Today, I sent Jayne this bromantic photo session of a groom and his best man and we agreed that this is obviously something our relationship needs, what with the meatloaf deliveries and the slumber parties. (Don’t worry, faithful Lady Bromancers, whenever that happens, we will definitely post the photos here first).
But this also got me thinking about where our lady bromance fits into the romances in our lives. I mean, obviously, our love is hard to compete with.
We know it’s intimidating, especially when our reputation precedes us.
I won’t lie to you guys. Even if I was a remotely decent liar (which I’m not [there goes my future as an international spy]), I still wouldn’t lie to you, because you’re reading what I’m writing (even though I take fucking forever to get to my actual fucking point [like now] and every other sentence in my posts are hilarious parentheticals [also like now]) and, brother, I respect that (insert fist-bump from me to you here). So here’s the deal:
I completely forgot till just now (11:45 PM on Monday, December 7th) that it was my day to post.
I was all triumphant and proud of myself for managing to brush my teeth, wash my face, go through my tedious face moisturizing process, and be in bed a mere 20 minutes after getting home from work that it, of course, only occurred to me that I was definitely fucking forgetting something just as my feet had found the perfect nook of warmth under my two comforters (winter is here, dudes!). My toes have never been so depressed in their entire lives (this includes the period of my youth when I wore Jelly sandals, so you know shit just got real).
So now, I’m this rude asshole in a panic because I have no idea what in the flying rat’s hemorrhoid to write about. One would think I would have an arsenal of partially written drafts set up in the Lady Bromance vault for exactly this purpose. One would think. But that would be assuming that I was actually paying attention in the years I spent as a half-assed girl scout instead of spending the meetings plotting a really elaborate and dramatic escape from all the estrogen.
It should come as no surprise to anyone who has ever read anything we write that Jayne and I fantasize about small town life together.
Every summer we run off for two weeks of blissful cottage living where we make breakfast, write all day, and frighten the locals with our big city ways. We have adopted this one particular town as our own and we fancy it’s the perfect mix of Hill Valley and our favorite place: Star’s Hollow (ok, maybe second only to Hogwarts).
We definitely entertain Stars Hollow fantasies regularly. It’s always the dream escape on those days when living in San Francisco seems to get too expensive or too crowded or too full of human feces on the ground.
We love Gilmore Girls so much, we watched and rewatched it repeatedly, and we’ve planned out our own Gilmore Girls fantasy life.
I mean, we’ve even got the roles down. I don’t just mean who’s Sookie and who’s Lorelai (cause that’s interchangeable [and we’re also sometimes Paris and Rory, but more on that later)–we got the supporting cast too. We got all the locations down, we have our Luke’s diner (though admittedly nothing will ever be quite the same as Luke’s).
We’ve taken to trying to out-Sookie each other by preparing elaborate, adorable breakfasts for one another whenever we’re together. My coffee addiction may not be quite at Lorelai levels, but I’m working on it. We constantly daydream about all the amazing businesses we wanna start together and I think we both know it’s going to happen at some point because we’re just the right kind of weird together.
And of course, if we can’t watch together, we live-tweet (live-text?) during GG viewings. Continue reading →
T and I love this time of year. For the awesome winter clothes (EVERYONE LOOKS ADORABLE IN PEACOATS IN PARKAS!), the presents (FUCK YEAH FREE STUFF!), and the whole higher purpose of generosity and good will towards your fellow man, of course (GO, FELLOW MAN!). But mostly, we love it because it’s six weeks worth of excuses to get gloriously, euphorically fat. (The kind of fat that T and I probably would’ve gotten if we’d been roommates in college and were abetting each other’s vices and addictions 24/7 with zero fucks given to self-control.)
The opening bell for impending Fatdom sounded last week with Thanksgiving and its Booverse counterpart: Friendsgiving. (I sort of resent that “friendsgiving” has suddenly become this super popular social media phrase, because I’m pretty sure T and I were totally the ones who coined it a few years ago; but whatever, feed off our genius world! I guess….)
Now, in the past, T and I have had glorious home-cooked feasts on this most sacred of Boo holidays (Boo-lidays!). There’s been tri-tip, scalloped potatoes, Filipino egg rolls courtesy of my mom, and even summer salads and swiss chard (obligatory green things so that we may better fool ourselves into thinking we’re just hitting all the points on the food pyramid). This year, though, our crazy-ass schedules forced us to restrategize and get somewhat creative – and we opted for Friendsgiving brunch instead! Continue reading →