So, occasionally, when I’m walking down a street that smells like urine, or on a bus that smells like urine, or standing in line behind someone who smells like urine, I try to nurture whatever zen I have left that hasn’t been completely obliterated from years of tupperware-stored rage by imaging myself in my own life movie. A movie where I am a power-hungry collection development librarian who’s successfully using her position at the forefront of mass literacy to quietly and mercilessly eviscerate the 50 Shades of Greys, Twilights, and One-Eyed Dukes Are Wilds (yes, my friends, that is a real book) of the world. A movie where Jeffrey Eugenides, Jennifer Egan, and I frequent a local pub crawling with the literati to reminisce about our first National Book Award. A movie where my first sighting as a warlord is standing in a remote jungle in the Philippines next to a vast and ominous, dark red puddle – soundtracked, of course, by Okkervil River’s “Piratess” (because how perfect are the lyrics, “Oh, murderess in the wilderness with your victims all around you / Their combined love forms a pool your knife’s reflected in”?).
Ah, yes – the soundtrack. Now we’ve come to it. (“It?” you ask. Yes, it – the point of that elaborate first paragraph; the point, in fact, of this entire post! HUZZAH! WE ARE HERE!) It goes without saying that any movie, real or imagined, starring yours truly is going to have a soundtrack developed by none other than this music elitist herself. And it also goes without saying that no movie of my life would be complete without my better-looking half. So, humor me, friends – a movie with me and Boo, would probably go a little something like this:
1. Food me!
Anyone who knows us knows that Boo and I take our dining very, very seriously. The love there may not compare to the love we have for each other, but believe me, it is in the top 3 of our greatest loves of all time. It knows no bounds, no caloric limits, no fears of diabetes or elderly obesity. It has, and will continue to, conquer all. And with a love so passionate and pure, there is no song to celebrate that moment when you and food first lock eyes than this Marvin Gaye classic.
Now, to be clear, I think T and I are absolutely the stuff of legends – and legends, obviously, are inimitable bamfs (no one scarfs down corn dogs quite like us, and Sonny and Cher don’t even come remotely close to our singing duo chemistry [though, admittedly, most of the time we’re singing gloriously off-key to a song we’ve made up ourselves about how we’re eating corn dogs]). But every now and then – like whenever T and I encounter a mustachioed douche lord under the quixotic delusion that he’s a writer (and who believes that all the calling really entails is modelling himself after David Foster Wallace and leaning against things) and share knowing glances in which we contemplate the merits of a myriad of violent ways to crush the fucker back to his sad, sordid, and laughably hopeless reality – I can’t help but compare us to another pair of legendary boos: Daria and Jane.
1. We generally don’t like humans.
After years of being looked at funny for shouting, “FUCKIN ROHIRRIM!!” while barreling out the school doors, receiving pathetically vacant looks in response to clever and appropriately timed puns or pop culture references, and having people assume we’re toting frivolous magazines in our purses instead of magnificent, literary, canonical fuckin tomes, T and I have learned that the best way to safeguard ourselves from disappointment – and safeguard the world from our blind rage – is to assume that everyone we meet is part of the lowest common denominator of the human race. The group who actually asks if Anne Frank has written anything else. The group who thinks Tolkien wrote a new book called Beowulf. The group who sees a clearly titled youtube video of Jimi Hendrix performing the Star Spangled Banner at Woodstock and thinks they’re watching Bob Marley. That group.
As boo-mates, T and I share a love of an infinite number of things. We love songs in which men wail mournfully about losing their one true love; we love getting four orders of imperial rolls to take home and share from our favorite Vietnamese restaurant even though leaving them somewhere in the backseat of her car for even a few minutes makes the whole vehicle smell like fart; we love when our enemies falter gloriously and helplessly before us, as if they fell apart on their own specifically because they knew they should. Mostly though, T and I share a boundless, limitless love for meatloaf (the food, not the guy….though, we’re fond of him too, don’t get us wrong).
It is the kind of love that has us seeking it in pretty much every restaurant we eat in. It is the kind of love that has caused T to stalk it to no end at one particular hofbrau (it’s so fucking amazing and so popular there that they consistently run out of it pretty much every time she’s there [which, by the way, is something that’s kind of baffling to me; HOW DO YOU RUN OUT OF MEAT?]). It’s also the kind of love that prompted her to text me, “GUESS WHO’S GETTING MEATLOAF TOMORROW?!” one random afternoon a few weeks ago and commit one of the most beautiful acts of boo-ship in the history of our friendship: the Meatloaf Delivery
Or, as she later proclaimed, “DING-DONG, IT’S MEATLOAF!” Continue reading
We here at Lady Bromance are full of dreams. Most of the time, these dreams are about chicken tenders, or T’s burning, unquenchable thirst to kill Nazis (or, in Jayne’s case, they’re truly terrifying nightmares of the “what the fuck?” variety in which she’s married to Fred Durst [which, incidentally, results in her coming up with some pretty hilarious one-liners, the best of which is, “I don’t wanna go anywhere near that limp bizkit!”]), but occasionally we rise above our need for unspeakably violent revenge (and unspeakably greasy food) and find ourselves having actual grown-up goals. We know, it surprises us too. And so, in the spirit of sharing, here are our resolutions for 2015! And, as you can see, we’ve checked off quite a few already. We’re pretty productive like that.