actually took a surprisingly short time for her to get another phone, but the news (sent in an email) was bittersweet. Actually just funny :

I got my new phone in the mail and I may or may not have dropped it and it may or may not have a broken screen...I am honestly thinking about not having a cell phone and just having my number and then checking my voicemail from other phones or something...Cell phones and I just do not mix, homie.
04/18/09 6:08 am

So there you have it. Clam pool muffling and cracked screens. She did exactly what she said she would, by the way, and just checks her voicemail from work. She still uses her phone to call me and her mom (the only two numbers she has memorized) but sadly, can't text anymore so, sadly, the future of this blog is looking insecure. I did, however, come across an archive of texts from my bestie, last-year edition, and I can always post recountings of our various and always ridiculous adventures. Perhaps I'll start with judgment day, Cannon Beach style.

Gordo.

My bestie got a second job at a daycare. Bad news all around.

"Ps I dropped a kid on his head today at work. But in my defense he was really fat. Really fat."
3/13/09 8:30 pm

The full story came out in a series of subsequent texts, which I have condensed for your convenience:

"...yeah this is the fattest ugliest baby ever and I set him down on a chair and he leaned a little to the left and was so heavy he tipped himself over off the chair, hit his head on the table on the way down and then landed on his head when he hit the floor. Also the hispanic employee calls him gordo instead of Gordon when his mom isn't there... I don't think she knows I can understand her."
3/13/09

In addition to dropping fat babies, my bestie spends her time at the daycare playing with four and five year olds, whom she refers to as "little demons." On her first day, a particularly rambunctious little guy threw his pears (meant as a snack) at her head. On her second day, I asked how things were going and got this as a reply:

"No pears. My toes were stabbed with plastic scissors."
3/5/09 2:23 pm

Triple stackin' it.

I got a series of fast-food related texts from my bestie and began to wonder just how much of our lives revolve around food, fast food, and, specifically, Wendy's. The answer is: a whole freaking lot. Case in point: this picture was taken over Christmas break because, honestly, we really do love Wendy's enough to want to showcase it in our photo albums.

"I think I'm happiest when eating a double cheeseburger."
2/27/09 2:39 pm

"No, I know I'm happiest when eating a double cheeseburger. I just finished it."
2/27/09 2:41 pm

And, while not a text, I think that this excerpt from an email from my bestie will really drive this point home:

"One night I was craving a chocolate milkshake so I naturally assumed Wendy's would have amazing milkshakes because of the greatness of their frosties, right...WRONG, so so wrong. All they do is fill a cup 3/4 full of soft serve and then add tons o' hershey's syrup. I wanted to barf. You have no idea how incredibly disappointed I was. I went straight to McDonald's to get a real milkshake and even asked the worker if they could throw away my untouched Wendy's milkshake in an attempt to bond with a McDonald's employee and break all loyalties I've ever had with Wendy's...In retrospect, I think I was a little harsh...And unsuccessful. The McDonald's employee rudely told me that they weren't allowed to take trash from customers; she didn't even see that it was a Wendy's milkshake and definitely did not catch my attempt to bond with her. My loyalties are back with Wendy's."

3/8/09 11:27 pm

The bird.

"I just gave Mrs. (insert name of high school history teacher here) an angry hand gesture because she almost crashed into me... I didn't realize it was her until after the gesture was made."
3/1/09 2:29 pm

I checked with her later, and it wasn't so much the bird as it was a couple of angry fists and a jaw drop, but I like to imagine the finger thrown in there, just because it makes the fact that the target was one of our old high school teachers that much funnier.

In other my-bestie-behind-the-wheel news, here's a beaut from a couple weeks back:

"Ps I also just spilled an entire milkshake on my lap and got pulled over by a cop... I somehow got out of a $336 ticket."
2/7/09 12:12 pm

Come again?

I'm pulling from the archives here, folks. My bestie becomes deliriously happy during the summer months, often about things the rest of us take for granted.

"I have Wendy's and gas. I love my life."
Sometime during the summer

"Fuel. I have fuel."
2 minutes later

The Airplane Bite

"Um I think Gay Sue Beth has a crush on me... Like for realsie7."
2/4/09 1:49 pm

"Okay I don't know what for realsie7 is but I meant just for realsies."
2/4/09 1:50 pm

My bestie has a problem. She is very straight but, for some reason, gets hit on by women. Like, a lot. I have personally witnessed at least three of these lady-type advances--one by a gas station attendant, one by a convenience store worker, and another by a very forward friend of a friend of a friend. And now Sue Beth, who we refer to as Gay Sue Beth, for clarity's sake, and who works with my bestie.

My favorite of by bestie's various being-hit-on-by-a-woman stories is this:

Once, on a plane ride from the Midwest back to the Northwest, my bestie was sitting with her younger brother, minding her own business, probably reading some trash magazine, when she noticed, out of the corner of her eye, someone looking at her. She glanced up to find, two rows up and to the left in the aisle seat, a very large, "butch" woman staring at her. And I mean staring--full on turned around in her seat to ogle my bestie. She had knee length cargo shorts, a big tee shirt, and a buzz cut, and her eyes were not straying.

So my bestie looks away as quickly as she can, turns to her younger brother, and makes him check to see if the woman is still staring.

Her brother, a young teenager at the time, knew a check-out when he saw one and boy did he see one. So my bestie keeps turned away from the woman and tries to just naturally carry on conversation with her brother. He gives my bestie the all-clear, like the woman has finally turned away. So my bestie turns to look but her brother had lied for his own amusement's sake and she is now full on facing her checker-outer, who, keeping eye contact, proceeds to do the bite. The bite. The air bite. The one where if someone does it in your direction there is no mistaking their intentions.

So my bestie is so horrified that she is completely frozen and can't turn away. The biter then gives a silent laugh and turns to the woman next to her who is also sporting men's clothing and a buzz cut.

When my bestie regains composure, she explains what has happened to her brother, who missed the whole thing. He was way bummed about missing the bite and so, somehow (and if you know my bestie this isn't that hard to imagine) convinces my bestie to reciprocate the bite in an effort to procure another one. She gives a bite, the lady shoots back another one, and they both turn away, apparently satisfied with the exchange.

Nothing to see here.

"ps I bought new dishes... Because I didn't have any clean ones. I think I have a problem. On the upside they're sweet dishes."
1/22/09 11:40 pm

Related story:

My bestie has her own apartment. This is horrifying for a number of reasons, the biggest being that there is no one to force her to clean up after herself. Over Christmas break, she left for a few days' vacation with her family and didn't think (or maybe just didn't bother) to clean before she left. When she came back, we made plans to hang out at her place with a couple of other friends. I went over about an hour before only to find the most appallingly unsanitary conditions that I have ever seen. The entire place smelled RANK. The kitchen was a complete disaster; some of her dishes, including an entire pot, were so covered in mold that we had to just throw them away. The only cleaning supplies she had were sponges and she didn't even own a dish towel. Apparently she normally just grabs a full-size bath towel and uses a different section of it each day (or, more likely, month) to dry things, and then just throws it on the counter until she needs it again. The picture shows the result: a completely crusty, gross towel, the folds of which do not move with shaking. Bonus: a surprisingly well-adhered PastaRoni box.