I really, honestly grappled whether I should pick him for this category as I started thinking my friend D is a fairly appropriate choice. She and I have done stuff over the years so far beyond the level of ‘screwed up’, that it’s probably illegal in some states.
Actually, okay, it’s probably only legal in some states.
Now get your mind out of the gutter, that’s not what I mean.
But I also can’t really tell you what I mean. If I talk about all the occasions when we did all we did, I’d potentially get her fired. Ah the beauty of the internet, it’s a breeding ground for lies and deceptions so as to elude the boss’ roving eye. And really, what the hell is your boss doing online anyway? Shouldn’t he/she be working too? Yeah, that’s what I thought. But I digress…
As far back as I can remember Matt and I have been doing all kinds of effed up stuff together. And I guess every person is really going to have a wildly different definition of what constitutes doing screwed up stuff. For me its all about randomness, acting like dorks, getting into trouble without being in trouble, leaping without looking kind of stuff, taking chances and all around just doing what feels right at the time even if it isn’t what society would deem the smartest or most adult thing to do. And nine times out of ten it will involve a road trip or travel in some way.
He’s the one I ran around gas pumps with, singing at the top of our lungs, at 1:00 in the morning, in the middle of BFE Pennsylvania the Saturday of the weekend we drove his car to Ohio.
He’s the one who drove us home from Manhattan the night we all walked around the Upper East Side screaming with laughter, and then later he cleaned the upchucked red wine out of his front door pocket and speaker (yeah that would’ve been me).
He’s the only one who could really understand why the “ice machine” is one of the most important features of a Motel 6 in the middle of Ohio.
He’s the only one I could ever imagine being with when we wake up at 9:00 on a Saturday morning and say ‘Hey, let’s go to Quebec for the afternoon.” And then we do.
He’s the one who piggy backed me out of a club in downtown Boston totally sober and reminded me that there are still good people out there in the world over coffee that lasted until who knows what hour.
He’s the only person I could ever imagine understanding why it’s just so much easier to drive to Toronto to pick up our wedding bands than to have them shipped to us.
He’s the one who makes my friends laugh because he’s the only guy I’ve ever met whose wit can actually keep up with mine.
He’s the only person who could ever enjoy getting his ass kicked in Scrabble 9.9 out of 10 times but still gets excited to bring the travel version with us to an outdoor music festival where we play a couple games over a couple beers and he gets his ass kicked yet again.
He’s there when I spend countless dollars in the machine to get stickers that end up plastered all over both of our bumpers.
He’s the one who points at the fire engine red hair dye and says ‘just do that again.’
He’s the only person I know that would agree to drive down to Maryland with me, when I’m leaving to go do a paint job in less than an hour, then have me drop him at the airport in Baltimore on the way to the jobsite so he can fly back the exact same day.
He’s the only one I’d ever want to pick on the Bra Genie infomercial with.
He’s the one whose hand I’m holding when we decide to crash a townie bar -- in Ireland, on the Jersey Shore, wherever -- and end up making friends with everyone in the place before the night is over.
He’s the only one who understands why pulling over in Connecticut, while on a random road trip, is absolutely necessary sometimes.
He’s the guy that just last week asked me ‘Should we just move to California instead?’
He’s the guy who will find a chili cheese dog with onions, even if it takes 4 hours of driving around to locate somewhere to buy one, and then discovering on the way back from that place that there was a Dairy Queen 15 minutes away from our house.
He’s just as likely as I am to point at something from the road and say ‘get me to that’, regardless if we have to drive through paint scratching, brambling branches or entire farms worth of deer to see it.
He’s the one I’ve been with when staying in the top five sketchiest motels of all time -- Grand Prix in Florida, Motel 6 in Springfield, That one on the way to Atlanta when we heard gunfire out the window, the motel in Ohio where people like to see their cars, and of course who could ever forget Pottsville, Pennsylvania where I couldn’t even begin to list all the ways that place was a crime scene.
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Catch up on anything you missed 30 Photos, 30 Days
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6 comments:
Yay, Grand Fromage! Having tripped (in the non-narcotic sense) with him, I can attest that he's all that and a bag of chips to have fun with!
Jenn, if I was your husband, I'd have to thank you for the best tribute evah!! Love you guys.
Looks like you two are perfectly matched for each other. Perfect matches don't happen often but when they do it is like the works of a master artist, a true thing of beauty. May your lives together be a very, very long (maybe even reach that 130 year mark) and may it always be spontaneous and full of life with all its whimsy and wildness and wonder.
What an awesome post, and so true! Love you both! :)
We need a road trip really soon! Thanks for the awesome tribute! There is no one on earth who I would rather do all that effed up stuff with, baby! Imagine the adventures in a moving truck on the way to AZ. (or is it CA?)
A grand team you make!
California, huh!? :)
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