An ode* to my favorite ex-roommate: Candace. Canned Ass. Candit. Porch polisson.
I moved out of my wonderful apartment on Masonic in August when I moved to Copenhagen. I was sad to leave. Candace, on the other hand, didn't seem to care either way. What ensued was an unspoken passive-aggressive battle in a relatively small space. I left with the suspicion that we wouldn't remain friends. While in Copenhagen, my suspicion became more of a certainty, one which was solidified when I first returned. It's an imperfect world since it is full of imperfect people, so I was ready to accept what I couldn't change. I spend my time doing otherwise too often. Magically though, she came to her senses and realized what bad assery fun she'd be missing.
She is the progenitor of the excessively expressive and interpretive car dancing. She too is troubled by the fact that we can't download "Shiny Disco Balls" off itunes. She gives me the opportunity to kill an evening and night at Lucky 13 at the spur of the moment. She loves the mac and cheese from Home just as much as I do. She appreciates the wonky eye - or at least the wonky. She too is willing to make a meal out of mango mojitos. She spends an entire day with me engaging in retail therapy which requires a joint effort to pretend that we have more money than we do ($60 for a pedicure, sure! as long as it comes with crital gel). She joins the disco bus and loves its hydraulics. She has Ralph who responded "Bitch is back!" when told that she was in the disco bus. I can say "I don't sparkle on Wednesday," and she gets it and responds with "we need vitamins!" She doesn't kill me when I yell "Hotender!" when outside Double Dutch. She comes over, eats the nastiness that is yellow curry (that is now sitting in the garbage stinking up my kitchen), bakes cookies and watches Grey's Anatomy with me. She says outrageous things, performs outrageous feats, and is more dramatic than 3 xanax, 2 lines and a flask of bourbon - all of which make me feel a wee bit more grounded. Homegirl can go through a box of kleenex with amazing speed. She is brutally honest even about her own shortcomings, which is refreshing. Oh, and she loves my new mix tape.
I should give her a box of sandwich bags and a roll of aluminum foil.
* this is the first in a series of odes to my favorite peeps
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1 comment:
oh how fullfilled i feel...no one has ever done an ode to me. while i feel you have successfully summed up the last week, you've failed to mention oh so much:
a) i can beat you at "easter-basket"
b) i consider apples and gouda a meal and will gladly eat this with you standing up and chattting
c) i tought you how to play paparazzi
d) i turned you on to dlisted, the hottest shit ever!
e) i support many of your decisions and love you whole-heartedly even when you take the sandwich bags.
also, in my defense those last few days were a result of my unwillingness to accept that you were leaving me and i would get stuck with a filthy cooter cream pom- glass monkey.
i love you very much. almost as much as i love unprotected sex with 20 yr. old dirt bike riders....hahahah
*btw: i know you kissed that boy until his teefs were straight
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