The Honour of Meeting Mema

"Aw shit." Or maybe I should start this out spelling it how only she knew how to say one of her favourite phrases so you understand a little better.  Aawwwwh shhhiiiyuht.

That's more like it.  If this is going to be a mema post, it's going to be as accurate as I can portray her. This is five in the morning writing so bear with me through the raw, unedited post that this is.  The scramble is real and I'm not sure there really is a starting or ending point, merely ramblings and stories from my point of view of someone that really left a footprint in each person that knew her.

She was a traditional southern woman if there ever was one that I came across.  By day, a good follower of her faith, fed everyone that stepped in her house, and the charm and manners to make you feel right at home in her conversations.  By night, her family - related and friend alike- knew her to be a sarcastic delight and would tell you to your face what was what.  That was always Mema for as long as any of us ever knew.

"Well how are you honey?" She would always greet me the same way whenever I visited her, big smile and open arms ready for a squeeze.  While living in a little town of Pascagoula, Mississippi and the Gulf as her back yard, she usually finished greetings with a menu that was already cookin
 or if it was early enough, she'd ask you for your input on what she should fix you.  She loved feeding people.

At her funeral, the family burst into laughter and smiles when her old mailman showed up. I mean. We were laughing because we'd all been told by her that he'd passed years ago. Turns out he just stopped being a mailman.  Remembering him from when we were kids, we all hugged him the same, reminiscing on his shenanigans he would pull with our mema.  He was a friend of the family and one I remember that we always fed every time he came by to deliver mail.

"Hey, Harolyn!" He would always yell at her from halfway across the lawn as he walked up; her already opening the screen door to retrieve her mail and send out some more with him.
"Hey, honey! What you know good?"

Always inviting him in for a bite, and if he had to run, Mema always had cookies or a drink ready for him on his trip to more deliveries.

When I moved back to Mississippi the first time four years ago, I lived with Mema for a while before tackling big bad Biloxi on my own.  There are a lot of things I learned about my grandma that I never questioned when I was younger.  The things that you only think to question friends growing up or significants you start dating.  I wanted to know what it was like growing up for her.  I wanted to know about the grandfather I never met.  I wanted to know what kind of shenanigans she got into.

Of course there are only so many things that a mema will tell her grandchildren but what I learned about her was fascinating.  She loved working in the court system.  She loved music, typing, and reading.

Thanksgiving of that first year was the first time I learned how to really make Mema's chicken and oyster gumbo.  That was what our tradition was for holidays - a family favourite.  That Christmas I helped a little more.  She noted she hadn't really made gumbo much since we'd moved to Montana back in 2000.  It was mostly herself she cooked for and she barely knew how to cook for one.  She only knew how to prepare for armies.

So I started bringing her the masses.  At first I had one or two of my friends over to meet her.  A couple times I brought a whole slough of my air force friends and she made them a damn bbq banquet.  They, like everyone else, came to know her as just Mema.

Kind, hospitable, and antiquated yet sneaky, full of personality, and a downright rascal! Even the gals from her bank who had been seeing her for years showed up for her final remembrance.

When she would visit us in Montana, she used to jest and tell me that if she were my age she'd give me a run for my money in stealing my boyfriend at that time.  She'd laugh so hard at our mortified expressions.  You never really knew what was going to come out of her mouth, only that it would be charming and no matter what she said, it would be in good spirit.

Having such a grandma full of personality made it easy for all of her grandkids to be themselves.  We were cut from the same cloth, but mind that we were all made from very different scissors.

At the end of the day of her funeral, as we were all gathered- my mum and her four kids and each one having their guy or gal with them- my older brother made a toast and I think he said it best: She is in all of us, in some form or fashion.

Whether it was her charm, her stubbornness, her secretive nature, or her creative mind,  we all are walking, living embodiments of her.  For sure, we are all story tellers.  You can't meet a soul in the small town in Montana that we grew up in that didn't know at least one if not two of us.

Everyone has a Mema Story that knew her just like everyone that knows each of her descendants has one of our stories.  Her courage and strength flow through us all, especially when we feel like we can't hold on to our sanity any longer.

Mema stories include:
Getting mad at the lawn mower, kicking it, and chopping off her own toe. (She totally finished the lawn after that, or so our legend goes.)
Driving the wrong way down a one way and getting mad at the other drivers when she was 80. (I never let her drive me again after that.)
Having a creepy way of whispering and smiling at you when there was no reason to whisper. (Gonna pick up on this one in a minute.)
Pretty much any of her catchphrases. She had a ton that were quotable. (Shiiit, You fiend!, I beg your pardon.)
Her damn cooking.
Her obsession with smoking.  All up until her final days.   It was really hilarious the way she would rave if she couldn't get a cigarette fast enough.

There are hundreds more I'm missing but That would be a ton of reading.

One of my favourite stories of mema was at our cousin's house.  My older brother's gal and I were sitting with mema in their dining room/kitchen when mema started spouting her plans of dinner.  Not really spouting more than whispering loudly in our general direction.  We both leaned in with straight faces to hear her speak in short sentences.

"You have to put the peppers. In the oven. On 400 degrees. For Two hours."

We burst into laughter.  Mema did too.  She was super random and such a creeper.  It added on to her hilarity and she had no idea.  

I'm not sure where else this could possibly go.  I hadn't written in a while and decided this was a good of time as ever.  Something needed to be said about out Famous Mema. (Infamous, as she would always call herself.)

If you have a Mema story yourself, or know one that you've heard over the years, you can share it in the comments.  I know there was only a small surface scratched of her but even words wouldn't be able to fully tell her story and impact on all of us.  

This is why I Bartend

While I was working in Seattle....well, lets go back a few paces. Let's start with how I got the job. That tale is pretty delightful in itself. Short but simple. Really quick. Let's go. Boom.

I had been living in Seattle for four days, got tired of waiting around for a job, went to the library to print out resumes to go door to door to bars and get a job. Starting out with eight, I had my very last one in hand and walked up to a fancy looking little place, "Are y'all hiring for a bartender?"
"Yes. Can you show up in two hours for your first shift?"
"Yes."

Boom. That's how I started working in Seattle. (The full details of that story are a different story, different day)

This was a fairly new place that had opened up only a couple months prior to me working there.  With the weeks to come, I had this place open until 2am on the weekends rather than closing at 11pm. I also had a pretty regular crowd- the usual fells to pregame before going into the club on the next block, and the usual ladies that came in from the club that wanted a great drink without paying $15 a pop. They also liked that I was fast and there was plenty of breathing room at the bar as opposed to the club.

I had all kinds of people walking into the bar to see me.  People leaving to go on cruises to Alaska out of the port in Seattle, then some of the same ones coming back.  People that knew me from other bars I worked at in the area that wanted to come hang out as I was slinging drinks.

Anyway, back to the purpose of this story- the reason I bartend. I had a couple gals that came in one evening, already a little loud and went straight for the bathroom. We had a policy at that place, so I went in after them and just said, "Hey ladies what's up?"
"Hey girl, we had to pee sooo baddd!!"
"Well that's cool. Just as long as you come pay mama a visit at the bar. Can't leave me without having a drink.
"Yeah girl, yeah!"

I left the gals to their business, not really thinking they would come up to the bar and just dip out. It was close to closing time on a Friday night, so I began cleaning and didn't think much else of it.

I was wrong.
Both gals came and sat down and had some $5 shots with me- an idea I had when I discovered that the bar had a lot of left over alcohol from the last bar that resided in its place and the owners had given me free reign to get rid of it.
The gals sat there and chopped it up with me for a while. Eventually the gals had to leave but promised they'd be back for me and said they'd enjoyed their stay.

They left out and I was in the process of counting my bank when some Pharrell Williams mother fucker comes walking in with some night walker. "Hey honey, we're closed." I said, gesturing around at the fact not a soul was here and most all lights were off except the bar lights. Shit even the music was off. Dead.

"Your friends out there said you could hook me up." He pointed a finger back at the door but continued to walk toward the bar.  Anorexic Nicki Minaj didn't seem phased by her surroundings a bit and just took a stool at the bar. At this time, the owner came out of the office and stood there a moment to see what I would do.

"Y'all can always come back and see me tomorrow, baby, I'm already counting my bank."
"We don't want much, just a couple shots of patron." He threw two twenties on the bar top and looked deep into Nicki's eyes, smiling.

"You know you just gave me $40?" I look at him with pinched eyebrows.
"It's good right?" He waved his hand at the money, still not looking at me.

I look to my owner. He shrugs.
"Chilled or straight?"
"Straight."
"You want a lime, baby?" I said, lookin at the little Bambi to Pharrell's right.
"Yes, please." She spoke up.

I poured two decent shots, salted with a lime. The guy downed his, but Bambi winced, not finishing her full shot in one gulp, and a little dribbling down the side of her mouth. She wiped it off so delicately with a thumb.

"Here's for the shots," and Pharrell hands me another $20.

My inside poor kid was doing the Shmurda.
My outter bartender took the $20 with grace and gave him his change for the shots which he pocketed. I pocketed the beginning $40.

"Y'all are welcome to stay until I'm done cleaning up."

He talked, she giggled, they say, it was lovely.

My owner walks up to me, "Give them another round on the house. Tell them thanks for hooking up my bartender."

I did just so. Pharrell hands me another $20 tip and makes a toast at the owner and thanked him.

I made sixty fucking dollars in less than five minutes and I didn't have perform fellatio in the alleyway. That's what's up.

Either way, hope y'all enjoyed, keep reading for my other random stories and updates!

Don't Apologize

Don't apologize to me.
Not for the wrong kind of things.
Not for the things that are out of your control
That are out of your hands
That are out of my mind
That are out of this world
As to why you would think you needed to apologize for such things.
Don't. Please. Don't apologize to me.

When you make the food and you clean, prep, shake, bake, chop, char, sizzle, drip, scrub, wash, scrape, and pick at the dried-on food on the dishes in the aftermath to repeat it all over again for the kitchen's next use.
When you gather the troops to send off to finger painting and algebra that you don't quite understand and with the clothes you have to wash, fold, find, match, sew, buy, steam, iron, button, stain, bleach, work, tear, and mend again so when they come back with more dirty
You can give them a replacement garment once more.
When you break your back and you strain because that's what you're supposed to do when you're a good mother
To provide for the household
On your minimum wage
On your feet again
On your last dollar
On your back
On your knees again, begging to God you'll get that raise, that new job, that different job, that enjoyable job, that worry-free, wine tasting, bourgeois bitch, housewives reality job
To support the nest you call home of those that might or might not deserve your articulate care.

Don't apologize to me when I walk in
About how messy your house is
About how you didn't have time
About your makeup not done in three days
About the Starbucks buildup in your car
Because that's all the time you have for breakfast and you call it Me Time.
Don't apologize for a damn thing.

And Sir, baby, honey, mister mister, daddy, my cream puff, my chocolate dream, my Asian persuasion, sugar, totem pole, lemondrop, my desire, man at the liquor store, guy at the library, dude winking at his baby momma, my good morning coffee on a Sunday morning that was well deserved after a night of tiresome work,
Don't apologize to me.
Not for the wrong kind of things.

When you kiss me as we're making dinner because we've both been through hell and this is the time we can be peaceful in our own little cottage
Making ramen when we're down and
Making lobster when we're up and
You get that twinge, that hankering, that inkling, that mustering feeling, that impulse, that fire, that push, that savage, that hard on that is gonna make momma happy because you love her.
Because she loves you.
Because you show her affection
Because you shower her with devotion, and love, and commitment, and strength
Because you are her rock, her man, her companion, her Person, her one that she calls when the lady with the loan company is being a fucking twat and is trying to charge her ten dollars to make a fucking hefty payment.
You take care of your woman, your lady, your gal
To the best of your ability
No questions, only answers
To find some way to be closer to her and make it so the universe can't get in your way.

Don't apologize to me when we're laying there
And you're naked and I'm wet
And you're ready and I'm smiling
And I breathe in the ecstasy of our sexy smells
And your face says it all
That you already released.
Don't apologize to me.
Not for your body's reaction to our pleasure
Not for the quick fire because some magazine told the world
You're a novice unless it's two hours
And she's shaking
And your dick is falling off
And you both drank 2 gallons of water in the process
With scented lube all over the place
And now you have to shower off the stank
When you could have just simply made love
With your woman.
Shown your affection.
Love is deeper than sex.
Don't apologize to me. (I know I'm hot)

I see you there in the corner as well.
Don't apologize to me.
Not for the wrong kind of things.
I see you cowering, frail, beaten, stabbed, hurt, run over, run down, ran away
Into the darkness, trying to find shelter, trying to find witness, trying to find someone
Or something that can help you escape your torture.
When you space out into other worlds, grab your controller, your paint brush, your computer, your hiking stick, your running shoes and get the fuck out of here.
When you've surrounded yourself with the Wrong
And the best way to make it all right is to separate;
Make yourself right.
You can't change them, you want to, it sucks, I know, you're powerless, they're greedy, you try, try, try, your efforts so lost in translation it just looks like you love to support their bad habits.
You love supporting their abuse and take their hit
You love supporting their habit and you supply
You love, love, love this don't you?
Take it, take more, your pain and theirs
All burdens, all hatred, all bills, all drugs, all shots, all illusions, all psychotic fucking breakdowns at WalMart because she can't have a fucking coke and has to take Pepsi just one time.

Don't apologize to me for wanting nothing
To do with this world.
When you much rather read your book at home
Than get thrown back into the parties and become the DD every. Single. Time.
When you want to hide out, hide away, in your place, in your escape, on your bed,
You introvert, you
Wanting to just have peace in your world
Peace of mind, of stability, of mankind, of your neighbour, of your future,
Just sticking to yourself
Because you trust yourself.
Don't apologize to me.
Not for the wrong kind of things.

Apologize for being a shitty human being.
Apologize for choosing money over friendship.
Apologize for your children acting like fucking assholes because "oh, kids will be kids"
No, you fucktard, restrain that thing and teach it manners
Apologize for believing you can buy a $5 drink and get poon because
that says something about you as a fucking person.
Apologize for having no morals, character, decency, tact, diplomacy, grace, or willingness to pick up your own goddamn garbage from the beach you'd been partying on for a whole day.
Apologize for doing these things on purpose
With ill intent
With a blind eye
With intention of ignoring what your father fucking knows he instilled in you
In your brothers
In your sisters
In your cousins
In your friends
That you should be ashamed of yourself for blatantly being an ignorant piece of shit that no one can stand to be around anymore because of your festering, negative, black hole space that surrounds everywhere you walk.

Apologize for just being a pent up ball of frustrations that verbally menstruates all over the Chinese buffet about rights and getting the last crab ragoon but don't apologize, my dear, for being a beautiful person that shows that you tried.

Friendships Come and Go. Forever.

It has occurred to me recently that I haven't written anything in a while.  Not to say that anything interesting hasn't been happening in my life - quite the opposite. I'm so busy! But I'll take this time to tell the story of a friend who's more of a floater than I am.  I might even go as far as to call her a gypsy.

It was about kindergarten when I met her in cute little Pascagoula, Mississippi.  Long brown hair, big blue eyes, adorable smile and at the time was missing a tooth or two.  We used to play on the playground together and went to each other's birthday parties and had sleepovers.  The works.  She was my best friend. 

Of course boys always come into play and I remember our first fight.  He was a grade older than us.  Skinny as a newborn giraffe, blonde hair, blue eyes. I really liked him and told her and of course she goes off crushing. We were still kids then, about fourth grade, but you know how puppy love goes. 

This went on for what seemed like ever but I feel sure it was only a couple of weeks and finally she runs up to me before school started and hugged me, "I don't think we should fight anymore, you can have him. I want my best friend back!"

I stopped hugging her for a moment and looked at her perplexed and sorrowful at the same time, "See, you don't have to worry about that now. I'm moving this weekend. To Montana."

Her eyes got really big and her mouth opened a little, "Oh." and as the morning ritual began of all the students saying the pledge of allegiance she just stared off into space toward the ground, face expressionless.  When the students started to walk to class, I thought I should say something, "It's okay, my mom has email." She perked up a little and we went to our own classes.

After school that day she ran up and hugged me once more, telling me that she would miss me.  Her mum talked to my mum that night and exchanged emails so that we would be able to keep contact.

It lasted a little while, and I would always ask when we would be able to come back to Mississippi to visit.  Being so young, I didn't understand the concept of expensive ticket prices yet.  We fell off the face of the planet for a while but I thought of her from time to time.  Finally, the summer after 8th grade year and right before my freshman year of high school, we had a trip back to Mississippi due to my sister, eleven years my senior, getting married.  We had a few days of chill time and I asked if I could see her. I didn't have her number but my mum vaguely remembered where she lived. 

I knew it was right behind the elementary school we went to, fantasizing with her many times about running through her back yard to go hang out in her room though we never did.  My mum was weaving through the residential streets until I told her to stop. There it was in all of its glory: the blue house I loved when I was younger. 

My mum walked me up to the doorstep.  Gypsy's mum answered the door excitedly and called her daughter to the door.  Gypsy appeared out of her room, eyes glowing big and put her hands up to her mouth in surprise.  She hugged me and we went out to the backyard.  I don't recall talking about much, if at all. We just existed together as awkward teenagers.  We then went to her room and she was showing me all of her things. Pictures. Boys. Stuff on the walls. our mums came in after a while to get me and we took pictures on her bed before I left. "Y'all must have talked each other's ears off!" Her mum said, smiling at us. We just looked at each other and nodded. Something like that.

Many, many years later, college hit.  Some time in those years, I was recalling that visit.  I got curious, and with new social media, I looked up her name.  There she was.  Long, brown hippie hair, bright blue eyes, a full toothy smile, and dangly as they come.  I sent her a friend request along with a message.  I got a reply within the next day or so and it was her phone number.  I called and heard her voice that was so excited over the phone, "No wayyyyyy!"

I explained to her I went to college for a double major- art and math.  She explained to me that after high school, she sold everything in her room and packed it all up in a van and left for California.  We shared each other's adventures and promised it wouldn't be so long until the next time we spoke again.

Time happens, as it does, and things fade.  She deleted her social medias and her phone number no longer worked.  I was in the world again without my gypsy. After I graduated college, I moved back to Mississippi, having missed it so much in over a decade.  I lived with my mema again in little Pascagoula.  The first week I was there I was driving all over the town, seeing the library, the beach, the downtown. I wondered where my old church and school were.  Having not driven the area myself, I had no idea where I was going.  I didn't have GPS on my phone and no map to guide me.  Past the hospital and across the tracks.  That was all I remembered.  After an hour or so, I happened upon the church, smiling that I found at least one landmark.  Finally I called my mum and asked her.

"You're really close!" Turns out I was a right turn and a couple stop signs away.  After having found the school, I got off the phone and navigated around the back of the school.  There it was again: the blue house.  I rolled up very slowly, but didn't come to a stop.  It wasn't her house any longer.  I didn't know for sure, but I didn't know the people sitting on her porch and that unkempt yard wasn't her mother's. 

I drove back to my mema's, again without my gypsy.

Years later, after having been established in my own apartment, a friend invited me to come join her in her hotel room at the casino.  I didn't live but a ten minute drive away so I got ready and set out.  Approaching the casino I remember wanting to park in the lot across the street as I always had.  The lot I used to park in when I worked at said casino, with the thrift store across the street.  I passed the lot and for whatever reason, decided for the first time to park in the parking garage of the casino.  It wasn't a special day, many spots open but I kept driving until I reached the second floor and decided it was good enough.  I walked to the elevator and waited in the little lobby until the elevator came. 

I remember looking out the glass doors back into the parking garage.  A young woman was walking up with her beau.  Long, brown hippie hair, short and dangly as they get, and it was the skirt that caught my attention.  Satin and green and earthy and floor length.  The couple came closer, talking and smiling.  She walked into the door and I looked at her confused...."Gypsy?" I said slowly. She looked up and squinted then her eyes widened like they do, "Ginger?" Both of our mouths open now in disbelief.  "No way..." We said. And walked in for a small embrace.  From that moment on, our eyes did not break contact.  "How are you?"
"Good you?"
"Yeah. This is my boyfriend."
"Hi," I said, still neither one of us broke eye contact to look at him. We got on the elevator still staring at each other.
"I moved back."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. You don't live in the blue house anymore."
"No, my parents moved out years ago. I moved back too. In Biloxi.'
"Yeah me too."
Still staring at each other, confused looks on our faces, speaking in an airy tone.
"You know each other?" Her boyfriend said, smiling at our awe.
"Yeah," she said softly, "We were best friends in elementary school."

The elevator dings, "Well this is us," He says, and I get off with them.
"It was good seeing you." She said.
"You too."

We walked our separate ways, and every few steps we caught each other looking back at one another.

I made it up to the hotel room and told my gal there. "Well did y'all exchange numbers?" She asked.

NOOOOOOOOO!!! I looked at her sideways, "WHY DIDN'T I THINK OF THAT??" And I didn't see her again after that.


Almost a year later, I was moving out of my apartment in the ghetto and into a condo. On one of the last days there, I was pulling up to my apartment in my little beetle and screeched to a stop.  There was a gal walking across the street in front of me.  She mean mugged me and I rolled down the window as fast as I could, "GYPSY!!!" She looked harder, "GINGER!!!"

I jumped out of my car and she ran up and we hugged once more.  "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE??"
"I LIVE HERE!"
"ME TOO!"
"WHAT???"

Turns out we had been living in kitty corner apartment buildings in the same complex for a year. A whole. Damn. Year. "We have to exchange numbers this time!"
"I know! My boyfriend asked me why we didn't last time!"
We still didn't talk all that much, but she still came to my last party that I had in my condo before I was due to move to China.  She came over, drank with all of my coworkers, and it was everything I wanted the friendship to be at that time. She was due to move back to Jersey that year as well.

I never ended up moving to China, but Sacramento and soon after, Seattle instead.  Her number again wasn't the same, she still didn't have social media, and here I am again in Mississippi, without my gypsy. 

If you're out there and you still use internet from time to time, because I know you're a crazy activist and squatter, I hope you find this and read this and know I came back home. I have all the wishes of finding you again, but as time has told us, we have a habit of happening upon each other at any rate.  Even if I don't know your life now and even if you don't know mine, I still consider you my longest standing friend and I'll always see you in that position in my life. 

Nice To Meet You

Sometimes you already have a preconcieved thought about someone you haven't even met yet.  In cases like mine, you're momma to a bunch of guys while you're in college, and when one of your little babies get a girlfriend and hear all sorts of awesome about her, you get a little nervous about meeting her because your inner territorial bitch wants to haterade on her parade before y'all've even met.

This is the epic story of how I met River.

"Yeah, River is pretty chill. She's like you, down to earth, she's funny, I think you two will get along," I'd been hearing this from one of my boys for a little while now.  He was best friend to my boyfriend at the time and I always made what came to be known as Family Dinner every tuesday.  It started out with three people, four, then next thing I knew I was feeding small armies every week, each time a new face, some consistent, some just coming back because they missed their own mums' cookings back home.

River. I tried to imagine what kind of person fit that name.  I pictured her thin, emo hair like she thought she was all mysterious, thought she was all that and a bag of chips, all the guys loving her- oh yeah, I judged the fuck out of her.  Being the alpha female, I said nothing, not hinting at my insecurity that this awesome chick might take away my crew.

I was making dinner on a Tuesday like I normally did, the guys listening to their dubstep and playing video games in the living room, they noted I would finally meet her.  "Okay, that's cool," I smiled.  I'd be polite, I always was to new people.  I'd hoped we'd get along as well as everyone would say.

I made sure everything was perfect, told the boys to wash up and make sure the table was cleared.  Then we heard a knock at the door.

From the kitchen opening, all I saw was the apartment door open from the right. I heard her talking and laughing first as they gave the classical What's up, Oh Hey, Come on in. I wiped my hands off and faced my body fully toward the door, smiling so that the first thing she saw was someone welcoming.

The front door closed and her figure came into view. "River, this is Ginger," he gestured toward me and she averted her eyes to look so I could finally see her face. It was as if we were both thinking the same thing, because at the same time, we let out a sigh and smiled so big and greeted each other with a hug, "OH MY GOD, dude what's up? I've heard so much about you?" We started talking over each other like we knew each other for years.
"You're Ginger!"
"Right! Like fuck, you're River! This is great!" I laughed a bit more, relaxing.

She wasn't anything like I imagined. She really was someone like me.  Our hair was wild and untamed and whatever, our pants weren't meant to impress, and our hoodies were both probably stolen from a guy friend or our older brother.  For the love of God (and my favourite part) she was full figured like me.  I don't know why that last part is something that makes females click with each other, but us big birds of a feather must mothafuckin flock together.

The guys look confused, "Do you two know each other?"
"No. Not really. But I'm glad it's her." We both kinda answered.

"Dude, I think we met one time. Was that you at Wallyworld?" She asked me, recalling on a weird night.
"RIGHT! In the frozen section!"
We started chuckling to each other, "I knew you were awesome." I smiled then we recalled on the night.

So how we ACTUALLY met was when she was with her friend and i was with my bestie at Wallyworld.  As per usual, Queer and I were being obnoxious as to be overheard by late night shoppers.  River and her friend walked into the pizza aisle laughing and I promptly stopped conversation with Queer to greet them.

"Welcome to the-" and Queer cut me off and I swung my hear behing me to stifle him and I aknowledged our company, "Shut up!" This happened a few times in rapid fire.

"Welcome to the- Shut up!
Welcome to the wonderful world of- SHUT UP!
Welcome to the wonderful world of Wallyworld! SHUT UP!"

The gals laughed and we chopped it up a bit after that in the aisle then both parties separated to their own late night shopping.

In the kitchen as I was making the final preparations on the meal, I had to be honest with her. "Dude, I'm totally glad it's you. I had it pictured in my mind as someone else."
"Dude right!!" She responded, " I was like, who the fuck is Ginger and why the fuck is everyone talking about her? I thought you'd be a stuck up bitch."

The dinner went very well that night and ended in us exchanging numbers.  It was about a month or two before I graduated college and moved back south and we thought it was a total shame it took so long for us to meet.

Luckily, distance doesn't ruine the best of relationships, so to this day I'll have you know we still text on the regular and keep up and have many planned visits to come.  I've had a lot of fun ways of meeting people in my life, but how this friendship blossomed is by far my favourite.