Full Disclosure: This is the first request I have received. I didn't realize that I had loyal readers. Sometimes I worry that my life/blog is like a Sting song, "Just a castaway, an island lost at sea, oh./ Another lonely day with no one here but me, oh."
I have known Jordana for so long, that in the course of our evening out with friends on Saturday, she said, "Oeenka!" and I knew that she was referring to Demi Moore's nipples in the movie, Ghost. If that's not friendship, I don't know what is.
In elementary school I got a curling iron with a brush attachment thoroughly stuck in Jor's hair. I had picked up the conventional wisdom that peanut butter is just the thing for liberating objects from hair. For the record, it isn't.
When we were in middle school we would go to open swim at the high school. We would shower in the locker room afterwards and get a Strawberry Crush from the pop machine. We felt so "Sixteen Candles".
Also in middle school, we were assigned a country to study for an entire year: art projects, cooking projects, research papers, all of which would culminate in a Culture Fair at the end of the year. Groups were assigned countries like China or England or France. We got Zimbabwe. Zimbabwe! We wrote a song:
"Zim, ba-ba-ba-bab, take me away away away to Zimbabwe!"
We would sing the song at the Bat Mitzvahs of everyone in the group.Freshman year of high school, Jordana, Annie (you remember Annie, readers. She was the child with the ziplock baggies) and I decided to choreograph a dance for the annual dance show. Annie and I were committed to making our dance an allegory for the fall of communism. Jordana thought that was stupid. The teacher in charge of the show sided with Jor.
We once shared a bottle of wine at the foot of the Andes. I felt arty. She felt posh. During that trip we visited a Chilean vineyard. Our tour group was overrun with Mormons. We concluded that the Mormons were either doing reconnaissance or looking for sinners to convert.
It was nice to see Jor.
2 comments:
I was worried that this would be filled with scandalous things-- I'm both a little relieved and a little disappointed that it wasn't. And I can't believe you remembered the curling brush getting stuck in my hair. My mom was so mad!
What kind of scandalous things? Like the time someone I know, who shall remain nameless, smoked some kind of herbal cigarette and kept saying, "The rain in Spain falls mainly in my brain"?
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