Remember...

Do you remember, years ago, how you flew across country because I confessed that I had been lying on the floor for two weeks listening to Lenny Kravitz and Sarah McLachlan and nursing a broken heart? You came, not only to rescue me from deeply depressing music, but to remind me that there were other important things to do in life, such as washing one's hair and standing upright. You dragged me out to North Beach that night, to a bar full of dumb, pretty boys, and demanded that I slap at least three of them on the ass before we returned home.

And I did, because you're bossier than I am. I remember that I dated one of them for about two weeks, which was all I could handle since his conversational skills didn't deviate from baseball stats, and I despise baseball. But he was so, SO pretty and a good kisser, so it was not all a waste. What was his name?

I felt better and started listening to music like Blink 182 and Stroke 9 and giving come hither looks to boys I only intended to toy with. You left after a week, my stomach hurt from the constant laughter and I didn't listen to Lenny Kravitz or Sarah McLachlan for more than two years because you had hidden my CD's so well.

I feel sorry for people who do not have someone like you as a friend.