An un-likely friend

A little over a year ago, my boyfriend and I broke up. We were together for almost 4 years. He was my first love. It could have ended on a better note, but since it ended the way it did, something inside of me had the urge to contact his ex-girlfriend from high school. Maybe I saw it as sweet revenge. Or maybe my heart was broken and I wanted some type of emotional connection with someone that had also loved him. Looking back, a combination of both. Enter Ryan Hebert- the ex girlfriend of my ex. 

Me and Ryan at the MuMu shoot

I had met Ryan once at a wedding that I attended with the ex- totally awkward and I wanted nothing to do with her. For the almost 4 years we were together I had absolutly NO interest in having anything to do with Ryan Hebert. Every time her name came up I wanted to cringe. My ex would have dinner with Ryan and her family around the holidays- I would be home full of anxiety, jealousy, and bitter at the fact that he was laughing over chicken with his ex-girlfriend while I waited by my phone for him to call and tell me he was leaving their house. He told me that I had nothing to worry about- that she was like a sister to him. Like that helped calm my nerves. I hated it. 

Facebook being the easiest way to go about doing this, I emailed Ryan. I sent her something along the lines of," I know this is really weird but... I know we have never really spoken... maybe we could get coffee.... I see you are in photography school, you can use me as a model anytime... you know he broke my heart... that mother fucker..." and the girl actually wrote me back! We met at Starbuck's. We sat and chatted in the very back of Barnes and Noble on the floor of the art section for hours. I totally dug this chick! We actually had alot in common and managed to chat about alot more than sharing a boy. 

Ryan, her mom, her sister

Last night was Ryan's Birthday Party at the infamous Johnny's Hideaway off Roswell Rd. How places like this still exist, I don't know. This was my first time going to this joint, and I was actually really nervous because I did not want to run into my ex (our ex) there. So, as my wingman I brought Derek with me. Derek is the perfect man for this job. He can make friends with a wall, drinks like a fish, and makes everyone laugh. And I can always count on him to drag me out of a sticky situation if need be. Derek and I showed up- neither of us having any clue what to expect. I made sure to look cute just in case I DID run into the ex and I knew the Hebert girls would be looking cute, so I had to make an effort.  It was like a time warp back to the 70's bar scene. Think Boogie Nights/ CHEERS/ The Wedding Singer/ Rat Pack all rolled into one smokey, dimly lit space. Derek was in heaven. I just wanted to try and relax. At about 2:30 am, I was nodding off after dancing to everything from "The Electric Slide" to "Sexy Back". I made Derek get the check- my 2 Vodka and Cranberries and his 9 Jack and Cokes. I was happy that Derek was able to bond with Ryan over liking boys and liking girls. I got to meet some pretty fun people too. Now, I just had to figure out how I was going to walk out of the bar and drive Derek and I home. Alcohol delirium, my ears fuzzy from music blaring, and sleep filling my eyes, I managed to drive the short distance and avoid the damn cops that stalk Roswell Road waiting to attack. Oh, and the ex never showed up. 

Life has a funny way of unfolding... I never would have imagined dancing alongside Ryan and her friends with Derek in tow. Since meeting Ryan, we have bonded over photography, fashion, and life- oh and an occasional joke at the expense of our mutual ex. And for those of you reading this that know our ex, do not think for a second that we don't care for that man. He links us together and for that I am grateful. 

The Ecstasy , The Irony, The AGONY! Only in NYC...

We all do stupid shit, right.  Some less than others...I tend to be one of the others.  Hey, you only live once!  And didn't Billy Joel preach that "only the good die young?"  Well, I'm not sure this is exactly what he had in mind.

Missy moved to New York City in the summer of 2002.  The bright lights, big dreams and um, male models, drove her to the city that never sleeps.  Turns out I wasn't too far behind!  Needless to say, I took the first opportunity that fall to head up for a little visit/private investigation/PAARTY TIME!  "Ladies and gentlemen welcome aboard Delta Airlines flight #393 with non stop service to New York's Laguardia Airport...And will the gentleman dancing in the aisle please return to his seat?"  You KNOW you want to travel with me!

I still remember to this day crossing the Tri-Borough Bridge to Missy's apartment on the upper east side.  These were the days before some dumbass tried to blow up a plane with a baby bottle or something like that and one could still carry liquids on a plane.  By the way, I would like to give a big shout out to that guy for fucking the rest of us harmless drunks.  So anyways, while the cab crossed the bridge, I took a swig from my vodka-filled water bottle as the smell of candied nuts and sewer hit my face.  I was in heaven.  This was going to be a trip to remember...well for the most part.

Of course it didn't take long for Miss to establish herself on the NYC club scene.  Never ending parties, all night dancing, VIP Tables of fashion models and all you can, ahem, "consume" FOR FREE!  Talk about my kind of place!  We immediately got ourselves gussied up and ready for a big night ahead.  A couple cranberry vodkas and an Aderall down the hatch, and we were out the door!  Aderall was all the rage those days; I heard some less fortunate kids would snort it, but I never got the point, as blue bogies cannot be attractive while your tounge is down a stranger's throat.

First stop:  an extremely overpriced dinner that definitely didn't do the trick.  Model fare I was sure.  Thank God for the Aderall!  I was almost good to go!  Next stop:  some club that is probably closed now, but the name didn't matter to me.  All I cared about was the line that wrapped around the block that I was thankful we didn't have to stand in.  Poor suckers!  Just as I was admiring the B&T (thats bridge and tunnel people for all you non New Yorkers out there) trying desperately to con the door man to let them in, some dude that Miss happened to be dating at the time, came and swept us into the club and right up to his table.  He immediately handed us some mixed drinks from the huge bottle of Goose on the table and I noticed that he looked strangely familiar to me.  I had seen this man before...was it in my dreams?  No.  My dreams are never THAT good.  Just then I realized that I had seen him before; in that months issue of GQ Magazine in the Dolce and Gabbana campaign.  Thank you MISSY!

As the night wore on and the height of the table I was dancing on just didn't seem high enough anymore, I decided to come back down to earth and revisit my new friend of the night: the Goose bottle.  Were we in a rap video or something?  By that time, I was juuuuust about at the limit and boy did it show.  I had a seat on the booth and tried to act cool while the club was spinning faster than the sparkles of the disco ball.  "Put his ass in a cab!" I heard Missy scream over the blaring music.  No, Wait, I'm just getting started!  Next thing I know I'm giving in and walking outside.  I can do this one on my own, right?  I hopped into a cab before the paparazzi could snap any incriminating photos of me and we were off for the upper east side.  I sure hope Missy is having fun, I thought as I remembered she hadn't given me a key to her place.  Great, just fucking great!

If any of you have ever been to New York City before, you surely know the famous MetLife building on Park Avenue.  Literally ON Park Avenue.  Some genius decided that they would build a building right in the middle of the widest street in Manhattan and construct a winding tunnel through it.  As the cab approached the tunnel, I couldn't help but imagining I was on that Small World Ride at Disney.  Just as we passed Tweetle Dee and Tweetle Dum, my anorexic sized portion of dinner passed right through my esophagus.  I could barely get the door open and release my, well you get the point, before the cab driver started screaming something in Indian or Persian or something.  I finally got dropped off somewhere between 81st and 86th streets and remembered "Great, I don't even know the bitch's address."

I finally found her building and did the only thing one could do in this type of situation.  Wake up everyone in the building by buzzing everyone on the call box and pray that someone let me in.  No answer.  Maybe everyone is out hitting up the town?  Who was I kidding?  Missy lived on the upper east side...clearly everyone was sleeping.  Just then the irony of the evening hit me:  I was making fun of those poor schmucks who couldn't gain entrance to the club and now I'm the schmuck on the sidewalk who can't gain entrance to the building.  Just as I had sucumbed to defeat, popped a squat on the sidewalk and dozed off, Missy and company show up, still reveling in their post party high.  I woke up the next morning and asked myself, "did last night really happen?"  I rolled over to see the Dolce & Gabbana model in the kitchen making coffee and thought, "yes, Derek, it really did."

I'm sure Miss will chyme in with her version of events, but remember, don't believe everything you read people!  D

Der You Miss It!

Looking Back

On a more serious note...

Not gonna lie, I fucking hated high school. Football games... gouge my eyes out. School dances... sometimes but always stag. Dating... HA yeah right! Drama class was the only thing that got me through- that and being able to act in the school plays. That is where Derek and I really got to be good friends. A strange site we were I am sure. I actually remember wearing knee high boots with a hot pink mini skirt and fishnet stockings and thought I was the shit. If you could picture Lady Gaga and Perez Hilton in an episode of Dawson's Creek, that was Derek and I walking the halls of Milton High School. A toxic combination that only leads to strange stares from our peers. Misunderstood and misplaced.  Needless to say, fitting in seemed nearly impossible. It was not until later that I did not care about fitting in anymore. The same goes for Derek. We are both quite comfortable beating to our own drums. Especially if they are Reggae inspired and I get to wear my knee high boots. Peace. Love. And fucking awesome sunsets.     M

Der You Miss It

RUN, you'll always get caught...

You know, one of those things that God blessed us humans with is common sense.  I find it hilarious that when the going gets tough, the tough gets going and people get stupid!  I mean, take the TV show cops, or OJ Simpson for example.  You ALWAYS get caught.  Well,  Miss and I had to learn this lesson the hard way...cold hard time Paying the Piper!

Picture it:  the year was 2001, the leaves were just beginning to fall from the trees and there was just a hint of that autumn crispness in the air.  It was our senior year at Milton High and of course I had one of the coveted parking spots on campus; all thanks to a podiatrist family friend who could vouch for a rare foot disorder which REQUIRED that I have a space in the student lot.  "Derek, what's the difference between a BMW and a Porcupine?  The PRICK's on the inside!"  That's just what I needed to hear first thing in the morning as I pulled into my "stolen" parking spot.

I grabbed my bag and headed for the door, already late as usual.  I had to make my morning stop by the vending machine on "the cool kid hall" to get a diet coke.  I just couldn't make it through 1st period Trig class without it...apparently Missy couldn't make it through Latin either because there she was at the vending machine as well.  You guessed it, Diet Coke.  I noticed immediately her long slender legs accented with the highest heeled pair of pumps I had ever seen in my life only to be outdone by the skirt that left all the boys in the hall with googly eyes.  My eyes just rolled.  She did get voted "Best Legs" that year, but that's another story.  Anyways, Miss and I said our usual goodbyes and see you in Euro History and all that jazz.  Little did we know that this was the start to one hell of a week.

The day was progressing like any other Monday and by mid-second period Euro, we knew just the thing to kick the blues.  What's that you ask?  Off campus lunch, duh!  Sure, it was illegal, but Missy and I were professionals at this.  Why else do you think I fought so hard for that fucking parking spot?  So we met at our regular spot at lunchtime and waited for the throngs to go back inside the school from break.  The good thing about having Drama class with Mr. Poulos immediately following lunch is that we could slip in and out of the school undetected while the rest of the suckers were stuck in class.  So we proceed to Chick-Fil-A, sunroof open, Madonna Immaculate Collection blaring through the speakers.

At the restaurant, we grabbed the usual fare: diet coke, waffle fries and chicken sandwiches complete with Polynesian sauce for me and Ketsup for Missy.  For some reason, and to this day I still do not know why, we decided to take our grub to go and get back to school.  Probably some rehearsal.  So here we pull into the parking lot in the same manner in which we left.  Like a Virgin was surely heard from the flagpole, to the stadium to the portable classrooms as I pulled into my coveted spot.  Little did we know, our marvelous rent-a-cop, protector of all that was good and safe-guarder of our morals, Mr. Newman, was lurking behind the cafeteria dumpster getting in his afternoon smoke break.  And here we come ladies and gentlemen; all proud, our bounty in hand!  SPOTTED!  Just as we rounded the corner about to be free and clear we hear the deafening "hey you two, stop" bellowing across the lot.  This ladies and gentlemen, is the point where the going gets tough and Missy and I get going!  Again why run?  You ALWAYS get caught.

"RUN MISS!" I screamed as I darted for the door and hopefully the protection of the science wing where none dared to linger.  Just then I noticed that the clacking of Missy's heels seemed to be a distant whisper on the freshly waxed floor.  I turned to find her struggling with all her might to make it down the hall while keeping the 5 inchers on her feet and the bag of waffle fries in hand.  "Ditch the fucking heels, Miss!"  "No way, fuck you"  That was our exchange and last words before shit hit the fan.  I darted into Poulos' room, winded and with Diet Coke sloshed down the front of my polo.  I hid in the office.  Missy arrived shortly thereafter followed by a very exhausted Officer Newman.  "You two, NOW" was all he could seem to muster while catching his breath.  Boy, was he pissed.  On our way to the Principals Office, I offered my sandwich to the portly officer in exchange for his silence.  As you can imagine, he didn't find this amusing and he continued to glare at me in the waiting room until the principal was ready for us.

Reeling from our downfall from those Nine West heels (it was 2001, ok?), I had admired just 5 hours earlier, I walked in to the office with my tail between my legs.  Having never been caught before, I wished at this point I hadn't left my Xanax at home.   As we walked out of the office together with a pink slip for a week of detention and our food in the trash by the secretary, Missy turns to me and says with a mischievous look in her eyes "too bad about our lunch, are we on for tomorrow?"  D

 Der You Miss It!

Tabula Rosa

You know, growing up is one of those things.  Some compare age to a fine wine or an appropriately aged cheese; in reality it isn’t as great as either of those…it’s better, or worse depending on how you look back at the accomplishments you’ve made and the people you’ve encountered on your march to “wisdom” or lack thereof.  At 26 years old, each of us has gone through the good, the bad, the ups, the downs on this rollercoaster of life…looking ahead for the next curve, plunge or loop, but always taking a quick glance back at the shit we’ve just been through.

Ok enough with the life BS, here are the real Derek and Missy.

Through the years we have been labeled many things, some true and some false.  We’ll let you decide. 

Derek: eccentric, hypochondriac, lazy, hilarious, extremely relatable, wino, teen statistic, ass-kisser, professional, grammar police, neurotic, label whore, anxious, adventurous, fun, snob, prick, it’s my pleasure.

Missy:  vulnerable, dreamer, disheveled, rule breaker, sensitive, stubborn, doesn’t give a shit attitude (but really does give a shit), intimidating, glamorous, nurturer, moody, inked up, yogi, wanna-be cross-fitter, ice queen

What do we have in common?  Well, many things obviously, but none more important than our mutual addictions to Diet Coke and our hideously foul mouths. 

Brutal isn’t it?  Oh well, you can’t please everyone.  So we invite you to sit back, pull up a vodka, and enjoy what we have in store for you.  Der You Miss It!