13 Oct 2011

Remember Me When I Am Creepy.

Written by sally @ 2:02 pm — Section: sally

I’ve continued to Amazon Wishlist-stalk my old/former friend Callie, and I’m delighted to report that she is apparently expecting a baby! (Or perhaps her partner is. The grapevine that told me years ago that she’s gay is no longer open for questioning.) She has registered for a Baby Bjorn and hippie diapers and the complete run of the Muppet Show. Who else could I tell this to but you, internet?

Her birthday was last week and I was thisclose to ordering her a present off her list, but then I thought that perhaps this would creep her out and she would make her list private, which would be worse, in a way, than the time she kind of stole my boyfriend, or at least became rather chummy with him after I broke up with him for saying he loved me.

There is also the chance that she wouldn’t think it was creepy, though. When we were in 7th grade, even though we lived a few streets away, I anonymously mailed her a copy of a book called Remember Me When I Am Dead hoping to creep her out, and it totally didn’t work. She just happily opened it and read it, thinking, “Cool! Someone mailed me a book!”

Let’s gloss over the fact that at age 12, I was engaging in the same behavior I am contemplating today. The difference, obviously, is that at 12 I was TRYING to be creepy and at 38 and I am TRYING NOT to be creepy. Here is where, if I were more pretentious, I would quote the first three lines of “Burnt Norton.”

16 Feb 2011

Boo Hoo.

Written by sally @ 3:44 pm — Section: sally

I had this friend growing up — we were either super best friend blood sisters for life or else she hated my guts. This went on for years, starting in fourth grade. BFFS 4 EVA! and then SALLY NORDAN EATS WORMS. Back and forth, back and forth. Generally a mutual friend would intervene and we would become friends again, but the last time Callie hated my guts was the end of our senior year in high school, and then I never saw her again boo hoo.

I say it like that because I’ve been trying to write this synopsis of our friendship for a while now, and it always comes out like I am actually still in high school and fond of writing Cure lyrics on the front of my notebook. But look: I loved my friend, and then she hated me (over and over! for years!) and the sting of that does not go away.

UNLESS YOU ARE AN ONLINE SNOOPER!

Sometimes I forget what a valuable resource the Amazon Wishlist can be. Put in someone’s name, see the things they want, make judgments based upon this, etc. A person I like very much has ONLY shoes and drippy romance novels on her list. Really! Intriguing! A person I do not like very much has Duran Duran albums and books like The Identity Code: The 8 Essential Questions for Finding Your Purpose and Place in the World and The Essential Dog Body Language Handbook on her list. This is important information.

So it occurred to me the other day to look for Callie, and knowing her birthday and middle name came in handy because she has a very common first/last name combo and OH YEAH I FOUND HER. And people: I read her list, and we are reading the same books. We are, in a way, still connected.

Perhaps it shouldn’t be surprising to STILL like the same books as someone you USED to like the same books as, but when there is a twenty-year divide, it is exciting and comforting at the same time. Evelyn Waugh AND Brad Watson’s The Heaven of Mercury? That’s a crazy combo. A book about Kenny Shopsin? Nigella? 84, Charing Cross Road?!?!?

It is like Callie is sitting in her Camaro outside my house and we are about to go eat some fried cheese and laugh too hard and wet our pants. (Um, did everyone go through a pants-wetting stage in high school? No? Just me and all the girls I knew? Ok.) Maybe after she picks me up we’ll go put $2’s worth of gas in her car and listen to “Boys Don’t Cry” and rewind the part where he goes, “I would tell you that I LUFFED you if I thought that you would stay,” because he kind of barks it like it is difficult for him to say the words; we know that is the best part.