Thursday, July 20, 2006

Michelle's at home, the cat's are purring...

I am putting out an APB on my roommate, Vanessa. Unbelievably, we live in the same apartment, work three blocks from each other, and I have not seen her in... possibly three weeks. And though some nights it's wonderful to have my own place, it is just no fun watching That's So Raven or Full House without her.

When I moved back to NYC, nearly two years ago, Vanessa was my lifeline. She kindly took me into her one-bedroom apartment in Queens and put up with a million boxes piled in the living room for weeks. When our remodeled two-bedroom apartment was finally finished, the mighty Van moved us upstairs by herself (I had to be in West Chester, cheering for my mama at her college graduation). When I had to be in Philly for Koos's wedding day shortly thereafter, she hung the curtains in my bedroom for me, as she knew there was little chance I would ever get around to it.

Blissfully happy in our new digs, we indulged ourselves with far too many happy hours at bars throughout Manhattan. When it was time to go home, we'd often take the train, sharing Van's Ipod, singing along to Beyonce or Christina. We went on countless bad dates. We dissected them over Pinot in the living room. We took spontaneous trips to Miami and Puerto Rico. We turned 25. On my 25th, she treated me to tapas and sangria and consoled me through my quarter-life crisis. On hers, we drank atomic margaritas and wore Vanessa nameplate necklaces. (Again, sorry about having to be sent home in a cab that night at 8 PM, V. Those damn margaritas!) We nursed hangovers together. We ordered food from the diner across the street and had it delivered. We drank martinis at home and watched horrific romantic comedies. We quoted The Family Guy incessantly. We smoked cartons of cigarettes in our apartment (we have both since kicked the habit). We went for mani/pedis at Athena's on Sunday mornings. We saw Wedding Crashers and nearly died laughing. We cheered each other up when bad guys left hurt feelings. We watched Will Ferrell and sang about Fred's slacks. I sported a "More Cowbell" tee. Man, they were great times.

My darling Vanessa and I can sing all the words to Jesse and the Rippers, "Forever." We can hold whole conversations using Zoolander quotes. Things are certainly different than they were all those months ago... of course, we're both happy now and that's fantastic! But if anyone can understand why "Michelle's Smiling" is a damn good song, it's Van. She'll also remember that Uncle Jesse sang that song to one depressed toddler, who missed her old pal Howie. Come home soon, Van! Lest I will make you a tape of me blowing kisses and waving to you, saying, "Hi Vanessa," and send it straight to Hoboken. Never question Bruce Dickinson.

1 comment:

King of Pop said...

He puts his pants on one leg at a time...it's just then he goes out and makes gold records.