Dear Leslie

(Of course I had to quit smoking the same week my period started and so all of my cranky hit it's peak on your birthday. Of course. That's how I roll. So, forgive me if this is shorter than I'd hoped for. Coherent thought streams aren't my strong point right now, unless of course those thought streams involve chocolate dipped deep fried salt.)

Dude, I love you so bad, man. SO bad. I love that you went to high school with the only girl I ever want to call sister, I love that you drank in college with my freaking soul mate. I love that the same girl that picked me up in a school cafeteria saw fit to pick you up on a college campus a few years later. I love that we have spent time in the same room and never met. I love that when I did meet you, it was through this crazy little thing called blogs where we all can lay it out on the line, because it's so easy to forget that someone else can read it. I love that the first time I ever got to hang out with you we were all so damn drunk I can't remember most of it. I love that I know what you look like in the morning. I love that we talk the same way and write the same way and think the same way. I love that we share so many friends, and idiosyncrasies, and character flaws. I love every stinking thing about you. I don't know how I made it so long without you in my world.

I wish I'd met you before kids and jobs and car payments and pets. I wish I had all the time to giggle and drink with you. But, we didn't and we don't. So, the only thing I can offer you for your birthday is this: Dude, when you come to visit, I will totally unquit smoking for you and go through this bullshit all over again after you leave. I've got a bottle of Jami with our name all over it. It's gonna be EPIC.

Your lovin',

~Mr Lady