|Hey Blonde Tina!|
There couldn't have been two more different people in that restaurant. I was a blonde, tan, once a week pedicure and manicure getting, princess. And she had only painted her nails once, not even both hands, and had never even dyed her hair. EVER. I didn't even know people like that still existed, except for babies. But one of the many nights I refused to leave her house we found out we actually did have some things in common. We liked a lot of the same music. Sure I couldn't get her to memorize Britney Spears choreography with me, but The Black Kids are playing at The Social? We're all over that.
|Kind of Blonde Tina|
We were both sports nuts. Her choice in college football teams is disgusting, but we could both wallow in the misery that is being a Dolphins fan together. I wasn't really a big basketball fan at the time, so she took me out to a bar one night and explained the rules to me so I could talk shit to Celtics fans. She's not a big baseball fan, and refuses to compromise, so I still enjoy that sport by myself.
She didn't just teach me what a technical foul is though. She taught me how to make a Mint Julep, how to play countless drinking games, how to ride the bus, and how to play pool.
|You'll have to excuse my guns.|
She's also a fantastic wing man. She helped me bag that dude I've been living with for the past three years.
We have been inseparable since we met and I forced her into being friends with me. She has gotten me through some of the hardest times in my life, been apart of some of the best, and shares my love of naps.
A couple years after we woke up from that nap we became the proud owners of one of the cutest babies in town.
She has full custody and won't let me put my name on the birth certificate, but she does let me hang out with him fairly often, he just happens not to be the size of a grapefruit anymore.
So, why am I telling you our love story? Because the bitch just left me. Yep. She is currently in a UHaul on her way to Montana. No, I didn't stutter. Mon-tan-a. And she didn't have the courtesy to leave me the baby. So, for the next three years, I have to make my own grown up decisions, change my own flat tires, and pretend to know what the hell is going on in basketball. Which means, I will now be directing all important decisions to the boyfriend, investing in AAA, and just yelling at the TV when the Magic play because odds are they just missed a free throw. All because she let some stupid boy put a ring on her finger. It's ridiculous, because she knows she can borrow my jewelry anytime she wants.
So, now I'm left all alone. Ok, not really. I still have some really great friends down here and of course that boyfriend of mine, but Sheila knows how to handle me. She knows how to talk me off a ledge, how to calm me down, and most importantly, how to shut me up. So all you kiddies in Orlando have to answer my text messages when I don't know how to bake something, am 99% sure I have cancer, or when I need somebody to drink 18 boxes of wine with. Sheila will be more than happy in assisting you guys in dealing with. Just text or call, and make sure to let her know how much she sucks for leaving.
Good bye, my Sheila Shine. There aren't enough words in the English language to express how much I'm going to miss you. I know you're already looking forward to my 400+ text messages a day. Also, I put a framed picture of us in one of your boxes. Ok, fine, there's one in every single box.
I promise to come visit. But not when it's snowing. Or during the holidays, because flights are more expensive. Or during the summer, because there isn't a beach up there. Oh, who am I kidding? I got on a plane an hour ago.