Bio

From across the freshman drama room we locked eyes.  You could call it love at first sight.  Both of us in different stages of awkward.  One in black lipstick, Marilyn Manson staring offensively off a t-shirt.  Dreadlocks spiking through the air like a golden crown.  The other with bad posture and even worse teeth.  Tall and ungainly, trying her best to blend in to the bland, hospital style paint behind her.  We were meant for each other.  Pretending we weren’t afraid while simultaneously trying to piss off our parents.  Perfect contradictions.  From that first joint, on the porch outside the apartment or that first swig of moonshine, in a mason jar swiped out of the cupboard. To beheading a rooster at, respectively, 28 and 29 years old.

For 15 years, helping each other along the way although, selfishly, I think I  got more from it. Through our first concert (warped tour 98). When you had to cut off your hair to go, and I counseled you on the phone.  Which was attached to  a wall and miles of wire stretched between us. Until now, where instead of miles of wire, we have timezones.  We have this thing called the internet which I have no clue how to navigate, but you seem very adept at.

I can feel myself talking too much and you know how much I hate that so I’m gonna shut the fuck up now. If anyone wants to know what makes us such good friends and they have five years to sit down and fuckin listen to all of it, they can email me.

Basically I think Paula Abdul said it best (you know what I mean).  Which only illustrates my point.