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I read Whitney's famous food blog for a year before she e-mailed my boyfriend, with whom she went to college, to ask if his girlfriend was the blogger behind Never Niche, having recognized my face in his Facebook photos. I didn't have the slightest clue that they were college friends nor had I ever hoped she would have stumbled upon my blog.
We declared our friendship born the first time we met in person shortly after she and the husband moved to Denver. We met up for drinks at a speakeasy and they had a bus to catch shortly thereafter. She had ordered a top-shelf bourbon cocktail and was trying to force it down. When we stood up to leave, it was still half full.
Me: ...you're not going to finish that?
Whitney: No way. It is a man drink.
Me: - picks it up and downs it all in a casual swig -
Whitney: Yessss. Marry me?
Since that moment we have shared countless sentiments, SNL impersonations (hers are better), bottles of wine, hikes, arguing over who gets to pay the bill (usually I take her card like we're going to split and then just sit on it), table slaps, flapjacks, and several wonderful nights of dinner prepared carefully for hours (by her, duh) and eaten lovingly by me in sheer minutes (clearly). Not living in the same city is rough. Six weeks ago, I told Whitney, "I want Drew and I to spend an entire weekend at your place in Denver with you and Brian. I don't ever want to be apart." I was half joking but she just nodded and scheduled it. I've been emotionally all over the place and silly stressed and the perfect prescription was Whitney's kitchen.
So last weekend, Drew and I headed to Denver to bond with our favorite married couple, dance, eat, cuss, and drink red wine.
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| Sometimes I do intentionally annoying things like pose like Nicole Richie just to see if anyone notices. One of my favorite friends did and probably everyone else was just annoyed. I love you, Justin. |
The moral of the story is to find a fierce girlfriend that loves you even when you're beyond ridiculous, can cook up a storm, and then make sure to keep the conversation constantly going so that she never notices that you haven't offered to host yet, which would inevitably include claustrophobia in your hobbit hole of a tiny studio and microwaved Easy Mac. Okay, maybe boiled. I'm fancy.
Moral of the story #2: food and wine heals all. I love you, Whit. Yeasss.
