Introducing Tayo

Tayo affects people.

There are very few people who see me without my makeup. I am a Texan, after all. I will not wear makeup to the gym, though. I guess that's the New Mexican in me. Tayo is one of the clan of Cheetah staffers who sees me looking worn down 90% of the time. I'm always self-conscious about going bare-faced, but Tayo's smile makes me feel like I'm dressed up for prom. The first day I went to the gym, I handed Tayo my driver's license. He steadied a little digital camera on the counter, "Oh, we need to get your picture on file."

"Um," I quietly grunted, "I look horrible."

Tayo looked in the lens and grinned, "No, you look beautiful." Usually I ignore comments like that because I'm convinced it's a bunch of hot air. For some reason, when Tayo said it, I felt better.

Marky and I always discuss our work days once we get home to the couch. My stories are usually about exasperating clients or the A/C giving out. Before Tayo left the Cheetah clan, Marky would often come home and simply remark how sweet Tayo is. Tayo probably told Marky he was beautiful, too.

Tayo is one of those people I was not really connected to until the whole kidney fiasco. He checked in with me often via MySpace, and I know I have said it before, but it gave me a sense of security. When Tayo came to visit Marky at St. Joe's he was outnumbered by my six coworkers who were visiting as well. We all left him alone with Marky so that we didn't overcrowd the room. Some people get nervous in hospitals, and many people didn't know what to say to Marky when they saw him lying there, but not Tayo. When I checked on Marky later, he told me that Tayo was reporting on all of the crap going on at work. It made him feel normal. I'm getting misty remembering.

The Tayo Effect. Just by being there he makes you feel normal, comfortable. It's a gift.

Introducing James

What a sweetheart.  James was the sweetest guy around.  He chewed cinnamon gum and played the drums and dyed his hair blue.  He and I dated for a very short time in high school, and although this was not my style, we remained friends afterward. 

I got to know James on the choir trip to California sophomore year.  He let me French braid his hair and that was pretty much it for me.  He lived in this house that had beautiful red flowers growing up along the garage.  Being the wannabe hippie flower child I was, I wanted some for my hair.  James, who was normally very chill, looked me dead in the eye and warned me, "Those are my mom's roses.  Nobody touches her roses."  I was a little upset, but decided not to fight it.  The next date we went on, James smuggled a little bouquet of the roses for me.  I imagined that he risked life and limb to get me those flowers.  Every 16-year old girl wants their boyfriend to do a Prince Charming thing like that. 

James and I had chance to catch up after a year of college.  He gave me a demo tape of his band Next Door Dobbin.  I really liked it.  Sadly, after the Cabriolet went the way of the junkyard, I no longer had a way to play tapes.  Many years have passed, and James recently made a music profile for Next Door Dobbin.  I'm such a groupie, because I got totally excited to hear "Positively Here".  Anyway, it's nice to know he's doing well.  And I hope he still does Prince Charming stuff for his fiancee. 

Introducing TJ

There are a few things I have learned in my life regarding relationships.  My dad's sister, although my parents were divorced, insisted that my mom not divorce her.  In school, I always liked to act grown-up and talk like a human to my friends' parents.  Lastly, I have learned to be more open to people who find me on MySpace.  I think I am going somewhere with this. 

TJ is the mother of Damian, who was my friend/boyfriend in school.  TJ was always a super cool mom.  She was so artsy and made these funky little clay fairies with feathers and wings.  She also would do your horoscope if you asked.  Once she spilled some pink paint on the carpet that just wouldn't come out.  Instead of replacing the carpet, she considered dyeing the whole floor hot pink, which just about made me fall in love with her.  Also, at age 17, Damian announced to her that we were to be married.  Instead of throwing a fit and freaking out, she very calmly explained why we should wait.  The Shakespearian notion of betrothing myself to another teenager kinda lost it's sparkle that day.  But I am so glad she talked to us.  I didn't even consider marriage until 12 years later. 

A couple years down the road, I did a musical with TJ.  I wasn't sure if she would be interested in talking to me, because her son and I had broken up.  She welcomed me into the cast and we had some awesome backstage talks.  I got a live-and-let-live lesson that summer. 

When TJ and I found each other on MySpace, we chatted a bit, and found we still had things to talk about.  Turns out that even though she is doing a grown-up job, she still finds the time to sing, act, paint, and create.  I really needed to hear that.  When I think that I am spinning my wheels and need to become an adult, I just turn to the most interesting women in my life to see what they are doing.  TJ didn't disappoint.  She found herself flying to Chicago and we planned a brunch session.  It was all too short, and I was going through some rough times, but it was so nice to see her.  She hasn't changed a bit.  And it seemed that my emotional turbulance helped us steer past small talk and get to the good stuff immediately.  TJ still has so much good advice and life experience to learn from.  And she has a huge heart.  I am lucky to know her. 

Introducing Andy

I remember Andy setting a lot of fires backstage.

Let's see, I must have met Andy during our high school theater production of "The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole, aged 13 3/4".  It was my first play, there were a lot of small parts (Andy's and mine included), so there was time for plenty of hijinks backstage.  Andy was more into the backstage crew experience, anyway.  I recall some experiments with hairspray and a lighter.  By the time we were seniors, Andy had actually burned his eyebrows off doing some crazy pyrotechnics stunt.  He also dated this gal who sang in choir with me, so we always ran in the same circles.  He was always funny.  Always nice. 

During a summer break from college, I stayed with my mom and worked at her juice shop.  This was 6 or 7 years after high school, and I really wanted to keep a low profile.  I felt like a loser for not having graduated yet, and I was siphoning off of my mom because I couldn't get a real job.  The location of the juice shop worked for me, because it was light years away from my old stomping ground.  Very slim chance of running into old faces. 

Well, during my last couple of weeks, In walks a familiar person.  It was Andy.  He was different.  Darker, tougher.  We talked a little, and he invited me to see the brewery he worked at down the road.  *Deep breath*.  I prayed he would not ask too many questions about my life.  I had no good news to tell, and I just wanted to get it over with.  I told him I would come by later that day.  Time to assess my situation.  I liked what I was wearing.  I liked my hair at the time.  Hopefully no one else would be at the brewery.  And then during the course of the day, I sliced some chicken and got all kinds of yucky juice de pollo all down the front of my blouse.  *Deep breath*.  I didn't have enough time to go home and change.  I would have to go as is.  I walked into that brewery and Andy welcomed me.  He told me all about the machinery, and where he was at in life.  It wasn't like he was made of money, but he looked happy and successful.  He didn't even seem to notice the disgusting shirt I was wearing.  He was just his old nice self.  And he didn't ask me a lot of questions.  *Exhale*.   

Introducing Amber

It took moving to Chicago to meet a bunch of Texans.  Never have I felt more like a Texan, either.  I usually consider myself a New Mexican, but I may have to change that, at the very least, to New Texican, for the sake of the Bob Schneider concerts. 

I met Amber through Ashlee.  They went to Roosevelt together (am I getting this right, ladies?) to get their degrees in Theater.  When I think of Amber, I think of rosy cheeks, giggles, and la langue Française.  Amber appears to be a sweet, fragile flower, but she can be a bulldog when challenged.  She also has a cat named Chocolate who does a mean imitation of a trotting pony.  She also has a wonderful husband, Michiel, who has the most fascinating silver hair I have ever seen. 

Amber is classy.  She worked at a high-falutin' internation hotel for the longest time, conducting business in French, and gracefully dealing with her stressful position.  She can also throw on a pair of jeans, slug down a Shiner Bock, and sing along with "Assknocker" at a Bob concert. 

I recently read the book The Time Traveler's Wife and I could not get Amber and Michiel out of my mind.  I see a lot of couples that have one dominant partner and one who just rides along for the money, image, whatever.  Amber and Michiel are one of the few couples I know who really respect and understand each other.  Through any struggle, at the end of the day, they love one another.  It takes two to make a good marriage, and Amber is a strong woman who holds up her end of the bargain. 

Introducing Mary

I think I could listen to Mary sing "Steal Me, Sweet Thief" every day.  Now that I say that, I guess I could.  I have a recording of it.  That's it, it's my mid-year resolution!

Of course, many of my memories of Mary are musical.  She was a voice major with me at NMSU, but she also played the hell out of the French horn.  Her mom and dad are both musicians.  So are her sisters, if memory serves.  Mary sang pieces from a song set called "Mommy, Gimme A Drinka Water" by Danny Kaye.  It's a collection of poems that are written from a five-year-old's perspective and set to beautiful music.  The one I remember the best is about the colors of kisses.  I was going to just give you highlights, but you need the whole poem:

Did you know that kisses have all kinds of colors

Some pink, some brown, some summertime green

And some just as orange as you've ever seen

Sometimes they're gold and bright as the sun

And sometimes they're bluish, when evening's begun

Oh my Nanny's are silver like old wedding rings

And Grandpa's are spreckled like butterfly wings

Daddy's kisses are mostly tan 

But maybe that's because he's a man

Auntie Melinda's are watery pale 

And old Uncle Todd's are white

But Mommy's are like a rainbow 

When she kisses me goodnight

It is the sweetest song.  I cried every time I heard her sing it.  Same thing with Sweet Thief.  I did a show with Mary called "The Old Maid and the Thief" by Menotti.  It only employs four singers, and although we had access to an entire orchestra, the director decided to just have a piano accompany us.  Menotti actually wrote the one-act opera for the NBC radio show in 1939.  Ostensibly Menotti was required to write in a little homage to the station, because if you listen to it carefully, you will hear the NBC theme (you know, bing-bing-BONG) at least three times.  We staged it as a radio show, in 30's gear and with an old-timey announcer.  We didn't do much in the way of blocking, just stepping up to imaginary microphones and sitting down when we were done singing.  It was a short show, but we never left the stage.  I was a little new to opera, and it was, and still is, the hardest piece of music I ever learned.  I remember walking up to Mary in rehearsal and she looked at me like she knew what I was about to say.  I just broke down crying, and she hugged me and reassured me that it would just happen, I would learn it somehow.  And that's exactly what happened.  We had so much fun in that cast.  We got to give each other nice presents on opening night, because it was such a small crew, and we called the composer "Naughty Menotti" when the music was difficult. 

Back to my original train of thought, I would absolutely have to tune out when Mary sang her big aria.  The story is about an old maid (me), her spinster neighbor (Mary), and her housekeeper (another gal, Juliet), and Bob (James, who I should befriend on MySpace--he's cool, too).  Life is pretty boring for these women until Bob comes into town and inadvertently shakes things up.  These are the kind of women you love to make fun of, but Sweet Thief is a painful, heartfelt cry for love.  This is the pinnacle of the opera, and it creates intense sympathy for the character.  The words and music are lovely, but the emotion Mary poured into it every single time was phenominal.  And I can hardly recommend anyone try to listen to the whole show--you probably won't like it.  It is one of those shows that you fall in love with because you performed in it. 

Mary also brought me Nina Simone.  When I was playing "Rent" and Jonny Lang in my VW, Mary cranked up "Ne Me Quitte Pas" in her Toyota.  I didn't like it.  It was jazz.  And then I got used to it, because that was all she played in her car.  And now when I hear Nina Simone, I practically have to stop breathing so that I can hear her completely.  Thank you for Nina, Mary. 

Introducing Tim

Tim is a friend from high school.  He was a year older than me, and we were both in choir.  He and Aaron (to be exposed later) were good buddies, and they would gang up on me to make me laugh.  Tim had this  booming voice and lumbering physique that made all of his comedy all the funnier.  All he had to say was "SHOOOOSH!" and I would double over with hysterical laughter.  The more I laughed, the more he would SHOOSH me.  Tim was just a big old sweetheart who could also handle talking to parents.  My mom asked about him often and always looked forward to giving him a hug after choral concerts.  As the year came to an end, we fell out of touch, and then he was out of the picture.

About 6 months later, my mom and I were in the food court at Coronado, and there was Tim.  I barely recognized him.  The doughy high school dude had been replaced by a lean energetic soldier.  Tim had been in boot camp.  When he started running in the morning, he lost all kinds of weight and got kinda buff.

 

That is the last time I saw Tim, but he found me on MySpace about a year ago, and we keep in touch now and then. He is still running like there is no tomorrow, and the military has obviously been good to him.

I feel like I am repeating myself when I say that I didn't really know Tim that well in high school.  And he is one of those low-maintenance friends who just checks in now and then to make sure there haven't been any earthquakes since we talked last.  I can't say that I know all the details of the life he is living.  However, there is always room for one more prayer, and I know that Tim is in my corner.  I am there for him too.

Introducing Ashlee

As a new Chicagoan, I forced myself to be social.  I have no family here, and I needed to develop a support system from the ground up.  I joined a band.  The guitarists girlfriend took a liking to me and took me to karaoke at Goose Island in Wrigleyville.  Michael J, the KJ, ran a really classy show called Karaoke Cult.  He encouraged positive reinforcement, took pictures, and stated often, "It's all about the Love."  When my birthday rolled around in December, I asked a couple of my new coworkers to accompany me to the next Thursday night Karaoke Cult event.   I saw a lot of the same people as the last time.  Including a group of outgoing musical theater majors.  This group included a girl with short hair who knew how to two-step. 

Throughout the next few months, my friend Todd and I spied on this girl at Karaoke cult.  I felt connected to her.  I wanted to talk to her.  Todd called her my straight-girl crush.  We had to find a way to meet her.  Todd's birthday came up.  Instead of making him a cake at home, I made mushroom meringues.  That sounds gross, I know, but they are quite delicious.  They are simply plain meringues, shaped like mushroom caps and stems, attached with chocolate, and sprinkled with cocoa dust.  They taste like candy, but they really look like mushrooms!!  Anyway, we brought a big Tupperware dish of the mushrooms to Karaoke Cult, and tried to share them with the crowd. 

As we offered my confections, people questioned them and for the most part, wouldn't even try them.  "What are they?" "What does it taste like?"  "What's in that?"  People would sniff, poke, and leer, but few would take so much as a nibble.  After slaving over these little cookies for two hours, I was a little offended, but happy that there would be plenty for me and Todd to share.  We had almost run out of people to offer cookies to.  And there she was.  Todd told me to take one to the short-haired-two-step girl.  I nervously walked up to her, worried that she would break my heart by refusing my meringue.  I set a mushroom on my palm, outstretched my arm to her, and CHOMP!  She grabbed it and ate it whole with no questions!  Todd erupted with laughter.  We finally introduced ourselves.  Her name is Ashlee.  And she is a hell of a two stepper. 

Introducing Kelly

To begin, I would like to admit that this blog has become really all about me.  But how else would I know these people unless I, myself, had had some experiences with them?  Onward.

Who is this girl who keeps listening to the same Bob Schneider album over and over again?  And how are they getting away with calling her sister "Little Brain"?  Why are we laughing at Connie's pain--do we know her?  Being a newbie in the key department is like watching a comedic movie in a foreign language.  The theater is filled with people who get the joke, but can't explain it to you because they are asphyxiating with laughter.  

The original lineup was Kelly, Mark, Sheppy, and Ashlee.  I joined the team in April 2004.  I watched and listened carefully for a month or so.  Then the ice started to break.  Kelly has seemingly endless patience and kindness.  Other than work, she is a music fan.  She likes to listen to CD's, go to concerts, and share her favorites with friends.  It is difficult to describe in black and white how passionate she is about music.  She's PASSIONATE.  And loyal as the day is long.  Jimmy Newquist will always be her future husband.  Sorry Moe.  Kelly also supports every one of her friends' musical endeavors.  I would like to think she is surrounded by Chicago's finest, but I think if we all sucked, she would still shake her tailfeather at our shitty concerts.

She is also a consumer of literature, comedy, and combinations of the two.  Early on in my employment, Kelly hipped me to the fact that Eddie Izzard would be signing his new DVD at Tower Records.  I expressed more than a passing interest.  And we were off.  We didn't know each other well yet, but we had Eddie in common.  And how long could this possibly last?  I'd probably be home by 9:30.  

Kelly and I arrived to see a line spilling down the stairway and wrapping around the back of Tower Records in Lincoln Park.  And almost instantly, we all got into the building.  I was feeling very confident that we would be in and out in an instant.  Kelly had a concert to go to by 8, and this was going to work out just fine.  Hundreds of us poured into the large conference room, where we listened to Eddie's voice, but couldn't see anything but a shred of his jeans and white shirt through the armpits of the throng.  After a 15 minute speech, his assistant told us it was time to assemble for the signing.  We would all be put into groups and released from the room in an organized fashion.  People began rushing to the exit end of the room.  Kelly and I, ever polite, did not try to push or shove to the front, assuming that everyone would have a fair shot at getting to the front of the line.  We were the last group to get into the line.  Hmpf.  

Kelly and I got to the task of comparing college stories, romances, and family.  We really hadn't gotten to talk for more than a few sentences at a time at the office, and this was our first date as friends.  Sharing a space in an endless line with a virtual stranger can go either way, but Kelly proved to be an excellent line partner.  We both clutched our three DVD's to be signed by Eddie, and looked forward to getting a glimpse at the comedic genius we both adored.  The night was wearing on, though, and Kelly needed to get to her concert.  We weren't making much headway in the line, and after almost two hours in line, Kelly handed me her DVD's and reluctantly exited Tower Records.  I promised her I would get her signatures and pictures of Eddie.  

I stood through the Scissor Sisters album, having to deal with drunken college students putting on fake English accents, and sore feet, for three more hours.  By the time I reached two people from the end of the line, I felt more sorry for Eddie than anyone else.  I resolved to run up to him, rattle off the names he should dedicate the DVD's to, ask the assistant to snap our picture during the exchange, and get the hell out of his way.  It went a little differently than I planned.  

I handed my camera to the guy, walked up to Eddie and blurted, "Hi, these are for Ben, Megan, Kelly, Mo, Chris, and Bree."

"I can only sign three of these, that is the limit," Eddie said.  

"Oh, ok." And I quickly, sadly, re-prioritized.  

Expecting him to rush me along, Eddie surprised me when he said, "And what is your name," which I almost forgot.  "Bree, so you're a cheese name, hmmm?"  Having heard this a million times, I grunted.  He started again.  "I once knew a girl named Bree who only wore real diamonds bought for her by her sugar daddy," and I almost passed out.  "Here you go," he handed me the DVD's, "let's smile for the camera." Click.  And I was on my way.

The next day, Kelly was breathless with anticipation.  Although I didn't get all the signatures she wanted, she put her disappointment aside and was truly excited for my adventure.  I wish she could have seen it though with me.  We did both make a new friend that night, and we both learned something.  

Push and shove. 

Introducing Elena

And now we meet the talented, the lovely, the selfless, the hardest working lady in opera....  Elena!!

During college, I worked as the choral librarian/student recruiter for NMSU choirs.  I answered letters, emails, made phone calls to kids/parents who had expressed interest in the program, etc.  Now, NMSU was no Juilliard.  I'm not saying I didn't learn anything there, it's just a state school in New Mexico where average kids go.  The most we got from these high school kids was "I play a little piano," or "I started singing in 6th grade."  Largely, I had no idea who was on the other end of the telephone line.  I would review all of the potential students on a weekly basis with my boss/choir director, and she would make decisions about kids who were eligible for scholarships, what choirs they could be in, and the like. 

One day, the boss lady called me into her office to show me a potential student.  This student had sent in a resume.  Not just a cardstock sheet, either.  This was a bound folder with a full color glossy headshot, repertoire, concerts, acheivements, and perfect grades.  This girl's name was Elena, and I was instantly jealous of her.  I saw her befriend instrumentalists and sing jazz as well as classical.  She got into a great studio and choir much faster than I did.  I really didn't bother to get to know her until a couple years later. 

After a late hiatus from school, I had one semester left.  I joined the a cappella jazz group that Elena was involved in.  I struggled to sight read this weird music that came to her so naturally.  We got a gig in Albuquerque.  We stayed at this hotel, and five of us shared 2 rooms.  I knew I would have to get to know her since we were sharing a room, but I was nervous to reveal myself to this girl who seemed to have it all figured out at such a young age.  But the morning after the gig, we sat in bed in our pajamas watching VH-1.  And she was super nice.  I had to give in and like her. 

Elena is realistic, sensible, and  disciplined.  She chips away at big projects in little, regular steps.  And she just keeps going.  She rarely lets her emotions get the better of her, like so many of her musician colleagues.  Upon her college graduation, she had budgeted enough money to fly all over the country to audition for her next music program.  She researched professors, facilities, and she ran her white-gloved index finger over each keyboard.  OK, I just imagined her doing the white glove thing, but she was thorough.  She found the right program, sang her ass off, and she is where she wants to be today.  The great thing is, she would probably tell you she is far from perfect.  So, I will rephrase.  Elena is right where I want her to be.  I am beyond proud of her. 

Elena was part of the group who sang at my wedding.  I begged them not to, because after a million wedding gigs for friends, I didn't want anyone to feel obligated.  She insisted, and it was one of the highlights of my life.  The night before the wedding, at the bridal shower, she also insisted that we go out as bachelorettes.  She told me she was going to stay with me all night and do whatever I wanted to do.  We, of course, went to karaoke.  I made her sing, against her will, and she was terrific.  She is much more comfortable singing backup for me on "Chain of Fools," but Elena is nobody's backup singer. 

Introducing Brian

Brian likes cars.  I just had to get that out of the way. 

Back in college, Marky and I had some mutual friends who led us to Brian.  I suppose we each knew him around the high school/college cusp, but we had most of our good times with Brian at NMSU.  One of my first dates with Marky was to the OP in El Paso, accompanied by Brian.  As well as being one of the only good gay bars in the area, it was the only place that played good dance music, so there ya go.  A few weeks down the road (when I was out of town for a spell), my aunt's friend, Javi, spied Marky at the OP with Brian.  Oh, the rumors flew.  But Brian was just super fun, and Marky is super gay-friendly, so they went out a lot.  House-hunting with Brian and Andrew (Brian's then-boyfriend) was a blast.  We found some really cool places for rent, but our rental agents had a tough time finding a space that would take 4 cars and allow our non-traditional situation.  I got a call from Brian telling me that he and Marky had found an amazing place, to trust them, and let them sign the lease in my absence.  They found a goldmine that had 3 bedrooms, separate living, dining, and laundry rooms, a huge kitchen, a gigantic backyard, a carport that fit most of our cars, and (drumroll, please) a functional jacuzzi!  At the time, I was doing a lot of concerts that required glitzy formal dresses.  I needed ample hanging space.  I told Brian and Andrew that they could have the third bedroom to themselves if they let me and Marky have the master bedroom, which had a walk-in closet that was larger than my current apartment's bedroom.  They agreed.  We loved it. 

Both couples had housewarming parties with our respective circles of friends.  Marky and I had some family come by when Brian and Andrew weren't present.  We gave them the nickel tour, showing off all of the features, and talking about our good friends who shared the house with us.  At this point, we felt newly open with our families about living in sin.  We had not yet discussed the other alternate lifestyle under our roof.  When family members oohed and ahhed about the size of our bedroom, they asked the inevitable--which room did Brian get?  And Andrew?  When we told them the boys shared a room...  (slight pause)...  "Ohhhhhhhh," emanated from the now enlightened group. 

Andrew and Brian had a housewarming party later that week.  The party consisted mainly of gay men, who took the same nickel tour.  They all liked what they saw, but the piece de resistance was always my walk-in closet.  When the party arrived at the major seeling point, they took one look at the sequined full-length gowns, and their wide-eyed looks and gaping mouths prompted Brian and Andrew to quickly explain that they did not live with drag queens, but *ahem* a straight couple...  (slight pause)... "Ohhhhhhhh."

Introducing Kristin

Ah, the day has come.  The woman who inspired this series shall now be revealed. 

The accounting department.  For a long time, I thought that the key department was the most colorful.  I am learning that we are in a tight race with accounting.  Kristin is part of that crew, obviously.  I know plenty of vegetarians, but she is only the second vegan I have ever met.  I mention this not because this is the most striking element of her persona, but because she has a radical tattoo proclaiming her veganism.  I feel like a heel for not knowing exactly what the ribbon across the bunch of carrots reads.  Perhaps this is an opportunity for you to find out. 

Our interaction is usually limited to me and my key cohorts teasing Kristin as she delves into the storage room.  We warn her not to go in there, but we don't explain why.  She always giggles and gives as good as she gets.  Never does she appear annoyed.  She has a wonderfully friendly disposition. 

The thing about Kristin is that underneath that sweet and gentle exterior resides the soul of a political activist.  If you visit her site, you will learn something.  Rather than clips of "America's Funniest Home Videos", she provides pro-conservation material and a piece about poverty in Chicago.  She is also working on a project that shows the correlation between the location of hazardous waste sites in the city and the socioeconomic status of the people who live nearby.  It's a small step for a person, but I hope everyone who reads this will look at her site, and maybe you can all tell one more person each, and so on.  MySpace can be more than just self-indulgent personal exposure. 

No worries, though, Kristin likes Lisa Simpson and sudoku puzzles.  One of her first blogs, if I remember correctly, was an outreach to all who knew a good vegan recipe for bananas.  Or was it blueberries?  It was coconut!!!  She was looking for a good vegan coconut recipe!  I, who will put anything in my mouth¹, and am afraid that vegans are on the verge of starvation, or at the very least, boredom, did my darnedest to find a nice egg-free macaroon.  Upon consideration, I realize now that it may have simply been a verbal office memo.  Anyway, that was one of my first interactions with Kristin, and I hope she tried the recipe and enjoyed it. 

1. With the exception of mushrooms, raw bell pepper, prosciutto, cheesecake, peanuts, and regular Pepsi.

Introducing Marky

Should I tell you why I love him?  No.  How about some stories I have already told a million times?  Uh-uh.  This is after all, a blog project where I strive to unearth a fresh story about my friends.  I suppose the only thing I can do is try to dig up a story from when Marky and I were just friends. 

Before I start, I want to emphasize my belief that friends make the best love relationships.  Before getting involved, we knew each other's entire history, and we were past the point of putting on airs to impress each other.  Before we dated, we were friends, but before we were friends, we dated.  OK, old news.  Unearth...

Mike, a mututal high school friend, was a major proponent of our relationship.   He was the one who pushed the high school junior to call the college freshman on her spring break to ask her out.  Even after that didn't work out, Mike gave us plenty of opportunities to be in the same room at the same time.  Roar Night, graduation party, loitering in Nob Hill, etc.  Where am I going with this story? 

The summer of '97, Marky and I went on a big road trip with Mike and his then g-friend Lucretia.  In hindsight, it was only a baby trip to Santa Fe, which is a scant 45 minutes away from Albuquerque.  We felt very independent, though.  We piled into Mike's red VW, cranked up the Erasure, ate mexican food, and shopped at Hastings.  Sure, there was Hastings and tacos in Abq, but we were on the road man!  As the sun began to set, we drove home, chatting about urban legends.  Pop Rocks and Coke, highbeams, the wedding gown infused with embalming fluid, and the like.  Then the subject turned to childhood fears.  We all seemed to have unreasonable fears of physical deformities as children.  After some divining, we decided that we had all been exsposed to the movie "The Elephant Man" at too young of an age.  It may sound funny to those who didn't have the same experience, but I was so terrified by "The Elephant Man" at age 7, that I became obsessed and drew pictures of him at every turn.  My mom took me to see the play at NMSU, and it only fueled my horrible obsession.  Anyway, I remember the car falling silent as we regressed into our juvenile phobias.

Lucretia announced that the only way we could move past this terror was to watch the movie.  That night.  We rented it and plopped down in front of the TV at Lucretia's boss's house, which she was housesitting.  Again, we all sat, mezmerized, childlike, in front of the movie that was imprinted on our young minds.  The movie ended, and we all had the heebie-jeebies.  At the end, we had to part, but it was dark.  I didn't want to move from my seat.  Even though it was out of his way, Marky generously drove me home.  I couldn't get out of the car alone.  The 30 foot walk to my door was too frightening.  Marky walked me to the house and hugged me.  He was almost as freaked out as I was, but he acted like such a gentleman. 

It was not long after that day that I began illustrating graphic novels about me and Marky.  The story lines took place mostly in Village Inn.  I looked like myself in the pictures, and really, so did Marky, except for the fact that he wore a cape.  Songs from that summer suck me right back into that car, the weather, my back porch.  That was such a fun era, and I will never forget it. 

Introducing Hell's Knitters

Alright, I know I said that I strive to keep it real with my friends, and that I don't befriend people I don't know.  Well, I don't know Hell's Knitters, but I love what they stand for. 

Hell's Knitters is another rogue knitting graffiti team.  Heck, it may only be one person.  I spied their profile on the friends list of Knitta.  There are a lot of Stitch&Bitch group knockoffs, but the thing about the HK crew that enticed me is their open membership. 

I love Knitta, I aspire to be a Knitta, I feel out-crafted by Knitta, though.  I would never think to ask to join their team, but I am sure that there are just enough novices who are excited by the sheer bad-assness of this team.  They are probably desperate to get into the inner sanctum, and although Knitta is not anti-assembly, they are pro-start-your-own-thing.  Knitta politely asks that you do not use their official tag.  HK not only doesn't mind that you copycat, they encourage it by providing their friends with a tag.  You can download a handy-dandy PDF file with a space for your name and location.  That's probably in response to Knitta's strict ways, and neither really seem wrong to me. 

So, I also like HK for their profile: Lime green with a flying skull and crossbones made of knitting needles.  That's so simultaneously killer and cute.  After getting caught at work knitting while rapping along with Roots, I feel I belong. 

Introducing Julie

I had no idea what to do with my life when I entered high school.  My freshman year is probably the last time I honestly didn't care about planning my future.  This is not to say that I didn't want a future, I was just still a carefree child.  I had recently quit taking voice lessons and I enrolled in a high school that none of my middle school friends would be attending.  Suffering from a crippling case of low self-esteem, it was all I could do to eek out a social circle and make a couple of friends.  The first few weeks of school I actually hid out on the steps of my humanities portable and ate my lunch in solitude, until my best friend (who attended high school across town, and made friends effortlessly) forbade me to continue that path.  Fine.  I still wasn't making much of an effort to get invited to parties, or go to football games.  I didn't attend concerts or plays, but I was required to go to assemblies.  The self-esteem factor also prevented me from ditching the assemblies and getting a coke at the 7-11 down the street.  A month or so into the school year, we had an assembly that would change my life. 

This assembly started as per usual, with the pledge of allegiance and a performance by the drill team, ho hum...  Then a group from Mr. Nielsen's guitar class got up.  The group was made up of equal parts guys and girls.  They launched into "Sweet Home Alabama" and I was amazed.  I was fascinated that a class of 18 kids' wrists and fingers were moving in perfect unison.  Then, this shock of auburn hair began singing.  She was beautiful and she had a strong voice I wanted to emulate.  And she wasn't just a hood ornament for the band--she was playing right along with them.  That moment, I decided I needed to get into that class. 

That summer, I took three months of private guitar lessons and enrolled in beginning guitar for the fall.  My private teacher Dimi, in that short time, got my shaky fingers to play "Dust in the Wind" expertly.  I was beyond nervous when I walked into that class of long-haired freaky people in August.  But as we all struggled together, we bonded.  We had 4 concerts that year, filled with classic rock repertoire as well as a few classical etudes, ostensibly to make the principal happy.  We were just the beginning class--the intermediate and advanced classes got to do the really gritty tunes.  The girl from the assembly always sang lead on the big rock numbers.  The audience would always fall silent for her voice, and then go crazy at the end.  Myself included. 

We prepared for the last concert in May, and our big song was "Dust in the Wind".  I volunteered to sing it, but Mr. Nielsen needed some harmony.  He pulled in someone from the advanced class to help out.  It was her.  The auburn goddess from the assembly.  Julie.  I thought I was nervous at the beginning of the year!  It turned out she was really nice and super supportive.  And she played the hell out of the guitar.  Even though she was clearly the better singer, she did her duty with backing harmonies.  There is nothing like a strong backup singer.  We went on to do the song together, and to this day, I still get goosebumps when I watch that tape.  I felt like a superstar singing next to an even bigger superstar.  The following year, Julie's senior to my junior, she sang and played "More Than Words" for the homecoming queen nomination.  Compared to a lot of talentless pretty faces, I always thought Julie was robbed of her righful crown when she only got runner-up. 

I had a lot of musical influences growing up, but I hold Julie responsible for my taste in female pop vocalists.  They have to be strong, vocally and in spirit.  There is always room for a little diva behavior, but female musicians need to support each other.  It's really nice to know Julie still sings and writes music.  I found her on the 'Space after rekindling with another guitar buddy.  She has a music page, too.  You should check it out.  I like "Little Things" the best. 

Introducing Kathy

Kathy almost broke into my apartment. 

During opera rehearsal, Kathy and Elena seemed to keep their hands very busy with their crocheting projects.  Even though I thought it was a little antiquated, I decided to get on the bus.  Kathy is the woman who taught me how to crochet.  She sat me down with a couple skeins of yarn and a movie.  At the end of the night, my eyes were tired and I had a trapezoidal potholder/blanket/shawl that I was very proud of.  I, in turn, taught Kathy how to make a quilt.  Even though I was a complete novice in the quilting game, I taught her some basic techniques, and got better at quiliting in the process.  This all sounds very nerdy, I know.  Kathy is one of those semi-ADD types like myself, though, and she knows how to keep her hands busy.  I adore that. 

Parlor Trick: Kathy knows how to give her stomach a hickie using a drinking glass, some toothpaste, and a match. 

The night Kathy tried to break into my apartment, I heard a little tapping on the porch window.  Arriving unannounced, Kathy had knocked on the door, and I didn't hear it.  She simply climbed over the little guard rail on my porch, and tossed pebbles at the sliding glass door.  The thing was, our apartment was on the second floor--she had shimmied up the side of the apartment building!  When I looked through the veritcal blinds, there she was, holding onto the guard rail for dear life, giggling her butt off.  

David, Marky, Kathy, and I had social hour that night.  As the night wore down, it was time for Kathy to say good-night.  Something that belonged to Kathy was downstairs in David's car (if memory serves).  David gave Kathy his car keys to get her stuff.  After retrieving her things, Kathy stood below us on the sidewalk, and we looked down on her from the second floor porch.  Kathy gently tossed the keys to David, but misjudged the distance.  The keys landed on the pitched roof of our apartment complex.  It was about midnight, and we couldn't call our engineer.  We had to get those keys.  Kathy came back upstairs to help. 

We tried to use a broom, but couldn't really swipe the top of the roof from our vantage point.  We tied a string and a ballast-y type object to the end of the broomstick and swung it around, hoping to catch the keys, but the string just wasn't long enough.  Each of the four people working on this project suffered from EHDS (Extreme Height Deficiency Syndrome), and we needed to put our heads together.  Kathy climbed up on David's shoulders and tried again.  She was hanging over the rail two stories up, and David was unsteady.  Marky grabbed Kathy's belt so that she could lean out and swing again.  I was laughing so hard that I was no physical help to anyone, but I did take pictures.  Kathy and David finally got the keys off the roof, BTW.

Introducing Audrey

Audrey is a Gryffindor through and through. 

We love to torment Audrey at work.  When she says that an owner has invaded her personal space, we must stand close to her.  If she tells us she needs help with something, we offer help the next time she gets post-its from the storage room or paperclips a document_  When Audrey walks by our department, we wave and say hello as if we have not seen her in years.  And then we repeat ourselves several times.  Audrey always smiles and giggles.  One of these days she will go postal and we will be sorry.  But for now, we must torment her. 

Audrey would like to write a book.  It will be a book about all of the ridiculous things that owners have said to her.  You would be surprised at the crazy requirements some owners inflict on their potential tenants.  Pets, for instance.  Many owners don't want dogs in their unit.  Fewer dislike cats.  One owner indicated that the "kitty" must "make the poo-poo in the box."  The vast majority, however, will accept small caged/aquarium-ed animals.  The comment that convinced Audrey to compile a list was the owner who told her, "I don't want pets in my apartment.  Not even goldfish.  Goldfish are nothing but trouble." 

I gave Audrey a gift certificate to a book publishing website so that her dream could come true.  That was only 1½ years ago, and I am sure she is hard at work putting the finishing touches on her magnum opus.  Hi Audrey.  How are you, Audrey?  Hi.