Thursday, August 6, 2009

Song for a Birthday Thursday

In winter of 1994, I propositioned a young man in my class to join him on a road trip to Montana. I barely knew him in any real way - except that he had a loud spoken wanderlust - and I was in a mood to shock my friends.

We left at dawn on the first day of spring break, meeting at a mutual friend's apartment to scamper off to Big Sky Country like a couple of 16-year-old elopers. I left a note for my roommate.

(The trip itself is probably worth a blog post on its own. There was a lot of drinking, drinking and driving, drinking and bowling, drinking and car wrecking, drinking and walking ten miles in the snow. Very wholesome.)

When I returned, I was in some trouble with everyone. Once they had figured out where I had gone, and with whom, there was a talking to.

The talking to came from my friend, Jan. You see, it was her ex-boyfriend who was my companion on the trip, and while he and Jan weren't together at this time...there are just some things you don't do. This I learned, as Jan pointed her brand new red acrylic nails in my direction.

To me, our friendship began here.

Before, we were acquaintances, circling each other's core friends but never really connecting. My reckless vacation cast us into the Thunderdome and we emerged comrades.

Jan is one of the women of L.A. The ones that I count as part of my extended family. There is a very short list of people I will call when I am in need. Jan is close to the top.

A couple of years ago, while Tina was off in Egypt. (Seriously. She was in Egypt.) Jan and I spent the night in her apartment. We drank four (4) bottles of wine, and proceeded to tell each other the "Truth". Neither of us remember much of that night. We ate breakfast in a haze of potential public barfing. But it was a blast.

Jan has talked me off the ledge over bad break ups, she has given me makeovers, driven me down Lake Shore Drive in a rented convertible, and endured untold amounts of performance art. She has told me in the same breath what a moron and genius she believes me to be. I think sometimes we look at each other and think: Wow. We're friends. And probably will be for, like, ever.

Happy Birthday, Jan. I love you like blood. Please don't let your mom tell my mom about my blog.


1 comment:

Jan Smelk said...

I need about 4 bottles of wine to even think about that retarded spring break debacle. I'm not sure if that was one of my better days, but I'm glad we came out the other side. I'm still pissed at Harris.

Thank you for your wonderful bday blog post, I love you madly and I promise to never let my mom tell your mom anything. Ever.


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