A couple of nights ago, Jennifer asked me to take her out for pancakes at 11pm because she had been daydreaming about them all through her LSAT class. I agreed because I sympathize with daydreaming about chocolate chip pancakes all day long. As the night went on, she started losing it more and more in our booth at Denny’s. I found out she had taken her painkillers on an empty stomach or something so she kept rambling (more than normal) and scratching her face like some sort of addict? So, the night’s cuisine was delicious but if you were watching us from another table, you might think I was Jennifer’s social worker/Narcotics Anonymous sponsor. 

Denny’s has a pretty amazing specials menu featuring EVERYTHING PEANUT BUTTER AND CHOCOLATE. Further proof that Denny’s target demographic include 1) us, 2) our friends, and 3) the highest people to ever be high in the history of high.

(Source: catgirlvc)

I went to our Facebook friendship page. These are the things that we “like” in common. It’s succinct and accurate and perfect. 

THINGS WE AGREE ON: Honey butter

Less than a week ago, Lauren and I went to Souplantation. 

There we had one of the most intense conversations of my entire life. It even included a good cry in the middle of the restaurant. We became better friends over that meal. 

That meal that included like 45% whipped honey butter. 

They seem to only sell this delicious treat in the South and Souplantation. Which is a shame, because the South sucks and Souplantation doesn’t really have that much else to offer. I may pack my suitcase with this spreadable gold. 

As a chubby child, I was a sort of “butter connoisseur.” And honey butter took the cake (“CAKE! CAKE? WHERE IS THE CAKE?!” - me, always). It turns a regular dinner roll into dessert. How could one not LOVE it?

Impossible. 

And Lauren gets it. She super gets it.

I put it on my blueberry muffins. She put it on her cornbread. We have a honey butter friendship. And I could not ask for anything butter… Onomatopoeia pun!!

This gif will explain itself by the end of this post.

One of the cool things about my relationship with Jennifer is that I’ve seen her grow and mature. I have seen her go from a person who talked big about how great she was but still had very little self esteem to one of the most self confident people I have ever met in my life. Confident to the point of stopping a dude mid-kiss and saying “You don’t need to tell me I’m beautiful. I know I’m drop dead gorgeous.” I’ve also seen her go from being SO uncomfortable just mentioning men to being extremely vocal about her attraction for certain dudes. Oddly enough, my friendship with Jennifer began after most of the significant changes in my personality had already taken place. So, she hasn’t had the opportunity to see me grow as a person.  She did not witness the spring quarter of my sophomore year. More on that in a moment.

On my first (of many) Macaroni Grill nights with Jennifer, I took full advantage of the paper tablecloth and crayons that were so graciously provided for us. I drew things upside down so Jennifer would see them right side up. I doodled flower garlands the way I used to when I was supposed to be paying attention in lecture. And, I made a long list of letters. Insignificant to most. To be totally honest, some of those letters are pretty insignificant to me, too. But, the facts were these: a) those letters were first initials of names, b) those names were the names of people I have had sex with, and c) Jennifer was present for the moment when I finally got an accurate count of my ~number aka how many people I’ve boned. Now, the number itself isn’t exactly staggering. What is most impressive about it is the amount of people I fit into (NO PUN INTENDED) a relatively short amount of time- the spring quarter of my sophomore year. 

From the get-go, Jennifer and I have had a little sister/big sister or mentee/mentor or Luke/Obi-Wan or Sabrina the Teenage Witch/Aunt Zelda or Hilda (depending on my mood) kind of relationship. So, she wasn’t around to witness my - for lack of a better cliche - sexual awakening. She wasn’t there for when I partied mostly with strangers, drank mostly straight shots of tequila, and mostly had sex in places like public parks, empty lecture halls, and the back of a drug dealer’s hatchback because I had a roommate that never left our dorm room. She did not witness the spring quarter of my sophomore year. And, with my entire sexual history conveniently outlined in front of her, I could now regale her with stories from those illustrious 10 weeks and of the years to follow that involved slightly less banging. 

I can’t really be sure what Old Jennifer would have thought about Old Lauren because we never talked about anything even tangentially related to sex when our friendship started. I can only imagine that she would be horrified, despite the lack of actual X-rated details I gave, and would probably not talk to me for a while. But, New Jennifer was all about it. There was laughter, there were sudden outbursts of “YOU ARE THE BADDEST BITCH AROUND”, and mostly, there was a level of support and understanding that Old Jennifer might not have been comfortable enough to give me, even if we had been friends for a while. New Jennifer is best friends with me, a proud slut (who shall never reform!) and an expert story teller. She got a 1.75 hour condensed story of my short lived wild youth, which isn’t exactly equivalent to witnessing marked personal growth but we have the rest of our lives for that. 

She did not know that I was the sluttiest but I told her. And, now she knows. And, we’re better friends because of it.

Lauren and I went to Barona on Friday. 

It was beyond necessary, not just because I felt terrible. Lauren has been wholly opposed to going there out of some unfounded fear that she would actually be losing any amount of money. 

When she agreed, I just screamed “PENNY SLOTS” at her for 3 minutes. 

Our ride there was full of Sea Salt Dark Chocolate, the best playlist ever, and my unbridled enthusiasm. Also, “this is the road that I thought I had died on - a la The Sixth Sense” on repeat. 

Walking in was full of pioneer-themed-Native-American-reservation-casino-decor, flashing lights, and fake jackpot noises. T’was overwhelming and wonderful.

The gambling time was full of nickel video-poker machines and my anti-Rainman-ness. 

But, the peak of the evening was the last minute discovery (with free Diet Coke in hand) of the hidden gem in the pocket of the casino. 

Lauren, some middle aged couples, and I sway-danced to the sweet sounds of the past-their-prime-but-totally-stoked-about-it-Journey-cover-band. Oh! and the guitar player was apparently mondo checking me out. So, I guess that just makes it even better. 

Because ridiculous always equals better. 

That’s why going to Barona would make my shitty week better. And this photo would capture the glory of the evening. 

Look at those dime-slotting fools and their complete disinterest. 

STOP AND SMELL THE ROSES AND DANCE TO THE COOL SOUNDS OF THE SWEET 80’S BEAT. People. 

Then we went to Hooters for 4 hours. 

Duh. 

I don’t want to admit that I am watching this show. But, I also don’t want to let this perfect screen grab stay hidden on my desktop. 

Sooo… I have a problem. It’s fine.