Better Living Through Your Friends' Chemistry With Famous People
Thursday, July 27, 2006
A conversation I had yesterday with a very, very dear friend, who I have been neglecting of late, and who is one of those fabulous New York ladies who always has kickass shoes on:
Me: Hey! OK, we have approximately five minutes, which I would like to spend hearing an update on your life, because I haven't talked to you in, oh, a month. Go.
Her: Well, not too much. There was a storm and my parent's deck was ruined.
Me: That sucks.
Her: Yeah. My fish is almost three!
Me: I so thought you'd kill him in, like, a week. I still consider it fish abuse that he lives next to the stove though. I definitely think he's terrified his day has come every time you get out a pan.
Her: He's a goldfish. He has no memory. Or cognitive ability, for that matter.
Me: I know. I know. But still. So, what have you been up to?
Her: Hm. Well, I'm not sure, but I think I might be dating [a musician we all know of].
Me: What?
Her: Yeah.
Me: Wait. [ambient, loungy musician's name]?
Her: Yup.
Me: Oh my God. Wait. What the hell?
Her: Yeah.
Me: I'm speechless.
Her: Yeah.
(Long pause as I let this sink in.)
Me: So here is what I demand of the situation. I demand that either you two fall madly in love, or become best friends. And then, I demand that you throw a fabulous New Year's Eve party at his fantastic apartment--because it has to be fantastic, I'm sure of at least that--and then you have to invite me.
Her: I like that you immediately turn this into something that benefits you.
Me: I'm sitting home nights. You're out galavanting with celebrities. And you told me about your parents deck and your fish's impending birthday BEFORE YOU TOLD ME YOU WERE MAYBE DATING A CELEBRITY.
Her: OK, I see your point.
People. Carrie Bradshaw exists. And I am friends with her.
The problem? According to someone who shall remain unnamed, I share qualities with Miranda. I'm really not quite sure how I feel about that.
Me: Hey! OK, we have approximately five minutes, which I would like to spend hearing an update on your life, because I haven't talked to you in, oh, a month. Go.
Her: Well, not too much. There was a storm and my parent's deck was ruined.
Me: That sucks.
Her: Yeah. My fish is almost three!
Me: I so thought you'd kill him in, like, a week. I still consider it fish abuse that he lives next to the stove though. I definitely think he's terrified his day has come every time you get out a pan.
Her: He's a goldfish. He has no memory. Or cognitive ability, for that matter.
Me: I know. I know. But still. So, what have you been up to?
Her: Hm. Well, I'm not sure, but I think I might be dating [a musician we all know of].
Me: What?
Her: Yeah.
Me: Wait. [ambient, loungy musician's name]?
Her: Yup.
Me: Oh my God. Wait. What the hell?
Her: Yeah.
Me: I'm speechless.
Her: Yeah.
(Long pause as I let this sink in.)
Me: So here is what I demand of the situation. I demand that either you two fall madly in love, or become best friends. And then, I demand that you throw a fabulous New Year's Eve party at his fantastic apartment--because it has to be fantastic, I'm sure of at least that--and then you have to invite me.
Her: I like that you immediately turn this into something that benefits you.
Me: I'm sitting home nights. You're out galavanting with celebrities. And you told me about your parents deck and your fish's impending birthday BEFORE YOU TOLD ME YOU WERE MAYBE DATING A CELEBRITY.
Her: OK, I see your point.
People. Carrie Bradshaw exists. And I am friends with her.
The problem? According to someone who shall remain unnamed, I share qualities with Miranda. I'm really not quite sure how I feel about that.
This entry was posted
on Thursday, July 27, 2006 at 9:09 PM.
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