Bug with a whipped cream handlebar. October 2011.
During sketch rehearsal, I walked to Taco Bell to buy Chelle a burrito. I was't sure if I should get something or not. I didn't. As I picked up my order, the woman said she accidentally made an extra veggie tostada. Did I want it?
Rehearsal Con't. The night ended and the ladies kicked the boys out of our rehearsal space. We exploded immediately into gossip and gushing.
Girls Night became Old School on accident. Just last semester's originals coming over to my place for dessert. Kale hadn't eaten. I called her from my bike listing what I had in my fridge. Leftover ziti from Chelle, beet pasta from Bug. On Monday the sweetheart had trekked down the block to my front door with the delivery of spaghetti and beet balls, which, ironically, she and Kale ended up eating tonight at midnight in my kitchen while the aroma of nutella brownies puffed from the oven. It felt sweet and secure. Communities of women who love and don't compete are the best. All of us have grown significantly in the past few months, and that's something to celebrate.
Men's shirts, short skirts, whoa-oh-oh!
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