Birthday Wishes

Yesterday marks the one year anniversary of my friend dying, and instead of writing a post about how much I miss her and how I have all these unanswered questions and how now, because of her death, Eric and I are both terrified of dying.

Instead, I am going to write some funny, non-sequitur short true stories that are in some way related to Sheryl.
Ready? Ok let's go.

I once got the clapper for Christmas. Before you start imagining how trashy my family/friends are that I got this for Christmas, let me just tell you this one thing - the CLAPPER IS AWESOME AND I TOTALLY WANTED IT. I wanted that thing for years. I do not care that you can order it off the TV and that it is the 90s equivalent to the snuggy, I didn’t want to ever have to get out of bed again to turn off the lights or TV. Deep down inside, I think all the gifts I want revolve around making me more lazy.

Sheryl came over to my house and we are both laughing and then I fart. Loudly. And the lights go off. Because the clapper thought I clapped. YEAH, that is how loud it was. Sheryl doubled over and almost peed herself laughing. And so did I. So here we are, two "ladies" not being "lady like" and laughing about it in the dark until one of us peed.
(Hint: It was me.)

The second little tidbit related to Sheryl revolved around when I was at a wedding that had a photographer, and this photographer looked exactly like Sheryl. This poor woman could have been her twin.

Every time this woman would come around the corner, it would startle me, and I would scream and instantly start crying. Eric would pull me aside and be like "I know she scared you, I know, it's okay, sometimes these things happen, it's okay." and he would be all comforting.

The thing is though – the poor woman didn’t know why whenever she would come near our end of the room and I would run into her, WHY I WOULD START SCREAMING AND CRYING SUDDENLY.

I mean, she would come around the corner and I would look up and forget that this woman existed and looked like my dead friend, and I would scream "Oh God no!"

So, by the end of the night, I was blitzed, and conjured up a plan. I gathered all my strength, walked up to her, and proudly announced (without crying):

“I took too much acid and your face looks like snakes. Sorry about all the screaming, I am better now.”

And this woman who looked like my dead friend? She laughed so hard she had to sit down. She was still laughing when I decided to just walk away, because she would not stop laughing.

Eric doesn’t know the rest of that story, I think he thinks I went over there and made friends or something. But no, my brain (that I swear is made up of Marshmallows!) decided that blaming an acid trip at a wedding would be a better plan than telling this woman that she looked like my (recently, at this point) dead friend.

The only comfort to this story is that in the car on the ride home, I imagined Sheryl in the backseat, laughing and pointing at me the whole trip.