...That's What She Said

I've often read about various types of people performing cleansing rituals on themselves. Just recently, I watched an episode of The Riches where Wayne and Dahlia jumped into cold water to "wash away their sins". While jumping into a pool fully clothed can be fun, I prefer reattaching new memories to things that could have once been negative reminders. For instance, I once always related this one song by the Wallflowers to a negative memory of my very first boyfriend in high school. Several years later, a good friend sang the words loudly to me during a road trip when it came on the radio. Now, when I occasionally hear that song pop up on my iPod, I immediately think of my friend pointing to my brightly dyed red hair and singing at the top of his lungs. It makes me smile.

This past Memorial Day weekend was several weeks late for being the one year anniversary of Melissa and I first meeting in person. We'd known of each other through a mutual "friend", but our first actual conversation had been when she'd given me directions to a bar in downtown Ft. Lauderdale over the phone... the very same bar I'd find myself in later that night. Early Saturday afternoon, I enjoyed a perfectly sunny day... with just enough cloud cover to make it perfect for speeding down the highway. Upon meeting with Mel and her sisters, our first stop was the Greek Opa restaurant where the food never stops and people with agoraphobia or misophobia shouldn't go. Servers and patrons alike randomly jumped up on the tables and began to dance during the meal... and yes, I joined in, careful not to kick my wine glass onto the floor. It may have been the most entertaining dining experience I'd ever had. Additionally, the food was top notch. Next, we drove over to Melissa's friend's condo, signed our names in the guest book as "Crystal Chandelier" and "Penelope Montoya", shared a beer and then carpooled downtown. Shortly thereafter, we walked through the doors of Sidebar... where Melissa and I had met over a year ago under much different circumstances. At first, I didn't want to be there. I looked at the table where a completely different group of people had sat and found myself remembering a time of uncertainty and confusion. Despite my lack of enthusiasm for the drinks, the music and the place, I later found myself on the dance floor, running into someone I knew from high school. She had been my co-editor-in-chief of the yearbook staff and she had just graduated law school with Melissa. We marveled over what a small world it was, shook our booties on the dance floor and then Melissa and I decided to head back down to South Beach to tend to my mother's dog. One year ago, I would have never dreamed that Mel and I would become close friends, that we would hang out with one another's families or that she'd volunteer to housesit for my mother who was away on vacation. Father Time, he's one funny guy.

Anyway, the drive back to SoBe was an adventure to say the least. We'd been on I-95 for about a minute when I realized that the Sandman had gotten a hold of my passenger. Apparently, my driving is very soothing and induces sleep (hah!). As we sailed up the separate car pool lane ramp, I thought of a sketch comedy video done by our friend Matt out in California about some people who found a corpse and were coming up with useful reasons to keep it around. My favorite of those reasons was use of the carpool lane. Even though it was after hours, I giggled as Corpse-Melissa and I sped past everyone in the far left lane. It wasn't until we hit bumper to bumper traffic after exiting the turnpike that she showed signs of life in the form of snortling. I was highly amused when a SUV full of hip hop aficionados, complete with several DVD screens blasting noise from a rap video through the windows, pulled up to check us out. Since we weren't moving, they had plenty of time to point and stare at the slack jawed, Corpse-Melissa. It would have been better if she'd drooled on her shoulder a little bit... or maybe on the window... but you can't have everything. Aside from those minutes of amusement, I'd reached the conclusion that I officially did not like Hip Hop Weekend. Two hours later at 3:30 A.M., we reached my mom's place... and about 20 minutes after that, we found parking.

The next day we walked the dog, scarfed down some free food at her parent's BBQ and then headed south again. On the road, we passed the brightest, hottest pink Cadillac that has ever rolled this Earth. The 24" hot pink rims had the hooptie towering above the other cars. On the back window in huge bright white lettering (circling a question mark) was the phrase, "Who's Broke... Not Me." As we read the words aloud, we laughed with delight. Melissa said it best, "And just like that, Hip Hop Weekend went from sucking to completely awesome." Soon after, we hit Lincoln Road for some window shopping, wine drinking and people watching. It was the good kind of people watching. Unlike when I was younger, there was a whole lot less of "OMG, look how dorky/ugly/frumpy that person is" and more of "Wow, I really like her shoes." We (of course) talked about the past and how happy we were to have crossed paths and become friends. We also pointed out the changes in one another since we'd first met. It was agreed that broken hearts via lies and deception had formed our thinking for the more recent choices we'd made. We are both happy in our present lives. It's a stark contrast to the women we were just 12 months earlier... bitter and left feeling betrayed by men who colaborated behind our backs. We also talked a lot about shoes... and "food baby," which is a true Mel original that cannot be described with mere words... trust me on that one.

On our last day of girly hang out time, we re-stamped over one last negative memory... and shared mimosas and breakfast at The News Cafe on Ocean Drive. The dog, Gus, accompanied us and was given his own menu, though he neglected to read it. Perhaps it was hard for him to see through his rather scratched up sunglasses. I know what some of you are thinking, and let me just stray from the story for a moment and clear that up. I do not believe in dressing up dogs and I think it's silly. However, Gus seems to like the extra attention he gets and after all... it is rather bright down there in the summer. Moving on, breakfast was spectacular, the weather was stellar and the table didn't smell as if it had been cleaned with sewer water, as it once did on a previous (and much less spectacular) visit with boys whose names shall not be mentioned. To top off our weekend, we both shared in one more memory that I'm sure will haunt every Memorial Day that follows. We paid our bill and decided to stroll along the beach to let Gus stretch his little Daschund legs before heading home. An additional bonus of a dog wearing sunglasses is that even the biggest, toughest guys that passed on the sidewalk cracked a smile though you could tell they tried not to. We made a few people's morning, I'm sure. There is a large grassy park between Ocean Drive and the beach. On this day, the green lawn was covered in white cardboard tombstones, each displaying a lost soldier's name in permanent marker. A few passers-by stopped and admired the tribute. Gus, the little Nazi dog that he is, showed his disrespect for the men lost at war by lifting his leg and peeing on one. Laughing out of embarrassment and pure horror, we frantically grabbed the wiener dog and ran away, hoping that no one had noticed. This is the stuff that inside jokes between friends are made of. Despite that minor indiscretion at the end, this Memorial Day weekend shall remain engraved in my mind as a marker in what I hope to be a lifelong friendship. Finding a friend that you are completely comfortable to share, grow and change with ... and even more impressive, finding one who will take care of your mother's evil German dog... that is a rare gift in life. I cannot think of any more memories that need replacing, so I'm looking forward to all the shiny new ones that have yet to come in this friendship as well as my life in general.