Friday, May 28, 2010

Ode to Beans

My friend Beans and I have a long history together. While some of my friends bring out the slutty in me, Beans brings out my weird. This goes back ages, from my most embarrassing moment ever in middle school all the way to last year when we taste tested all of the hot sauces in her cabinet, running a infomercial-style commentary the entire time. We followed that performance by dressing up as a drag wizard and a slutty jester and leaping down her residential slippers. Then we went back inside and jumped on the bed. I should reiterate that we were 22 when we did this. Real weird stuff. Anyway, I have a couple of stories occurring in high school that really highlight our joint awkwardness and ridiculousness.

Beans and I, a car-less duo at the time, used to hitch a ride with my friend Creamy to our high school swim practice. One day, we hadn't been able to get hold of Creamy to solidify our ride plans during the school day but we knew that she would have to stop by her house after school to get her stuff. We walked right over since she lived across the street from the high school (or as real Upstaters say, "acrosst"), assuming she would already be there. We knocked, but no one answered so we let ourselves in (it was a small town!). Together, Beans and I scoured the house for signs of life, only to find we were alone. We decided that since Creamy HAD to come home to get her practice gear, we would hide in her closet and leap out to scare her when she came in. While we were waiting in the closet, giggling uncontrollably at our hilariousness, we heard her parents come home. We were unfazed by this unexpected, premature, parental return until we heard Creamy come in, grab her bag that was just inside the front door (letting her skip the trip up to her room), shout goodbye to her makers and leave.


We sat awkwardly in the dark, denying what we had just heard. "No, she HAS to come back." "She always comes upstairs!" Countless minutes passed until we first accepted that she was gone, then acknowledged we had no way to the practice that was about to start and, finally, realized that we were going to have to somehow escape without her parents noticing that we had broken into their house about an hour earlier.

Creamy's house was set up in modified open-ranch style so unless her parents left the kitchen where they had stationed themselves, we were royally screwed. There was a fire escape from Creamy's bedroom into her garage, a route I advocated, but Beans pointed out that landing on their brand new Mustang might be worse. Again, countless minutes passed until we worked up the courage to go down the stairs and face our fate.

We attempted to sprint past the kitchen unnoticed but her mom spotted us. We tittered for a moment until we started babbling our awkward story of B&E and closeting. She looked unamused but offered us a ride, probably not knowing what else to say to a couple of pathetic simpletons. Filled with guilt and shame, we declined and begin the .9 mile trek to our middle school pool. Not a bad walk except that we lived in REAL Upstate New York (not Westchester which is where those New York City fucks think the state ends) and it was November, when the average temperature is 37 degrees Fahrenheit. We got our frozen asses to practice 45 minutes late where we told our story again and the whole team gathered to laugh at us in slow motion, to further humiliate us.

Ugh the other story will have to wait until the future because I'm typing this on my Blackberry Storm and I'm tired. Anyone who has this POS phone will understand how impressive this amount is for my lazy, ethnic behind and will forgive me, Jesus style.

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

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