Dear elementary school best friend who I sort of dropped in middle school:
Okay. Now see, we’ve known each other forever. Okay. Great. So you invite the whole James gang to your wedding. Wow. Okay. Keeping in mind that I drove almost TWO HOURS with my brother listening to froggy fresh (if you don’t know about this/I didn’t send you sound bytes go look it up. I need you to be appropriately sympathetic), you shouldn’t be surprised if disaster was lurking. After all, we go way back. You were there when I got bit by the ferret and the time I cut a huge chunk out of my hair and when I got concussed playing red rover. You know about the incident with the Vicodin when we were ten and the whole helium thing. I won’t even bring up breaking my arm on the couch or the amount of loopy the anesthesia made me. Anyway, long story short you should have been expecting some kind of disaster. So let me remind you: NONE OF THIS WAS MY FAULT (mostly).
So. First off. I get the wheezy laugh from my mom. So when there was an a capella group suddenly from nowhere singing and snapping we giggled a bit. Actually we were fairly discreet. You couldn’t even hear us over the screaming baby. And I didn’t quote Pitch Perfect at all. You’re welcome. Because it was right there.
And. And. My intent was not to get confetti all over the chapel (and the guy sitting in front of me). You gave me a handful of confetti like AN HOUR before I needed it. That was never going to end well.
But that wasn’t so bad. I was expecting more disaster. Oh wait. The reception. In which you ASKED ME TO SERVE DRINKS. Now we both know that wasn’t the best decision (also we haven’t talked in like six years and I’m semi in your wedding? Hokay). AND the punch was SO BLUE. Now obviously blue dye stains. I know it was your colors, but either have clear punch or have someone else serve it. (anyway. That girl was wearing an all white dress to a WEDDING. That’s weird and we both know it. She deserved it, probably.) As an aside I am sorry that the man I joked about spiking the punch to was your teetotaling uncle. He started it. And he probably knows you aren’t a drunken heathen like “that Baptist Baylor girl”.
Oh. And about setting the table on fire and also making bead animals out of the table runner. Um…sorry. That’s my bad. I don’t do bored well. But nothing bad happened, and we put it right out. So…no hard feelings?
It was a lovely wedding, really. You looked so happy, and I was happy for you. I even hugged you (I even hugged your mom). Seeing high school friends was something. AND I stopped my brother from throwing the beads at people he doesn’t like. I mean, you’re welcome. Basically saved your wedding.
Oh. And. I’msorryiaskedyoursisterifshewaspregnantwhenshewasn’t. I have that problem more often than I’m proud of.
How all conversations with high school friends go: (my thoughts in italics)
F: JJ! HI!
*I don’t respond*
F: OMG do people at Baylor call you that? HAHA.
Only the really obnoxious ones. Also who are you? Dangit. Facial recognition.
Me: Ha ha. Not really no. omigosh HI! How have you been?
F: You look SO DIFFERENT WITH BANGS.
M: yep. I’m like Clark Kent.
Was hoping you wouldn’t recognize me. Also WHO ARE YOU?
F: so what are you doing back in Oklahoma?
Presenting my body as a living sacrifice. Looking for a ram in the bushes. Slowly decomposing.
M: I’m in PT school, what are you up to?
F: Oh, I’m _________. PT school, wow. So what did you study at Baylor?
Physical therapy things? Come on.
F: are you still so smart?
No. Case in point: I still don’t know who you are.
M: No. What did you study?
So not helpful.
F: We should catch up sometime now that you’re in the city!
M: yes! Great! But I lost all my numbers so you’ll have to text me your name.
Small victories. Oh look, open flames to play with.
if you’re aware of any medications that would help me be less of a disaster, please let me know.