Mancation, Part III: Sushi and Dirty Friends, Phoenix Style
After a four-day Mancation full of dog-humping and Pats vs. Colts as well as Election Day working and Jesus hitting on me in the bathroom, I was ready to blow off some steam and reconnect with my old friends, Susie Q and Special K.
Q and K were really good friends of mine several years ago when we all lived in LA. Q and I worked as servers at an Argentinian restaurant called Gaucho Grill, where we quickly bonded over empanadas and chimichurri. Nearly every weekend, we all went dancing and drinking, spending our early 20s feeling like the indestructible team that we thought we were. Life was different then, when our biggest concerns revolved around how much we earned in tips or how crowded Maloney’s in Westwood would be.
Then we grew up.
I moved to DC in 1999 and Q and K moved to Scottsdale shortly thereafter. We spoke less often, we dated, got married, had a kid, got real jobs, moved on. Sure, we still felt some semblance of friendship as MySpace friends, but it wasn’t the same.
So I was pretty excited when GoPats assigned me to Arizona to work as a freelancer to cover the election. I e-mailed Q and told her I’d be staying with her and her 4-year-old son, Z.
After spending some time catching up Monday night over wine and beer, enjoying Arizona’s amazing 80-degree evenings, we went out Tuesday night with K to a Japanese restaurant/bar called Ra.
We ate excellent sushi and edamame, downed martinis and sake like it was our 21st birthdays, took photos, sang and danced, and shared stories racked up the past 7 years. It was like no time had gone by. Q and K were just as warm and beautiful as I remembered them, with deep memories and great wisdom learned over a lifetime of experiences. I realized that night that friendship is as friendship does and that the best ones are eternal. Q still had those powerful eyes and K’s giggling laughter made me recall great times.
We went home after several hours and I left the next morning, returning to DC on a long flight made easier because of my old friends. I only hope it doesn’t take another 7 years for me to remember why I love them.
Q and K were really good friends of mine several years ago when we all lived in LA. Q and I worked as servers at an Argentinian restaurant called Gaucho Grill, where we quickly bonded over empanadas and chimichurri. Nearly every weekend, we all went dancing and drinking, spending our early 20s feeling like the indestructible team that we thought we were. Life was different then, when our biggest concerns revolved around how much we earned in tips or how crowded Maloney’s in Westwood would be.
Then we grew up.
I moved to DC in 1999 and Q and K moved to Scottsdale shortly thereafter. We spoke less often, we dated, got married, had a kid, got real jobs, moved on. Sure, we still felt some semblance of friendship as MySpace friends, but it wasn’t the same.
So I was pretty excited when GoPats assigned me to Arizona to work as a freelancer to cover the election. I e-mailed Q and told her I’d be staying with her and her 4-year-old son, Z.
After spending some time catching up Monday night over wine and beer, enjoying Arizona’s amazing 80-degree evenings, we went out Tuesday night with K to a Japanese restaurant/bar called Ra.
We ate excellent sushi and edamame, downed martinis and sake like it was our 21st birthdays, took photos, sang and danced, and shared stories racked up the past 7 years. It was like no time had gone by. Q and K were just as warm and beautiful as I remembered them, with deep memories and great wisdom learned over a lifetime of experiences. I realized that night that friendship is as friendship does and that the best ones are eternal. Q still had those powerful eyes and K’s giggling laughter made me recall great times.
We went home after several hours and I left the next morning, returning to DC on a long flight made easier because of my old friends. I only hope it doesn’t take another 7 years for me to remember why I love them.
This entry was posted
on Monday, November 13, 2006 at 4:14 PM.
