Introducing Zach

Ah, yes, the last of the high school boyfriend blogs has come.  As horrible as I am at staying friends with the horde1 of exes, Zach not only befriended me on the 'Space, but he initiated a follow up phone call, which was pretty amicable.  I mean, after 14 years, if you can't be friendly, then, well...  then you're probably a lot like me.  Needless to say, I have been racking my brain trying to think of the perfect anecdote to share about my first major boyfriend.  On to the blog.

My junior year, Zach was a new student from Georgia.  He played soccer.  He drove a red pickup truck.  He somehow found himself lunching with my crowd rather than the super-cool soccer peeps.  The first time I remember really hanging out with Zach was at my stepdad's 40th birthday party2.  He was dressed as the jock.  After all of my friends left for the night, and the party was winding down, Zach and I found ourselves alone on the back deck, trusted with the task of emptying the keg.  If we had been really boring teenagers, we would have guzzled a ton of suds and let our raging hormones take over, but we didn't.  We just chatted, laughed nervously, and that was that. 

That same month, I was performing in Kiss Me Kate in theater, and I was singing Led Zeppelin's "Going to California" in guitar class.  Zach came to one night of the musical, and I think we went out for coffee afterward.  What I didn't realize until he reminded me later in our relationship, is that he wore a purple shirt because it was my fave color, and he fast forwarded his Led Zeppelin tape to the exact moment Robert Plant sings, "To find a queen without a king, they say she plays guitar and cries and sings," so that when we got in the truck, that is the first thing we would hear.

I was not the typical soccer player's girlfriend, and I was painfully aware of that.  The girls' and boys' teams were on this upper eschelon of cool that I could never achieve with my handpainted guitar case, geeky choir get-up, and inexhaustible mental database of Monkees repertoire.  I fantasized that jocks were born with the psychic ability to predict where the wild parties were held, innate fashion sense, and enough charm to talk their papers up from a B- to a solid A3.  This cool deficiency deemed that our relationship was to be short-lived.  Alas, we had some good times together, and in addition to teaching me some important lessons in life, he was truly kind on many occasions.  I don't know if, to this day, he gives himself enough credit for being a nice guy.  I have seen it, though. 

1. Okay, maybe not a horde, but definitely enough to form a basketball team.2. See "Introducing Aaron"3.I was never privy to a single wild party in high school, wore jean jackets way past their expiration date, and was so fearful of my teachers that I would take whatever grade they gave me, no questions asked.    

Introducing Georgette

Marky and I walked past the produce section this evening when a pro-veggie poster caught our eye.  The sign read, "Sneak A Snack!"  It's the kind of catchphrase you can't help but verbalize. 

We walked to the bread aisle muttering "Sneak A Snack.  Sneakasnack," and I had deja vu. 

"Snicker Snack.  One two, one two, and through and through, the vorpal blade went snicker-snack!"  I recited. 

"What is that nonsense?!" Marky demanded. 

I'm not much of a poem reciter.  But I know me some Jabberwocky.  It's the heroic nonsense poem from from Alice in Wonderland, and I not only performed an arrangement of it in the Highland Concert Choir, but Turtle (our commando theater director/narcotics agent, who really preferred to be addressed as "John," but for the purpose of this colorful story, he shall remain "Turtle") also inserted this poem throughout a night of one-act plays.  The one acts were sadly forgettable.  I have zero recollection of the plotlines, much less the names of the pieces.  However, Georgette, I, and another actor performed Jabberwocky in various styles between them. 

I opened the night as a hunched over, frail, old woman.  Following Turtle's strict direction, I silently hobbled through the darkness toward center stage at a snail's pace.  Once I finally arrived, I exploded into storytelling, leaping about, and wielding my walking stick as the aforementioned vorpal blade.  Maintaining the hunch, my little old lady was powerful and boisterous.  After the final borogoves and mome raths, the little old lady weakly retreated with the aid of her trusty walking stick. 

Georgette possessed the amazing ability to defy gender onstage.  Don't get me wrong--I say this in the spirit of admiration.  She is really be a lovely flower (I have super girlie pics of us from prom), but she had the theatrical fortune to strip down and pass for a dude.  George stood behind a pulpit and preached her Jabberwocky as a vestment-clad southern preacher man.  It was funny and stirring.  This was the gem of the evening.  She banged her fists, thrust her finger in the air, wiped the sweat from her brow.  Royal purple raglan sleeves danced as she lunged to and fro.  Not a single performance went by without at least one "Amen" or "Hallelujah" from the audience.  Against Turtle's insistance, everyone sneaked out from backstage to watch George in all her Carrollian majesty.  Her performance never got old.  You never knew how the audience would react, so every night was a little different. 

Of all of the plays, choir pieces, guitar etudes, and trigonometric equations I memorized in high school, Jabberwocky is what I took with me.  And it is largely due to Georgette.  I hope she still remembers it, too.   Hopefully she recites it to her baby, who will undoubtedly inherit her mother's wonderful sense of humor. 

Introducing Alice

Alice is the superfoxy wife of the guitarist/pianist from my former band, BooN.  She is not only wonderfully liberal and artistic, she is a terrific mother and a supportive groupie.  There really should be a special award for the woman who lets her spouse not only hold noisy weekly rehearsals in the basement, but also attends every seedy gig with a proud smile on her face. 

My story is a little hard to admit.  I am not a thief, by any means.  However, I have acquired a stuffed animal, a bracelet, and 3 CDs, (all of which are still in heavy rotation in my life) by *ahem* dishonest means.  The Gallery Cabaret was one of the seediest clubs at which the illustrious BooN performed.  It was certainly the darkest.  As we set up equipment in the noisy bar, Alice showed up wearing a beautiful dark red jacket--everyone who knows Alice is aware that she is quite the fashionista.  A few minutes after she got settled, we exchanged hellos and I got to work onstage.  BooN played for an hour, and then took a break.  I found a table in the front, and spied a lovely, unattended velvet scarf.  Most of the crowd had left for the evening, and I was sure someone had forgotten this little piece.  I touched the crushed velvet designs.  It was the perfect medium weight.  The perfect burgundy color.  I looked about, and saw no one who belonged to this accessory.  My acquisition instinct kicked in.  Sticky fingers.  Who would know?  For some reason, though, I had an attack of conscious.  I decided to wait until the end of the second set.  If the scarf was still unclaimed, I would take it home.  Back to the stage. 

After the last song, we disassembled our gear and made our way out the door.  But, oh!  The scarf!  I had forgotten to grab it.  I ran to the front table, and it was gone.  Heartbreak.  But it was probably taken home by its rightful owner.  After I said goodbye to Steve and the other guys, I hugged Alice.  She told me that her scarf had disappeared.  She described it as a dark red velvet with fringe.  It matched her jacket perfectly.  Apparently someone had the same inclination I did.  I would have felt horrible if I had been the one to take it, but I would certainly have given it back to her.  But someone got to it first.  Every time I see lovely scarves in department stores, I look for one that could be a replacement.  It has been two years, and I still haven't found one.  But my misplaced guilt drives me to keep looking. 

Introducing Thera

I cried the first time I heard Thera sing.  I cried the last time I heard Thera sing. 

Thera and I were both in John's studio in college.  For the most part, performances in studio were uninspired, partially memorized songs that made you struggle to keep your head from falling on the table in boredom.  When Thera started to sing the spiritual "Ol' Jim", I felt tears welling up, but I tried to control it.  When it came time to critique, I just started to sob.  I'm sure I made quite the first impression on Thera. 

It always felt good to make Thera laugh.  When you really wind him up, his hysterical laugh is one the Top 3 I have ever heard.  We had some serious fun when we went into Chris's studio.  Ah, that was the era of choir trips and parties.  I drove one of the two white campus vans to Corpus Christi, and Thera was in my group.  Hand sanitizer was a relatively new idea in the world, and we decided to slather it on all of the passengers in our mighty whitey.  Our group narrowly escaped the stomach flu that devastated the passengers in the other van. 

Our choir also went to Italy that year.  After everyone tried their best to alert their banks, get traveler's cheques, bring enough cash, etc, Thera's debit card was the only one that didn't work in the Italian ATM machines.  It wasn't a huge problem, because there were so many of us, someone could always buy him an extra slice of pizza, but he just wasn't going to have any spending money.  When we arrived in Siena, a big group of us sat in Piazza Del Campo, eating gelato.  There were hundreds of people milling around, being touristy, and we dared Alexis to sing "O Mio Babbino Caro".  She did it, and some people stopped to listen.  Don decided to sing, then Jessica, and more people gathered.  Almost all of us got up the nerve to sing solo (I chickened out, of course), then Mike conducted a group piece, and there was a huge group watching at that point.  We passed a hat, and collected about 200 dollars in Lire.  We considered it a boon, and gave the money to Thera.  Problem solved.  Later that night, a few of us assembled outside the kitchen of our hotel.  Thera insisted that I redeem myself for that afternoon by singing.  I protested.  He wanted to hear me do the Joan of Arc aria.  So I did it.  It's a looooong song.  It was the first time I did opera stuff in front of people outside of my studio, and I shook the whole time.  When I was done, Thera jumped to his feet, grabbed me and hugged me.  He was crying, and I thought that even if it was just the Grappa talking, I still felt special. 

The last time I saw Thera, it was years later, after we had both left school.  I was hanging out with my friends from the recently deceased Cider Jazz.  Thera stood in with a jazz band in Las Cruces and got up to sing "My Funny Valentine" in a very scatty, beboppy style.  I came full circle when I found myself sobbing uncontrollably at the sound of his voice.  Maybe it was the Corona talking, but I sure miss that voice.

Introducing Beau

There are only two reasons I am friends with Beau.  I need to break into the movies, and his sister is hot. 

Beau makes me smile.  He is a warm fuzzy.  When you sit down with Beau, you feel like you are a kid, and not in a naive-awkward-teen way.  We're talking about a milk-and-Golden-Grahams-sitting-in-front-of-the-TV-watching-Saturday-morning-cartoons way.  He just makes me feel comfortable.  Beau has this way of making you feel like you are smart and talented, and that you are the first person to have the thought you are sharing with him. 

He is talented, himself.  Beau is one of those rare gems who could easily be a shameless name dropper and self promoter, but he isn't.  He just fires up that wildly expensive steadicam, flashes his boyish grin, and runs like hell.  After seeing his demo of steadicam work, I look at every television show and movie differently.  Although he doesn't take credit for taking a great still, Beau also spent some time taking photos of my jazz band.  I really don't care if he thinks they aren't his best work, when I showed the pics to the other guys in the band, they LOVED what he captured. 

I don't know anything about the movies, I don't know anything about photography.  What I do know is that I respect a person who passionately pursues their dream.  Beau has a pretty darn good dream, and I believe he is going to succeed. 

Introducing Michele

Michele has got MoJoe.  Well, I suppose MoJoe has Michele.  She is the assistant to my mom's real estate team (Mo and Joe, get it?), and they are lucky to have her. 

Although Michele and I have spent all of 15 minutes in the same room together, I feel like we know a bunch about each other.  I know for that she loves Duran Duran and red hair.  Who doesn't love Simon LeBon and a nice henna?  Now, Michele's most important gift to the world was getting my mom more acquainted with MySpace...  Ok, maybe that's not her most significant contribution to life itself, but it sure made me happy.  Check out her pictures of the city in her profile.  Kinda makes me want to buy a house out there! 

I like her sense of humor and her smile.  You better know how to smile if you are going to survive with the mighty MoJoe.  Michele adds some zing to that alliance.  I like zing.

Introducing Maureen

Alright, this is the 5th time I have started this blog.  I think it fitting that I finally gathered the courage to write a story about Maureen today.  It is her birthday!  Happy Birthday, Mom.

We were in a hurry to get me into this world, and the two of us have not slowed down since.  Mom is a doer.  We couldn't even wait for my dad to park the car before I popped out of her belly.  She took me Christmas shopping and had my ears pierced before I was one week old.  I'm not sure if she had a name for me by then (the birth certificate still says "Female Del Campo"), but we spared no time in getting on with life.  Birth Schmirth. 

Fun plates, stationery, and embroidery are my favorite memories of childhood.  Fun plates were dinner creations that usually included Triscuits topped with cold cuts and mustard, and oranges sliced in half, dipped in powdered sugar.  They were served on our colorful Heller dishes, and were accompanied by Sprite, dyed any color we wanted.  At what age do we realize that our favorite meal was really a cleverly-named fridge-cleaning session, or lack of resources?  Either way, I think I might make fun plates for dinner tonight. 

My mom worked at The Looking Glass, a gift shop that sold high-end home accessories, paper goods, candles, etc.  In the back room, she and her coworkers had access to an engraving machine for brass items, and an imprinting machine to personalize stationery.  Mom always made sure Chris and I had our own stockpile.  We left professional, envelopped notes for each other every morning.  She saved a lot of them.  It's funny and touching to see her children learning to express themselves through the written word.  Every parent should do this.

I cannot take credit for being the original Crafty McSchnafty.  With the aid of her enlarging projector, iron-on pencil, and endless bag of embroidery thread, mom could recreate Peter Rabbit's garden on broadcloth in what seemed like minutes.  If mom's friends' kids weren't waking up to an embroidered nameplate hung on their wall, they were definitely falling asleep under a quilted canvas of her French knots, satin stitches, and lazy daisies.   

Everyone goes through a time when they want to break free and piss off their parents.  Mom made it tough.  When I told her I wanted to dye my hair purple, she grabbed the gloves and dyed it for me.  When I wanted to get more ear piercings, she sterilized the needle and pierced.  When I decided to paint my room black, she grabbed the paint roller.  We had our share of disagreements, but that just what happens when you place two strong, sharp women in the same house. 

Things you might not know about Maureen:  With the right partner, she is the best jitterbugger on the dance floor.  She is left-handed.  In addition to starring in countless radio and TV commercials, she hosted TV's Romper Room, a chat show called "Everybody's Talking", and puppeteered Sissy on "Captain Mac and Sissy".  Mom loves ketchup.  She knows how to tell one joke in Spanish--the punchline is, "Meatballs, didn't you know?"  The day she was to be crowned Homecoming Queen, Kennedy was assassinated, and the ceremony was cancelled.  She was finally crowned 20 years later at her high school reunion.  She has seen Phantom of the Opera over 25 times.  Maureen played nickel slots with Emilio Estevez, flirted with Trent Reznor, interviewed George Peppard, and slept with Tom Selleck...  Okay, she fell asleep on a plane, and Tom Selleck sat beside her.  She didn't know he was there until the plane landed! 

Things my mother taught me:  Fake it till you make it.  Don't sleep past 9 on the weekends.  You can make a game out of any chore.  Pay in cash.  Getting a bad grade on your report card for talking in class isn't the end of the world.  Write Thank-You notes.  Clean as you go.  Follow your dream.  And most importantly, Life is an adventure. 

Introducing Annette

Annette wants you to think she is a tough girl.  She is really nice.  I mean, she is tough at work, but she has a big heart.  And the thought of Annette and Michele having keggers when their parents were out of town is just so adorable to me.  Shoot, I hope their parents aren't reading this, they'll be PISSED!

I like the fact that when I page downstairs, Annette sounds genuinely happy to hear my voice.  She also calls me for craft trivia.  Recently she inquired how to cut plexiglass.  Annette also offered me her not-so-oft-used embroidery stand.  If only I had jumped on that offer.  Crafty McSchnafty might have been traveling a much different road.  Anyway, Annette is a very supportive friend as far as my creative endeavors go.  She is also supportive of my fashion decisions.  There are not many people from whom I appreciate a public wolf whistle. 

I suppose I could use my knowledge for evil, because Annette isn't a MySpace addict and she probably won't ever see this.  However, I don't want to put any keys in jeopardy.  So... In conclusion, Annette is wonderful and nice and kind.  Please page 268.

Introducing Michele

Hi Pretty Lady!

Just to get this part out of the way, Michele walks 7 1/2 miles to work while reading a novel.  I call her "Hot Legs" behind her back... Oops!  I guess the secret is out, Michele. 

Michele is nice.  Always.  She has time to smile every time I see her.  She likes to laugh.  Michele likes to shop at Uncle Fun, and brings the key department toys like meat magnets, grow your own alien, and various action figures.  We're not talking about birthday presents, either.  No, we get presents when we least expect them.  That's when you really need them, anyway. 

This lady travels.  She goes everywhere with her gal clan from high school (hope I'm getting that right), and takes fabulous pictures that make us all jealous.  In addition to Wisconsin and Louisiana, this year, she, Amy and Marissa traveled to fair Chicago.  She realized that despite living in Chicago, a ton of tourist traps she had yet to see. 

 

Most importantly, Michele gave Marky and me a gift for which we could never repay her.  Just when we needed it, Michele brought me a photograph.  I went to her house a couple nights later, picked up the gift, and surprised Marky.  It was the perfect color and size for our house, and we were overjoyed.  At first, it would roll under the couch and make weird hissing sounds, but eventually Roger became the love of our lives. 

Introducing Mark

Mark used to be a hand model.  That was after the Cirque du Soleil days.  What can a guy do after dropping out of elementary school?  This is all true.  According to Mark.  Here are the facts:

Favorite color: Purple

Favorite Vegetable: Do Natural Cheetos count as a vegetable?

Favorite TV shows: Survivor, The Amazing Race, Judge Judy

Favorite singers: Boo Boo, Linda Eder, Patti LuPone, Michael Ball, Cynthia Lauper, Bernadette Peters, Colin Farrell

Favorite way to get Amy's goat: Take her to a musical/Cat-sit

Favorite way to get Andrew's goat: Sing something from "By Jupiter"

Favorite way to get Bree's goat: Ask if she is knitting booties for "Little Boo"

Favorite place to get action figures: Archie McPhee

True Calling: Party Planner

Little known high school fact: Crowned Prom King

Artistic outlets: Photoshop, CD cover artwork, acrylic painting, gnome gardening

Most disappointing UPS delivery: toilet in a million pieces

Favorite comment after hearing reception page to tell you that you have a big package: "Why thank you"

Favorite Ice Cream Flavor: Prune

Best Halloween Costume: Neo from the matrix

Favorite dinner: Prime Rib at Charlie's

Percentage of a capella vocal group auditions have you nailed: 100%

Favorite fish at Long John Silver's: Chicken Plank

Favorite beverages: Mountain Dew and Screwdrivers

Best Music to Frug to: That's a toss up between "The Heavyweight" from Sweet Charity and Herb Alpert's "Taste of Honey"

Beloved movie character you auditoned for: Cameron in "Ferris Bueller's Day Off"

Little known stand-in work that ended up in a movie: Drummer in the Joan Jett/Michael J. Fox opus "Light of Day"

Thoughts on stand-up comedy: No problem.  I actually won a trip to New York based on my mad stand-up skills!

If you could only eat one snack food for the rest of your life, would you choose Pringles, Mrs. Field's Cookies, Mountain Dew, or M&M's?  I can't answer any more questions.  I am too offended.

Introducing Joey

More high school hair.  I know.  It's just that Joey's hair was not only long, it was red!  Joey was a really sweet, happy-go-lucky guy in guitar.  When he played, though, he was all business.  All of my still pictures of Joey make him look very serious.  That's a bit of a crime, since all any of us did in guitar class was make each other laugh.

I have two great memories of Joey.  First, he could play that renaissance-y intro to "Love Song" by Tesla.  I loved that intro.  LOVED it.  When I bought my Reality Bites-inspired camcorder, I nervously asked Joey to play the intro for posterity.  He agreed, and we set up shop in the hall between woodshop and guitar.  Never more than now do I wish I could transfer all those hours of tape to DVD, so that I could share that little moment with everyone.  Someday, I will do it.  I knew so many talented people at Highland. 

Number two.  How did Joey, Zak, Will, and I convince Mrs. Hunnemueller that we should play at the Homecoming assembly?  I suppose the other question we should have asked ourselves was what we should name our little band.  We learned one song, "Wish You Were Here" by Pink Floyd, and we auditioned for the principal, the activities director, and someone from the homecoming committee.  They liked it, and Hunnemueller asked what our band name was.  I jokingly answered, "Bree and the Banditos," knowing that we would have time to change it to something like "Torrent" or "Death Baby" before the assembly actually took place.  We never changed the name of the band, much to my embarassment, because those guys worked way harder than I did.  We should have named it "Joey, Zak, Will, and the Gal Who Learned the Words".  The assembly happened, I wore a dress, and the guys all wore nice button up shirts.  I was so proud of my friends.  I think we even got a spot in the yearbook for that gig.  There was something really wonderful about playing for the homecoming assembly, because we really didn't belong there otherwise.

Looks like Joey straightened up and joined the military, but he will forever be my long-red-haired friend from high school.  And I will always cherish the Joey video. 

Introducing Mariella

Mariella is an old friend from NMSU.  She and I were always in the same studio, and we both had a pop music jones.  We both had a hell of a time getting through piano and ear training, but trudged through our degrees successfully.  With all we had in common, we looked out for each other in a sisterly way.  In studio, when one of us was singing, the other was following the sheet music, ready to mouth the words if she had a lyrical lapse.  We performed in the same numbers in the variety shows, roomed together in Italy, made costumes (thanks to Mariella's sewing machine), and eventually ended up in Cider Jazz together. 

Mariella, Della, Mary, and I performed "I'm a Woman" in one of the variety shows.  We each took a verse, and sang our own style.  Mary was jazzy, Della country, and Mariella and I did our big-voiced mama styles.  It was super fun, but it was also the first time we had thrown function out the window and went balls-out in front of faculty.  I was a little scared to hear what Dr. Rowe would have to say, and we knew she would say something.  She found us in the green room after the performance, and sternly said, "I don't know what you all were doing out there," then she smiled, "but keep doing it!" 

Mariella and I took that song to Las Cruces Community Theater where we auditioned for Little Shop of Horrors.  We were so hoping that everyone would audition so that NMSU folks could take over the cast, but we ended up being the only gals who did it.  It was a great way to spend the summer, though, singing the music that inspired us to be the mamas that we are.

Introducing Christine

I know the "friend" is really Steve Smith and Hard Road, but the only reason I have that friend is because Chris is a part of it.  Take that, Steve. 

Here is the short version of this blog:  Chris taught me to sing.  Chris is talented.  Chris was the pastor at my wedding.  Chris is my Guru.  And she likes turtles.

At first, I thought Chris was a man.  When I nervously switched majors and auditioned for the vocal program at NMSU, the only familiar face was that of my high school friend, John.  John was 3 years older, a music T.A., and whenever he saw me on campus, he bugged me about not pursuing music.  So I finally caved.  A few days later, I got a call from John.  He told me that he would be my voice teacher.  He told me that originally, I was signed onto Chris's studio, but there was a mixup, and he would be my guy.  I was so relieved, because John already knew me, and I didn't want to be stuck in some male teacher's studio.  Stranger danger. 

I cut my teeth with John for a year, and when he graduated, it was time for a new teacher.  Again, I was placed in Chris's studio, and I was nervous.  She was a real teacher, and I was nervous that I wouldn't measure up.  My first day of class, I wore my new pink blouse with nice shorts, and pretty shoes.  About an hour before class, I visited my boyfriend's dorm, and spilled water all over my blouse.  The water would not dry on it's own by the time I had a lesson, so I did what any ingenuitive person would.  I microwaved the shirt.  Just for 15 seconds.  I'm not sure if the big brown burn mark or the smell of singed nylon was more offensive.  Without time to run home, I asked to borrow a shirt from Marky.  The only halfway thing we could find was a faded Tori Amos shirt.  Aside from the fact that I HATE Tori Amos (don't try to talk me into her--it won't work), I now was left with no confidence.  I had ruined my shirt and now looked like a bum for my real lady teacher.  I think I blacked out the first three or four lessons out of sheer nervousness.  Once I became conscious, I cried 5 out of 6 times I stepped into her office.  Chris is eternally patient. 

Once we got more acquainted, Chris and I started to collaborate.  When I would get a little guitar gig, she would accompany me with her piano and harmony.  Chris Fun Fact: As long as I learned my Mozart, Chris would coach me on Janis Joplin.  She encouraged me to skip a semester of school to do an opera apprenticeship.  After that, she pushed me to join her revived vocal jazz group.  She forbade me to pursue a master's degree from NMSU.  It seems like she was always pushing me to do something amazing, or holding me back from potentially deadly disasters. 

Chris is the most amazing jazz director ever.  She had us lay on the ground and moan whatever tone we wished as a warmup.  We arranged most of our music as a giant collective around the piano.  Chris, Elena and I arranged "The Star Spangled Banner" without a piano, while we colored Easter eggs.  Chris would give us entirely too much credit for our roles in Cider Jazz.  Most of us tried our hand at arranging melodies, but Chris refined them for performance.  Also, if Chris wasn't such a good interpreter, half of our music wouldn't have come to fruition.  She can play absolutely anything.  My Favorite Chris Joke: When asked if I arranged a song, I would say, "I wrote down the notes, and Chris put them all in the right place."   Once, the group assembled at Isaac's house, we drank some beer, and everyone wrote an idea on a little slip of paper.  A sentence, a word, anything.  "Elvis is the king of Rock and Roll," "My Best friend is an Asshole," "Cherries," "I love Tequila," "Africa" and so on.  Then we put the ideas in a hat, and everyone drew a slip.  We took our slips and individually wrote poetry about that subject for 10 minutes.  Next, we folded up our poetry, put those in the hat, and everyone drew again.  We revised each other's writings for 5 minutes, and put them back in the hat.  The last time we drew, we had 15 minutes to add music and arrange the song.  We performed our songs for each other, and found ourselves with 6 new wonderful creations.  I remember Chris's the best, the chorus "Africa-ca-ca" causing me to laugh so hard I fell off the piano bench.  We never actually used any of the songs outside of that night, but it was a wonderful creative venture. 

When Chris heard that I was driving to Chicago, she snatched up a one-way ticket from Chicago.  We had a three-day conversation that happened to take place in my Toyota Echo, spanning a 1500-mile trek across Southern and Midwest America.  We sang on the stage in Nashville, visited Graceland during Elvis Week, ate Chicago pizza and listened to jazz at the Green Mill.

Chris was ordained as a pastor for our wedding.  She jokingly refers to herself as "Pastor Prime"...  Say it out loud, or it isn't funny.  Chris gave us marriage counseling a day before the wedding.  We all sat on the bed of our little hotel room huddled around a three-wick unity candle. 

Currently, Chris is working on a musical about Enron, writing the soundtrack for an independent movie, touring with her bluegrass band, and enjoying the euphoria associated with recently becoming a former-NMSU faculty member.  She recently visited me in Chicago, a trip that was all too short.  We did our share of painting the town red.  I miss her on a daily basis, and look forward to VH-1 interviewing us for "Behind the Music".

Introducing Amy

I recently changed my top friends, and it got my friend list all mixed up.  Without realizing my new "Toppies" had moved in the grand scheme, I went forward with blogs.  Before I knew it, a couple friends had been left in the dust, including the ebullient and effervescent Amy.  In the interest of order and sanity, I shall backtrack and catch up, but I will also derive personal devilish satisfaction from this debacle, because Amy is the one friend who predicted I would give up on my blog project before reaching her.  Onward.

Amy and I met at the office.  She was busy servicing landlords while I serviced guests.  A beloved office mate, the day her kitty was diagnosed with cancer, and amputation was imminent, we pulled together to think of a way to pay the exorbinant vet bills.  I felt very proud of our walkathon ideas, such as "Pussyfootin' 2004" and "Walk for the Pussy".  Alas, a private donor helped Amy, but we were ready to strut our paws for the cause.  I learned Amy's love for animals then, but that love was reinforced when I learned that Amy is the president of the "Vegetarians for Pork" Campaign.  She is also one of the few outsiders who Roger truly adores.  She calls him a "beautiful boy" and she is right.  She is easily his favorite cat sitter.  Although I have oft been called upon to catsit for Amy, I'm not sure she actually has cats. 

This office is prone to bouts of SBD-itis.  A small group gets together and trudges through the South Beach Diet, then after 2 weeks, it's so done for.  Well, the first time I ever did SBD, Amy was also in the trenches, and we planned to celebrate by having a special lunch together.  I didn't know Amy all that well, but thought it would be nice to get away from the office.  We went to a restaurant that is famous for its wonderful desserts.  We were disappointed with the service and the selection, but we had a lovely conversation.  After that luncheon, we had several other engagements at what became our regular booth at Stella's. 

Every time I get together with Amy, we have a good time.  She can be quite the confidant.  And our outings are usually ripe with adventure.  "Fun" shots at Kitty Moon, getting kicked out of Champions because I have no I.D., and trying in vain to catch a cab from Edgewater Lounge.  From the list of venues, one would think both Amy and I imbibe more than the average person.  It's just not true.  Even if you have read her comment to me threatening to appear on my couch to share some cabernet with Roger.  I told you she's an animal lover.  She would never hold out on Rogey. 

There you go Amy.  Did I leave anything out?