My best friend is engaged.
I mean, we always knew it would happen. They've been together for six years, have lived together for most of them; they're domestic partners as it is.
But something about the words, "I'm engaged!" evoke such ridiculous emotion when it's actually happening. Like whoa.
Waiting for my bus on a cold November afternoon, I returned Allie's phone call from half an hour ago. At the first attempt to speak, someone lost signal and the call was dropped, but I had heard her say amid giggles, "Charlotte...I have to tell you something." And I knew. But then I heard, "Hello?...Char..?"
I called her back, she said those magic two words, and I think I squealed at the frequency of a dog whistle for about nine minutes straight and said "Oh, my God" at least 48 times. In the middle of a crowded bus stop, nonetheless.
I love Allison Theresa Brewster, probably more than anyone but Tommy Constantino.
*Flashback* June 2004. I walked into Sam Ash Music for my first day of work, probably with my studded belt, home-dyed pink bangs and peekaboo highlights, and button-encrusted messenger bag. I saw this gleaming, radiant, overly tan, too pretty blonde girl sitting at the front desk, and she greeted me with the biggest smile. "Yay!" She probably said. (Honestly, the first few months I worked there, I was greeted with applause and cheering whenever I walked in the door. I loved that place.)
As we chatted and she showed me the ropes of the job of security girl (which is essentially to sit at the door, look hot, and flirt with cute musicians all day while pretending to document the serial numbers of their gear), she noticed the pins on my bag. I told her I go to shows, and she was like, "Oh, my boyfriend's in a band!" When she told me it was The Dog and Everything, I told her I'd heard them and some of my friends liked them. "Oh, yay!" Allie exclaimed. "We can totally go to shows together!"
I smiled, but in my head I was thinking, "Uh. Why in the world would I ever hang out with this ditzy Barbie-looking girl?" My friends wore Chuck Taylors and thrift store tees, not American Eagle and Express.
Was I ever in for something...the best relationship of my life.
It didn't take long before we were bonded. Like, a day. On my days off, I would sometimes come in to visit for a minute and ended up clocking in to work for three hours. Not only because I loved my new job at the cool music store (and it WAS bad ass back in the day), but because Allie and I had ridiculous amounts of fun.
We all did.
I can't even tell you what's going on in these photos.
Roaring with laughter..
Let's do cartwheels!
Brian Albertz.
El Dave-o.
The boys!
Mmm...lubey...
Mmm...Blow-up doll.
Mmm...Nut Sauce. Gotta love the green nail polish.
I'd always figured I was a cute enough girl, but after Allie came into my life, my ego exploded in ways I'd never imagined. We started taking pictures EVERY day after work.
This is probably one of the first photos we took together...yes, back in the disposable camera days.
I have at least four photo albums full of prints that look...just like that.
Then when I got a digital camera, it was all over.
If you've ever scrolled through the thousands of photos on my computer and wondered why there's so many pictures of myself, you can blame it on Allie. She taught me everything I knew.
I also learned how to be a vixen and work my 18-year-old girl prowess on the poor guys we worked with, and the ones that patronized our store. There was always some guy from some department hanging out up front with us.
Like this. Oh, Trent. He's a whole 'nother chapter. ;)
Naturally, I had a different crush every damn day, and Allie was my greatest enabler: "Char, I mentioned your name to him and he turned bright red and ran away from me." Chris Insidioso was integral in that as well: "I know someone in that department who liiiiikes you," he'd say. "Do you loooove him?" The three of us were the gossip/drama queens of the customer service desk--no, of the entire store.
Immortalized forever in magazine form:
BFFs at Allie's bowling birthday
Want to place bets on how much gear was stolen from the store while Al and I were posing for pictures, backs turned from the door, being "security?"
Importantly, Allie showed me (in theory, of course) how to use my teenage feminine wiles to manipulate boys and get what I wanted, as all single girls that age do. I mastered the art of coyness. In fact, one relationship started because I got some dude to go out to Walgreen's on his break and buy me contact solution...and all my favorite candy, snacks, and Arizona teas. What a great foundation!
But seriously, every other day it was: "Do I like this Dan or that Dan today?" "Jon and I went out for lunch today..." "Ooh, Mike's kinda cute." "I could maybe date Joe if he weren't so young..." "Why is Sean asking me out in the keyboard room?" Craziness.
With all the male attention and my self-confidence on the rise (I obviously know now you can't base your self-worth on such things), Allie introduced me to the world of modeling. "Me? But...I can't, I'm not hot like you."
She brought it out.
We were such clams.
This is from our first joint photo shoot.
Most of our photos turned out fantastic, especially considering it was my first modeling shoot ever.
See a photographer's directive trend, maybe? ;)
That photoshoot was a whole 'nother story in itself as well. Famed photographer Niva Bringas shot us at Iguana Studios in Chicago. He was a great photog, but was morbidly obese. And he grossed us out. In time, he'd have Allie and I meet him for lunch to pick up the discs with our retouched photos. Seeing chips crumble over his jiggling belly when he laughed...I'll say no more.
Let me tell you--this photo is really airbrushed and this was when he was younger.
Anyhow, at my first shoot, both of us had done a couple of looks when he and the owner of the studio began to insist that we glam it up, put on ridiculous makeup, be extravagant. We kept coming out with additional layers of crap on our face and they'd make us add more. Allie finally drew the line. I, on the other hand, slathered on glitter up to my eyebrows, put on pink feather earrings, my studded belt, my pink aviator sunglasses, and came out of the dressing room looking like this.
There are reasons why photos like THIS never surfaced on the Internet (until now). Good LORD.
I think it was the second time we shot at Iguana, the studio owner (whose name I cannot remember) turned even more creepy; after making us pile on the makeup he tried really, really hard to get us to model in swimsuits. "Oh, but we didn't bring any with us," we told him. He instisted it was all right, and began pulling hideous 80s/90s style bikinis off the racks. Um, no. He eventually got frustrated with us, it escalated into an argument: "What about lingerie? Lacy underwear? BOY shorts?!? SOMETHING?!" ...and we left.
We had done a super classy ebony & ivory shoot; her in a black rhinestone dress and me in a white one. Due to the circumstances under which we left the studio, things were awkward. Niva kept saying he'd send our photos...and then he died three years later (I'm sure due to complications from his weight).
Wap wah.
Workplace antics, modeling fiascos, and narcissistic self-portraits are only the tip of the iceberg...stay tuned for "I don't know states," making college professors puke, and literally rolling around wasted on the floor in the women's restroom....at the Peninsula Hotel in downtown Chicago. Yes, the place that people like Brad Pitt or Will Smith stay when they're in town.
It gets better.
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