I was going to keep this posted limited to friends who are allegedly female, but I realized I would not be painting a full picture without including my two favorite manfriends.
Sauce
If I was to magically gain a ferocious widow's peak, an ethnically ambiguous complexion, and male reproductive organs, I would be Sauce. I am the female version of him, or he is the male version of me (I'm not sure which is less disturbing). We both have an affinity for interrupting public events by dougie-ing, sex in the lounge, not studying, making fun of the less fortunate, and drinking at inappropriate times. I also enjoy telling people Sauce is a different race every time I introduce him, examples include: Hispanic, Native American, and Inuit. He also fell down an entire flight of stairs holding a plate of wings.
Buck
I actually have never met anyone less like me than Buck. He is quiet, reserved, responsible, hardworking, and nice to everybody. Some would call that boring, I also call that boring. However when you are living life running around like a drunk toddler on crack, it's nice to have someone who will throw you over their shoulder and drag you out of a party gone wrong. He is actually one of the funniest people you will ever meet, once you wait the 3.5 years for him to warm up. Buck has watched the Justin Bieber movie multiple times, thinks his life should be like Community, and is made instantly uncomfortable by the mention of nudity, homosexuality and dirty sheets. And sorry ladies, he's taken.
Now to the ladies...
Mrs. G
Mrs. G is a fellow Midwestern girl. She experienced a prolonged awkward/chubby stage in grade school, which was swiftly followed by a chronic fear of food poisoning stage. She has now overcome these obstacles to blossom into the successful, blonde bombshell teen she is today. She is the only friend I have who watches as much SNL as I do, and she is also the only person I know who blacks out drunk and then watches The Big Bang Theory alone in bed. In classic only child fashion, Mrs. G can take a small occurrence and use Broadway level dramatics to either turn it into the funniest story ever, or the world's longest drunken crying hysteric fit performed by a cat magician. Her perfect night is a night wrapped in her Snuggie, watching Mad Men in a dark cave, with a Jimmy John's Italian Nightclub by her side. And good news boys, she's single.
Fish
Fish is my life partner. She has strong biceps that she cuddles me with, she is also as strong as the mighty Mississippi. She often matches her athletic shorts to her shoes and sports bras. Fish also is notorious for attending sorority events, and then only being conscious for a total of 20 minutes. She doesn't judge me because I can't do simple math, and I often judge her for being too nice to random assholes. She's very athletic, and when she was younger her teachers often thought she was a victim of home violence due to her many bruises and injuries. She can be seen wearing yoga pants, a sexy backpack, and sitting creepily alone at Norbucks. She likes country music, being alone at parties, and Sargent. Also, don't try to sexually assault her for her smartphone on Sheridan, you will be sorely disappointed. (But you will gain a pretty bitchin' frog cell phone charm)
Elle
You never really know someone until you live with them, and this beautifully describes my relationship with Elle. We both embarked on a magical journey this year, and this journey was to figure out just how Britney-Spears-circa-2007-batshit-crazy we both are. Elle talks in her sleep, talks to herself, and talks to herself in her sleep. She needs to put her entire closet on the floor before she can decided on one outfit. She bleaches everything in our room when she's drunk, puts on Pride and Prejudice when she's having a breakdown, and nothing makes her mad like someone else trying to DJ (She's going to play Kevin Little's "Turn Me On" twelve times and you're going to like it asshole). I've also discovered that she is a Mother Theresa-like angel, because she puts up with my equal level of insanity. She made it a whole year dealing with my nakedness, snoring, and horrible drag queen singing. And for that, I thank her.
Max
Max is a California girl , and by California girl I mean she never shuts up about California. Sean Penn lives in her basement and she has had sex with James Franco more than once. She cannot perform any task while in motion, she will halt an entire group in order to zip jacket or pull out her cell phone. She also cannot hold more than two things in her hand at one time, she will then stop and ask you to hold the other thing. By day she snorts kale and eats only grilled chicken and balsamic, but when the sun sets and the Cuervo hits her tongue, she transforms. She now wants to eat fried chicken and waffles and will allegedly pay you 2,000 dollars to order her a pizza with various meats. I know all these things because she is my best friend and, according to my mom, my lesbian lover. We are always together. Whether its writhing sexually on the floor to "Let Me Love You", seeing MIB 3 with me because I think Will Smith is the actor of our generation, or tag team vomiting in a Bobb bathroom (winter date night), Max is always by my side. And although this is out of character for me to say, but I will always be by her side. I will be there to buy her drinks at the Keg so she can promptly dump them on herself, I will be there draw attention away from her Peanuts- style dancing, but I will not be there when she's running. I'm sorry but I can't back that up and run with her, it's just not happening .
If you weren't mentioned in this it's probably because I think too highly of you to defame you on this blog, you're too much of a real person to humiliate, or I just don't like you. Either way, you should be glad you're not mentioned.
^ how I snuggle my friendz
No comments:
Post a Comment