Friendship Spotlight, pt. 2

Yes, the novel of a Julie tribute continues.

On the subject of choir, some of the highlights revolved around our annual class field trips to Southern California. The most brilliant part of it all is that we didn’t even have to manipulate and/or bribe the teachers; somehow, we worked the system without even trying. Examples of this included getting our own hotel rooms (the other girls all crammed in four to a room… amateurs) and having Marti be our chaperone (should it could as any surprise that my family was present at each and every school-related function? Didn’t think so). It’s a good thing Marti gave up on taming me at the age of 14 months when I refused to wear anything other than a purple tutu because that allowed me and dear ol’ Jules to roam free. And by that, I mean ditching all scheduled activities and scouring the vicinity for booze.

Needless to say, it only took about an hour tops for our sixteen-year-old minor selves to track down some pawn for our scheme. But hey, in my defense, Jordan From The Pet Store (as we know him) was the one who initiated everything and insisted I give him my number – because being about seven years his junior seemed to be yet another pointless detail. To give you an idea of how that first night in San Diego went – while I’m sure our classmates were sound asleep in their hotel rooms obeying curfew as they should – Julie and I still remember one of the texts he sent me:

“I see how it is, you’re just using me…. But yes, I can get you alcohol.”

And the rest, as they say, is history. Luckily, we’re fortunate enough to have photo documentation of the following morning before our statewide choir competition; which, as we later discovered, was the whole point of the trip in the first place. Who knew?

Not sure I can sum up our joke of a friendship any better than that. So here’s to you, Juj, and all of the memories we shared, including:

• When we thought it would be a good idea to sing a duet for choir’s Coconut Club and you got tangled in the cords on stage. Classic.
• Trespassing through that one freaky cult house at midnight and almost dying due to a horse stampede (seriously, where did those horses come from?)
• Starting a Coachella campsite party train with all of the foreigners
• Letting me tell the story of how you asked my (much younger) brother to Homecoming during my Youth and Government weekly invocation. See previous entry’s family portrait.
• That time I had a freestyle rap off with everyone’s favorite Berkeley delegate, B-Farb (for the record, I won that battle… my drive-bys in Serrano line gets them every time) while you beatboxed… or at least tried to
• You being there for me all those times my silver fox-loving self was discouraged during school dances (“Where are all the 30-year-olds at?”)… by pulling mini hotel shampoo bottles filled with Smirnoff out of your bra. Creativity gets you far in life, kids.
• Getting singled out at a taping of “The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson” and being asked to sit front row, commonly referred to as lesbian row
• Ditching anything and everything choir-related: even our charity carwash, when we bounced out early to hang with Helen, the owner of the local French cafe (obviously she and I are super close), and helped her bake pastries

And, of course, the infamous last night we were together in the good ole US on New Years. In summary: we (unsurprisingly) got the address wrong to a secret party and ended up at a quinceanera down the street. It took us a few minutes to realize we were surrounded by swarms of Mexican children – Mexican children who were mean mugging us hard because our friend was obviously on the verge of puking all over their Dora the Explorer piñata. But eventually, we found the party in an enormous barn; we knew it was the right location due to the hundreds of inebriated college students and sorority girls dancing half-naked on tables. Our friend then threw up into the kitchen sink. Other events of the night included some kid getting kicked off of the balcony, our friend puking another good 10 times into miscellaneous objects around the house while this rando talked to me about astrology (I’m a textbook Leo, if you’re wondering), meth head cab drivers, and strangers giving us a ride home because said meth head cab driver wouldn’t pick us back up. Good times!

And because I enjoy nothing more than embarrassing J, here’s a video from a few summers ago featuring The Trio (me, Julie, and Geneve, of course). I suggest you skip ahead a couple minutes to make it to the feature presentation aka Julie singing at Folsom’s one and only open mike night. In conclusion, Julie, I’ll always appreciate your talent for making preteens on Yahoo Answers cry, your guarantee to get Asian glow within the first thirty seconds of drinking (it’s a gift; embrace it), and the fact that you’re by far the sexiest vegetarian I know. You’re also still friends with me despite the fact that I probably have way too much in common with Schmidt from “New Girl,” so props for that.

This entry also wouldn’t be complete without a shout out to the final member of our trio, so here’s to our little French-Canadian bundle of joy, Geneve! Her hobbies include dominating the Santa Barbara soccer team (or football as I now call it), watching the most ridiculous TV shows known to man (what on earth is “Ghost Hunters”?), wearing Cookie Monster slippers, eating cookies, working at a cookie shop, and trying to talk me and Julie out of vandalizing school property. My hobbies include peer pressuring Geneve into taking vodka shots out of my Ambien prescription bottles. Can’t wait for our reunion!