My Favorite Pinksweater

Vanessa frantically texted me on Saturday morning.  She was about to get on a flight to visit her new born nephew in Iowa, but it looked as if she would have to flap her arms to get the plane off the ground.  "I'm sitting in the front row, back row, cockpit and bathroom all at the same time," she wrote when she mustered up the courage to get on board.  I imagined it was one of those small planes that television leads you to believe are always filled with chickens, goats and a smelly Greek-speaking farmer or two.  A few moments later, she let me know the plane was crowded, but with slightly different company.  The University of Iowa was doing a production of Saturday Night Fever and the props had to be hand delivered. Vanessa was surrounded by disco balls and bell bottoms.

The two years that Vanessa has lived in the city can be most accurately described as a shit storm.  She has thrown some epic dinner parties, which usually end with her floors being covered in beer, scrabble letters, hot wax, and the occasional open flame; she has accidentally gotten us into SNL cast parties; hosted impromptu tours through the abandoned buildings of Williamsburg; and taken me and her boyfriend lesbian speed-dating.

The stories that have come out of spending time with Vanessa are absurd to the point of being offensive. They are often so unbelievable that my roommates have come to the conclusion that my friendship with Vanessa is an elaborate lie to hide my secret double life.  To my roommates "going to hang out with Vanessa" is my way of saying "I'm going to have sex with hooker donkeys.  But I'm too ashamed to tell you the truth."

I'll admit that I embellish some facts, rearrange some events to make a story sound more over-the-top than it really was.  I suppose it stems out of a deep rooted fear of boring people and constant demands from friends and family to "be funny." But rarely do I ever flat out lie.  Besides, what makes a more entertaining story than sex with hooker donkeys?  I wouldn't be able to keep that to myself any more than the plethora of std's they would give me.

Unfortunately, Vanessa won't be taking a flight back to the city anytime soon. After some quality time with the baby, she's taking the shit storm on an international road show.  My weekends will certainly lose an element of ridiculousness.  Who knows - I may find plenty of my own shenanigans to get into, but regardless of whether my weekends will need embellishing or not, I'm going to miss her.