There comes a point in every lady bromance where you both slowly come to the sinking realization that you would kind of, sort of follow this person to the ends of the damn earth and shit (even if you both just happen to get there completely by accident), packing two sandwiches each for you both along with gallons of water and three boxes of frozen corn dogs (just in case), and soundtracking the romantic moment with Death Cab for Cutie’s “I Will Follow You Into the Dark” (“Youuu and meeee, have seen everything to seeee, from Bangkok to Calgarrryyy…!”). And lemme tell ya, that is a beautiful thing.
Over the years, I’ve come to trust T with just about everything – keeping my secrets, planning my birthday, being my executioner when I become a warlord (what? did someone hear that?). I trust her with the big things and the little things, the important and the mundane. Continue reading →
Here’s something that might surprise you all: T and I haven’t actually reunited yet.
Oh, to be sure, we’ve been texting each other non-stop since she landed on American soil; texts like, “What the hell kind of useless shit is that? Stupid doctors!” and, “I’m bringing ALL the clothes!” and, “I’M BRINGING A GIANT BAG OF HOT CHEETOS!” We have resumed spamming each other’s Facebook walls with songs of interest and a photo of a bandana-ed Johnny Cash eating cake in the bushes like a malnourished gnome. But our face-to-face reunion? We’re saving that glorious, “run into each other’s arms like separated lovers who have survived a great war” moment for this Friday, when we hit the road for Writing Retreat 2014.
I know – we’re so romantic.
And with three days to go before T and I “get the motor running [and] head out on the highway,” our much-anticipated reunion is just one of the many things on a long-running list of what I’m looking forward to during this year’s two weeks in The Wild. Things like:
Hour-long morning walks
During which we (not so) accidentally trespass on private property, rouse all the neighborhood dogs with our City Girl scent, and shop for our future homes where we’ll spend the blue-haired days of our retirement sitting on each other’s porch swings and scaring children away from our lawns with our pet snakes.
If you couldn’t tell, Jayne and I are really freaking excited about Cottage Week. So much so that we’ve already begun packing, a solid 5 days before the big day. And while piles of clothes and summer dresses are going to take up most of the space in our luggage, a huge portion of space will be devoted to entertainment. Here’s what we pack to keep the good times rolling (in no particular order).
The top priority are the most bromantic movies that accurately express how we feel about each other (Superbad, Bill and Ted, I Love You, Man). We’ll be booping each other on the nose before the week is through.
Next, a whole slew of bitchin’ ’80s films like Back to the Future and Risky Business to remind us of the important things in life–like friendship, hijinks, and the importance of excellent accessories.
Finally, we always bring a bunch of really badass movies like Reservoir Dogs and The Boondock Saints because sometimes you need to get pumped up watching them to remember that you’re both a lover and a fighter.
Our assortments of books differ, so I can’t speak in detail about what Jayne packs. What I can say is that we both bring a variety of books to read for pleasure.
But besides the books we’re going to be reading for the hell of it, which usually include everything from classic literature to YA, we also bring a whole bunch of books for reference. For example, I always bring a book of Neruda’s poems (there’s the lover in me) because this is, after all, a writing retreat and sometimes I need to reference a poem or just check it out for inspiration. And that becomes a whole big second stack of books.
“Oh, but Tatiana, why don’t you just Google it?”
“Because I’m not a fucking philistine and I prefer the feel of a real book, even if it means an extra couple of pounds in my luggage.” Continue reading…
Truth: An almost unthinkable majority of the defining moments in my lady bromance with T, all happened in one particular dive bar.
It’s the dive bar where we first realized, kind of accidentally, that we could’ve saved ourselves a whole lot of trouble if we’d gotten to know each other sooner. It’s where we first downed chocolate cake shots (every bit as delicious as it sounds), where we first devised the genius (that’s right – GENIUS. I went there) concept for our Young Adult novel, and where two years later, with the novel all done, we landed on the perfect title (again, accidentally) and repeatedly high-fived like two testosteroney buffoons. (It is not, however, the bar where I successfully guzzled a Vodka Minefield – undoubtedly the coolest, most bad-ass moment of them all – but whatever, no big, I’mma let it go.)
It is also where, upon discovering our natural ability for Jukebox hogging, we’ve perfected the art of the Dive Bar Sing-a-long.