When I moved to Portland, I lived in a house with four other people. One of whom is now my fiance.
Also in the house? My darlin’ Callie.
(that would be us, two years ago, clearly not drinking margaritas out of princess cups while waiting for the max.)
She and I became friends by watching and judging our neighbor. (He deserved it-for some unexplainable reason he owned two SUVs. Why on earth do you need TWO SUVs?)
After the house she and I lived with another roommate (and the fiance lived a whole 5 blocks away). She lives in Seattle now, but she came to play this weekend. It was a very low key bachelor party.
Without penis straws.
Whoever thought up penis straws is stupid.
Callie and I always had this magic ability to find weird weird people when we were together.
There was the time while we were buying booze, the man at the liquor store told me my ID looked “like a professional modeling photo”. And then gave us candy.
Or the time we went to a hockey game, and the mascot kept trying to hit on Callie.
Mind you, the mascot was in a giant bird costume. Didn’t stop him from trying to grab her butt. Repeatedly
So, what happened this weekend is, with history in mind, to be expected…
Really, what more could you want than a pretty drink, bread, and cheese?
Maybe the fact that it’s also next to Trader Joe’s. And it used to be a block from our house. That’s what more you could want.
We were talking about my wedding. Wearing matching wedding shirts. I have an engagement ring on.
Guys at the table next to us decide they’d like to be our friends.
First ask about a restaurant. Then ask me to take a picture. Keep asking me all sorts of things. Would we like to join them for dinner? Go to more bars? Go to a play?
Our potential friend even notices that we have the same shirt on, and comments on it.
Finally, when the waitress brings our bill, she tells me “congratulations”
“why’d she say that?” potential new friend asks
“I’m getting married in three weeks”
(seems the matching shirts, ring, and us talking about my wedding weren’t dead giveaways)
then potential friend turns to Callie and goes “So, Callie, tell us more about you”
Walking to the car all we could say was”seriously, that happened.”
Then watched terrible movies.
The best point was the end of the night, when we’d busted through an entire bottle of vodka, and watched Center Stage on fast forward.
We didn’t need any plot getting in the way of dancing.