decisions, decisions

  • K: What should we watch tonight?
  • R: Sometimes they have good sexual movies on here. On "On Demand."
  • K: You mean, like, porn.
  • R: Well. Maybe. Like soft porn.
  • K: Are you suggesting we watch porn together? I feel like that would be awkward.
  • R: No. I just mean if one of us is gone. Like one time I watched one in my parents' basement and I had to turn down the volume during the sex scenes, because I was like, 'Oh my gosh.'"

superstitious

  • K: I need to do something for good luck, I think.
  • R: Don't put salt in your hair.
  • K: Why would I ever do that.
  • R: I put salt in my hair to keep the witches out when I was little.
  • K: What?
  • R: I don't think you're actually supposed to do that, I think you're supposed to put it in a circle around you on the floor or something, to protect whatever's inside it.
  • K: But you put it ON you.
  • R: Yeah. I was picking it out for like, weeks. Like, "ugh, SALT!"
This is me and my best friend Rylee, dressed up as spies, just because. Today is her birthday. She is 25. I am an emotional wreck in expressing my love for my friends. I fill up birthday cards and emails and letters with mush. Every time I just think about writing Rylee’s wedding toast, I start crying. I JUST HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS. Rylee is more of a “show” than “tell” kind of friend. There are times (of the month, lol, right?!) when I get worried, because that is just what I DO, that Rylee doesn’t think we’ll be best friends for as long as I do (until the year 2100), or that she’ll find some other dumb girl she likes better. Like, “Heyyy Katie, but there is this girl at work I met and, though we’ve only known each other a month, I have decided to replace you with her. Sorry, best wishes, ttyn! (That means talk to you NEVER.)” I’ve been doing a lot of things lately that I never thought I’d get to do. One of them is trying to write a book. When I had 18 pages I emailed them to Rylee, adding that I was basically out of ideas and wasn’t sure how I’d ever have anything else to say. She told me that I would. We went through the same routine at 45, and 73, and 90. She and I went to a cabin for five days at the end of summer and brought along a whiteboard and whiteboard markers. We have a thing with whiteboards, we have three in our apartment. On the first night when I told her that I was still worrying about how I’d ever finish the book, she took up the whiteboard on her lap and helped me brainstorm for two hours. When the whiteboard was full, she transferred all the notes (color-coded by topic) to a legal pad so that I could take them with me when we left. It was the sweetest thing. I don’t know what’s going to happen with it. I just know that I have 127 pages more than I ever thought I would.  Thanks, Rylee. I might have stopped at 18 or 45 or 73 or 90 or 127, if it weren’t for you. Happy birthday. You’re funny and pretty and weird and perfect. You’re also the worst sore loser I have ever met, so I guess it’s a good thing that you beat me in every type of game we play. I love you. Bear with me - I might need to tell you that twenty more times today. 

This is me and my best friend Rylee, dressed up as spies, just because. Today is her birthday. She is 25.

I am an emotional wreck in expressing my love for my friends. I fill up birthday cards and emails and letters with mush. Every time I just think about writing Rylee’s wedding toast, I start crying. I JUST HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS.

Rylee is more of a “show” than “tell” kind of friend.

There are times (of the month, lol, right?!) when I get worried, because that is just what I DO, that Rylee doesn’t think we’ll be best friends for as long as I do (until the year 2100), or that she’ll find some other dumb girl she likes better. Like, “Heyyy Katie, but there is this girl at work I met and, though we’ve only known each other a month, I have decided to replace you with her. Sorry, best wishes, ttyn! (That means talk to you NEVER.)”

I’ve been doing a lot of things lately that I never thought I’d get to do. One of them is trying to write a book. When I had 18 pages I emailed them to Rylee, adding that I was basically out of ideas and wasn’t sure how I’d ever have anything else to say. She told me that I would. We went through the same routine at 45, and 73, and 90.

She and I went to a cabin for five days at the end of summer and brought along a whiteboard and whiteboard markers. We have a thing with whiteboards, we have three in our apartment. On the first night when I told her that I was still worrying about how I’d ever finish the book, she took up the whiteboard on her lap and helped me brainstorm for two hours. When the whiteboard was full, she transferred all the notes (color-coded by topic) to a legal pad so that I could take them with me when we left. It was the sweetest thing.

I don’t know what’s going to happen with it. I just know that I have 127 pages more than I ever thought I would. 

Thanks, Rylee. I might have stopped at 18 or 45 or 73 or 90 or 127, if it weren’t for you.

Happy birthday. You’re funny and pretty and weird and perfect. You’re also the worst sore loser I have ever met, so I guess it’s a good thing that you beat me in every type of game we play.

I love you. Bear with me - I might need to tell you that twenty more times today. 

I practically chopped off my toe

Last night I smashed my middle toe into the wheel of my bed and it hurt but not too bad but when I pulled my foot in it was bleeding. I ran screaming to the bathroom and put my foot in the sink which was awkward because I was still in a towel, I had just showered, and basically I flashed myself in the mirror and was like “OH MY GOODNESS!” But then I rinsed it and sat on the toilet and yelled for Rylee to come look, and she bandaged it with Neosporin (product placement) and gauze and tape like some kind of expert. I sent myself to bed at 9:30 with a YA novel to heal. 

This morning I asked Rylee if she’d like to redress my wound but when I took the bandage off it was like the piece of skin that had come off was SEALED BACK TO MY FOOT??? Rylee said that happens sometimes, and I tried to touch it and she said “don’t touch it.” So then I asked if it was ok to re-bandage a wound that has dried blood under it and she said “yes, that is what bruises are,” and I said, “I feel like you’re not a doctor,” which is probably not a nice thing to say to someone who is very neatly bandaging your little middle toe. 

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