Thursday, August 26, 2004
an ode to Annie and Nicole
These are some sad times for me, and this time it's not because Haagen Dazs has discontinued its Vanilla Caramel Brownie ice cream. I'm not as sad as when that happened, since that started a very rough stretch for me which began with a simple betrayal and ended in the murder of four Mexican immigrants and a stray dog.
But I'm still pretty sad, as my best female friends since 1997, Annie and Nicole, are moving out of NYC.
Annie and Nicole and I met in our freshman year at Boston College. They were the two cute roommates on the second floor, I was the burly misanthrope on the first floor who spent way too much time online. We soon became friends, because I thought that they had low self-esteem and soon would let me in their pants. I was wrong; seven years later, I'm still trying (except that time when I guilted both of them into making out with me after telling them I was dying) and their self-esteem is actually quite good.
For years, they have listened to me bitch and moan about women and relationships, humored me when I droned on endlessly about my favorite kinds of lunchmeat and what I thought about the Cool Whip vs. Whipped Cream debate, and had the fortitude to resist all of my sexual advances no matter how drunk they were and how much I pleaded or how much money I offered.
And now, despite being a mainstay in my life for many years, they are leaving. And it's not like they're going to Boston or Philly or DC: Annie is going back to her home base of Seattle, and Nicole is going to London for school.
And I have no idea what I'm going to do. This leaves me with zero female friends in the city. I mean, sure, I have friends who are girls, but I'm trying to sleep with all of them, whether they realize it yet or not.
Who I am going to talk about my deepest darkest feelings (that usually concern salsa, ribs, or milkshakes) with?
Who's going to be there to tell me that my ex-girlfriends look like Bridget Jones (which apparently is not a compliment) or Rachel Dratch or Chuck Norris with breasts and a smaller mustache? (ok, I made that last one up)
Who am I going to go to for advice on women, asking questions like, "So, I really like this girl. I emailed her asking her out, and she wrote back two weeks later saying no. However, she did put a smiley face after she wrote 'You sweat constantly :)' Does this means she wants to fuck me?"
Who can I call at work and have conversations with like:
Me: "Nicole, I've made an important life decision, and I wanted you to be the first to hear it."
Nicole: "Ok, you know you can tell me anything."
Me: "Ok. [catching breath] I'm just gonna blurt it out, because I'm so afraid - [blurting out] I think we should sleep together."
Nicole: "Oh, Jay, I thought you were gonna say something good."
Me: "Just think about it. I mean, we've been friends for so long, it wouldn't even matter."
Nicole: "Alright, I'm at work. I have to go."
Me: "Will you think about it?"
Nicole: "Yeah, sure - whatever."
Me: "Just think about it."
Nicole: "Bye Jay."
Me: "Annie, I have an important question to ask you and it couldn't wait until after business hours."
Annie: [nervous] "Ok...what is it?"
Me: "What are you wearing?"
Me: "What? What are you wearing?"
Annie: "If I answer it, will you leave me alone?"
Annie: "Black skirt, white top. Ok?"
Me: "One more question."
Annie: [sighing] "What?"
Me: "Scale of one to ten. How do you look?"
Annie: "I gotta go."
So many questions, so few answers.
I am saddened by their departure, so I must cope in the only way I know how: getting so fucked up I piss in my bed. I'm serious - I took off work tomorrow for their going away party tonight, so I don't have to come in with a brain hemorrhage and spend all day Friday quietly crying in my office. And I was going to wash my sheets this morning (since it's that time of year), when I thought to myself, "Well, I may pee in them tonight, so I guess I should wash them tomorrow." Survey says: I'll wash them sometime in February.
So Annie and Nicole, if you're reading this, which you're not, despite my repeated attempts to convince you that yes, I really am an internet quasi-celebrity - it's been a good run, and I'll miss you guys.
And since I'm the worst person on earth with keeping in touch and we're not going to ever see each other again, why don't we all sleep together?
You don't have to answer now, just think about it. You can give me an answer tonight, at about 3am, after I've spent $300 on your drinks, which you should probably drink slowly, since they'll be very, very potent.