Friday, October 23, 2015

It seems like only yesterday...

We were crazy kids. 

When we spent most of our money at Express and went dancing every weekend,
And took our first road trip back to Colorado. You were so homesick you almost couldn't stand it. 
We would get a dozen donuts from Dunkin' Donuts before work on a Saturday morning and have them all gone before lunch time. Or grab lunch at Kenny Roger's Roasters twice in one day.

When we had that party at your parents house while they were in Wendover,
and pretended to be taking a medical terminology class on Saturday nights so we would have a weekend night off together.

How we would pick and choose whose singles ward had the best activities that week, or the cutest boys, and go there together.

The vinyl pants we would always wear dancing despite the fact we would sweat mercilessly in them, and how you convinced me to put my fears aside and dance on the lighted pedestals.

Or go to Pebbles in My Pocket and pretend we were going to actually use the scrapbook supplies we bought. I think I made five pages, and this is one of them.

As we would take my camera and have random "photo shoots" around town, and you would always look stylish and amazing, while I looked insecure and awkward,
Because I was...

The day that I had a little confidence breakdown about being "fat and ugly," as most girls do at some point, and you emphasized your own vanity and sarcasm to make me feel better by saying "do you think I would hang out with you if you were ugly?" You still would have btw,  but when you said that you made me feel better; even if it was a somewhat odd way go about it. 

The time that one jerk boyfriend of yours called you "battleship" after you'd lost a stupid amount of weight to anorexia and our awesome gay boss defended you and told you that "women everywhere look at you and curse your name." He was right, and it made you laugh, even if you didn't believe him. 

The day you met my mom and I was so nervous because of all the people who didn't know how to respond to her challenges with tact or kindness. You were so patient, and loving, and instead of her limitations you saw her heart. You told me "I want to be just like her" because you could feel of her love for people and tendency to put herself last. In that moment I came to know your heart so much better than I realized I would. 

I was planning on posting to your Facebook wall about how I'm still wearing those black stretch pants, you know -the ones we used to go dancing in- and how they are getting me through my third pregnancy and still going strong almost 20 years later. 

We went through so much together. So many boyfriends (mostly yours), so much drama, so much junk food. Trying to find ourselves, heartbreak, lots of chocolate, weddings, and first babies. We traded clothes when we found they looked better on each other, and when you gave me my first highlights. I was there when you did the "superstar" pose walking to the Joseph Smith memorial building and split your dress up the back on the way to your wedding luncheon, and I admired how even when people were roasting you over that lunch about your many, many driving mishaps, you were able to laugh it off and find it hilarious. I always take those things so personally and get embarrassed, but not you.

I was jealous of how stylish even your baby looked, and ecstatic when Squirt got some of your oldest's hand-me-downs. I was always much more frugal than you, which meant you always had better stuff than I did. 

The day we decided that our perfect spouses would be just like the other one of us, because no one else "got" us like that.

There are so many memories. Good, bad, ugly, hilarious, and tender. 

I've missed your sarcasm, wit, and hilarity. Social media makes the world feel so small even when distance prevails. I can't believe you are gone. Your parents are amazing and I know your kids will be taken care of, but even though it has been a long time I feel a hole in my heart where only your crazy personality fits.

Til we meet again my friend,
In those few college years you made me a better version of me.
RIP Smelly Poo

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