I spent Saturday and Sunday at my friend Glen’s cabin in Prescott, about 90 miles north of Phoenix. Glen and his friends Nick and Emily drove up Friday night, and I drove up on Saturday with my friend Erin. Glen, Erin and I went to high school together, and Glen knows Nick from Oxford and Nick knows Emily from USC. WE HAVE ALL BEEN TO A LOT OF SCHOOLS.
Erin was one of my very close friends in middle school. In high school, we were friendly, but we ran mostly in different circles. I always liked and respected her, we just didn’t spend a lot of time together. We’ve seen each other here and there since high school, but we’ve never really had time to talk about anything more than the standard this-is-what-I’m-doing-now spiel. She spent two years teaching English at our old high school, and she’s the one who reached out to me after my favorite teacher — truly a guiding force in my life — passed away earlier this year. She wrote to let me know that an email I’d sent my old teacher had brought her joy in her last weeks of life. That meant the world to me, and Erin has always been the kind of thoughtful, loving and selfless person who would make it a point to let me know about that.
It was really amazing to have that time in the car to get to know her all over again. She’s getting her masters in teaching in New York right now, and just listening to her talk about her experiences with inner-city students and all the theories and practical knowledge she’s acquiring was fascinating, and I found I could apply a lot of it to my own life and my own business. She’s so passionate and excited and dedicated to the field of teaching, and I love seeing friends from my childhood find such clarity in their adulthood.
We got up to the cabin, and met up with Glen, Nick and Emily. I’d met Nick before — aside from being gorgeous, he’s also kind and brilliant and nearly as absurdly well-educated as Glen — but it was my first time meeting Emily, who is definitely my favorite new friend. She’s just one of those people who is such a light it nearly feels tangible. She just radiates joy and confidence and love. After spending ten years in Los Angeles, she’s moved back to her tiny hometown in Kansas to spend time with her family, and the stories of the small-town drama she tells are hilarious. Oh, and she’s featured in the new Richard Simmons video, Sweatin’ for Life. Seriously. You can’t miss her. She’s the curly-haired red-head who draws your eye whenever she’s on camera. In person, her face and her facial mannerisms are freakishly — I mean freakishly — similar to Jayma Mays as Emma Pillsbury in Glee. I adored her.
And then there is Glen. There is no effective way to qualify or describe Glen. You kind of just have to meet him. He has a distinguished and varied educational background — Oxford in London, Le Cordon Bleu in Paris, and now a PhD at Emory — and also happens to be one of the funnier people I’ve come across in my life. Everyone’s conversational game is raised when Glen’s around. There is, literally, never a dull moment. There’s always something new to think about, a question posed in a way you’d never considered, a fantastic joke so far from being obvious that you have to check twice to make sure you understand why it’s funny. I’ve heard people say that being around Glen makes them feel stupid. For me, being around Glen makes me feel smart. I remember how far my mind can reach, how it can twist and bend and jump, when it’s pushed. It’s a remarkable and rare quality in a friend.
Glen gave us a tour of Prescott, one of the oldest towns in Arizona and one with great historical value. And then we went to all those old historic bars and, naturally, partied our faces off. The proof is in the photos, and I’ve excluded, as a favor to all, the ones toward the end of the night that scream of drunken sloppiness.
The best part? Pervy Santa. There was a Santa in the bars. I was so excited! I was going to take an adorable picture of myself with Santa! It was going to be lovely and innocent and conjure up memories of my childhood!
This is how our conversation went:
Santa: Have you been a good girl this year?
Me: Yes!
Santa: Have you been nice?
Me: Ummmm …
Santa: Have you been naughty?
Me: I guess I’ve been kind of naughty, yeah.
Santa (grabs me tight): Oh really? Santa likes naughty girls. Santa has enough nice girls.
Me (trying to squirm away): Um, okay.
Santa (refuses to let me go): Santa doesn’t need a nice girl to sit on his lap. Santa needs a naughty girl to sit on his face.
Me: OHHHHHHHH MYYYYYYY GOOOOOOOOOD. (Turning to my friends) YOU GUYS SANTA JUST SAID SOMETHING VERY NAUGHTY!!!
Santa (still has a death grip on me): It’s our little secret, okay?
Me (pulling away from him with all my might): Okay. Please let me go now.
It was completely horrifying and traumatic and would have been a giant turn-on if the Santa had been hot or anywhere within my age range. He was buff though! Old pervy Santa had giant biceps. I would not want to be a little girl on that dude’s lap, I’ll tell you that.
