oy.

oh heeeey, yeah so it's been like a year since i've blogged anything.

that's ok. so i'm back.

and just for clarification, this isn't part of some new year's resolution thing. sometimes a girl's just gotta get.it.together a bit, you know what i mean?

soooo, that brings us back to the bloggity-blog-blog. this time around, though, we're going to have more fun. more succinct fun too, maybe!

boo fucking hoo

as part of my adjustment to adulthood, i've been spending the past month in my lovely apartment apologizing to people. "i'm sorry i ran out of cumin and this soup is less-than-perfect!" i've bemoaned. "i'm sorry, i wish i had cleaned more before you got here! i've just been so crazy," i keep telling people. "oh, i'm so embarrassed about the state of my bathroom - you must forgive me!" i've demanded. i can't help it; i'm on compulsive hostess with the mostess behavior at the moment, wanting every single tiny thing to be just so, every minute detail to be absofuckingperfect. thankfully, i'm a realist and have learned to just sorta live with that box in the bathroom and the as-yet-unhung art laying around wherever, but today, as i faced the prospect of my first real-life houseguest, i was not surprised to find myself on all fours, vacuuming the shit out of every square inch of the place.

i'd done some heavy-duty cleaning in the kitchen, master bathroom and my bedroom (which is now making a very strong princess statement thanks to the most questionable impulse purchase of my life, the purple velvet tufted headboard which is totally cute but really, um... purple), and was about halfway through the living/dining room when the most unfortunate thought crept into my head: "god, it sucks that this place is so big. it takes forever to fucking vacuum." umm, yeah, i'd like to officially nominate myself for most obnoxious statement of the year, because omg who complains about that shit? like, "ooooh, yeah, my life is too awesome and i have waaaay too many nice things and it sucks so hard to be me!" i do, i thought to myself, instantly nicknaming myself captain complaint; and, per usual, i'm fucking right.

i've got to admit it; i'm a bit of a complainer. i really, truly don't mean to do it, guys (thank you to anyone who is still my friend and for not stabbing me every time i've sighed and said, "i'm hungry," which is admittedly kinda really-semi-frequent, but i like to nosh, so leave me alone), but apparently complaining has been as much a part of my life as cats and near-narcissiscm have, for like, ever. i mean, i guess the word "apparently" isn't exactly appropriate, as i've known this about myself since 1992, when i was a awarded one of the highest and most meaningful accolades of my super illustrious life: best frog catcherSLASHbiggest complainer. yup, fancy!

you're probably wondering what type of institution would issue such awards, and i'm proud to report that i earned that title at the one and only sierra ski and pack club sleep away camp, where my parents deposited me for two consecutive years, once as the youngest (by 2-3 YEARS, aka motherfucking eons in kid ages) in the only female "tent" in camp, and the next year as the eldest amongst the first and only boys-and-girls group thing, which included little boys two years younger than me falling in love with me (and resulting in a very awkward conversation, negotiated by my C.I.T. who was maybe three years older than i and, ugh, seriously fucking horrible as some little kid explained that he was only mean to me because he liked me. barf.). however, the title of biggest complainer was only bestowed upon me once, and i think probably pretty clearly reflects that i had no friends and totally hated camp, but no hard feelings, mom and dad. i sure hope you enjoyed your two weeks of kid-freedom, you selfish jerks. jkloveyou!

anywaaay, i'm rather certain my endless sighs of, "are we there yet?," "i'm tired," "i'm hungry," among other whiny things that undoubtedly escaped my lips, had something to do with my unpopularity, which in turn fueled my admittedly freakishly good frog-catching skills. our tent was right next to this gross swampy sort of creek-thing, which housed hundreds of ping-pong-ball-sized frogs, buried in the mud. while my troop-mates (i'm not sure that is correct camp terminology, but like i said, i wasn't that into it) spent their free time laughing with each other, braiding each other's hair and talking about which boys they had crushes on, i was usually elbow-deep in mud, endlessly digging around for frogs, catching them, naming them, and promptly releasing them. i'm rather certain these cool older girls thought i was a total freak (um, i don't really blame them), and i think the "best frog catcherSLASHbiggest complainer" award sums up their feelings about me pretty accurately. they might as well have said, "best annoying weird kid," and they probably wanted to but the counselor wouldn't let them.

so i guess i shouldn't be too surprised when i find myself complaining, despite the general awesomeness of my life, but i think i'm turning a new leaf, and thinking of curbing my complaint-quotient. when i griped needlessly as a child, poppa b used to always say, "i'll give you something to cry about," in a very archie bunker way, like he was going to smack me around or something (which he totally didn't. no libel here, daddy!), and i feel as though i need to start saying that to myself now that i'm a real-life adult and can admit that hungry as i may be, i'll never know real hunger. truthfully, my life is an embarrassment of riches, and i could do well to remind myself of that sometimes rather than bemoaning the minor hiccups, inconveniences and bumps in the fucking pink sparkly road that is my life. so, there you have it, folks! no more bitching! i'm an all new me!*

ugh, i have to get in the fucking shower and go to my stinkin' job. ugh, so annoying. ugh.

*starting next week, i promise.

big brother 2010

i've just got to say that i'm kinda getting freaked out by the prospect of a real-life "big brother," and yes, in a very orwellian way. if you're a little rusty on your 1984, fret not; i'm gonna hit you with a twitter-style synopsis, 140 characters or less: big brother is the dictator in a futuristic world that’s all surveillancey and shit. succinct! ok, so you might be asking yourself, "what's going on in planet sparkle that's making rachel morgan so freaking paranoid?" (or you might be asking yourself, "what am i doing reading this blog right now? i have a lasagna in the oven and i must tend to it lest it burn." per my most recent blog, i've started to try to accept the fact that just maaaaybe, people aren't thinking only of me, all the time. bastards.) well, guys, i hate to be the one to break it to you, but i'm pretty sure the internet is big brother.

"THE INTERNET?!" you're likely asking yourself, shocked that anyone would possibly cast such aspersions on the one thing we all love so much that we've devised ways to carry with us at all times, talk about constantly, and spend countless hours enjoying her bountiful pleasures, such as google, youtube and porn. and, i have to say, yes; the internet is one powerful motherfucker. sure, the internet has a solid hold over all of us (i can admit that facebook and i might be best friends. sorry, ninja, you've been replaced. and, yes, this is because you've been a total slacker in your reciprocal blog loving. jk!!! love you!!! sorry, that interlude was probably really boring to everyone else reading this.), and i can't even begin to imagine how anyone ever did work or accomplished things before the internet. like, you had to fax people? and before that, call people? and before that, telegraph people? and before that, write to people and pray that it got there? jesus fucking christ that sounds awful.

ok, so we're hooked on this powerful beast, but what is really starting to freak me out is that the internet knows everything about me. like, seriously. if i google my name, i'm all over the fucking place, with everything from my high school and college athletics, to the really embarrassing things i wrote about nick carter like a decade ago, to articles i've written in my current 9-5ever. in a lot of ways, i feel like my life has been documented, forever, by the megabeast, the internet. i'm not so sure how i feel about this anymore, internet. i'm actually feeling a little violated... but i do understand that these are sort of very public sphere things i'm complaining about, so i'll let this one slide for now.

but i've got to take a stand, because not only are you using your crazy powers to spread the word of my awesomeness (i'm ok with that part, yo), you're also fucking hacking my shit now! like, every time i log into facebook, i'm bombarded with lesbian ads. and, no, i do not want to watch the movie drool, which is described as: anora collects her kids and new female lover for an offbeat roadtrip to bury daddy. that sounds terrrrible, facebook! and, wow, it is sooooo convenient that you're looking for 27 year old photographers! i just happen to be 27! and have like a bagillion facebook pictures!!! it's like you're in my head, internet!!!

i've been silently accepting you and your stupid targeted ads for a while now, internet (oh google is so guilty too, btw), because they've been somewhat vague and shot-in-the-dark-ish for the most part (i mean, sure you know i'm a big ol' dyke, but that's not exactly difficult to determine, is it?), but i think you took things a step too far today, big brother internet bastard. there i was, just a little rachel morgan doing her rachel morgan things, when i said to myself, "hey, rmb! let's check out some news on the superliberalawesomeadmittedlybiased website, huffingtonpost.com!" among headlines like "top 10 worst internet passwords" and "killer spiders invade austraia" (TRUTH TIME: if this headline ran with the word "california" in place of "australia," there is a reallyprobably chance this blog would center around my megahatred of spiders and serious concern that i would die, as well as various commentary about the movie arachnophobia.), there was a banner from the website allposters.com, which i'd recently been browsing for some crap to put on my walls.

specifically, i'd been looking at vintagey prints from one of my all time favorite movies, a philadelphia story, starring katharine hepburn, cary grant and james ste wart. i'd debated over a few, but didn't buy anything, and then, no more than ten minutes later, on the front page of huffpo, were the smiling faces of good ole' khep, cgrant and jstew... in an ad that not only peddled a philadelphia story, but also anything any of the stars had been in (which among those three is quite a resume, and i have to offer a momentary shout out to khep, because i maybe love her). i really couldn't believe you took it there, internet. i mean, it is one thing to be all helpful and informative and feed my late night shopping habit, and it is a whole other thing to monitor my every keystroke, gleaning your evil little knowledge from things like my desire to not have naked walls.

but, internet, bristle as i may at your dominance, i have to admit that i'm totally your bitch. like, you are the most powerful big brother in the history of big brothers, and you've got us right where you want us. i'm not certain we'd be able to figure out how to contact each other without you, internet. and, like, if facebook wasn't reminding me to reconnect with people, i totally wouldn't (actually, (99% of the people fb urges me to reconnect with are people i only vaguely remember existing, so like, don't care)! i remember when you were just a baby, internet. when you were all noisy and dial-uppy and slow and i had the stupidest aol screen name ever, piixy, ugh, which i am still annoyed by today. you were so charming and novel back then! now, over a decade later, the honeymoon is over.

yet, somehow, i'm more in love with you than ever. and i guess that's a good thing, because let's face it; you're not going anywhere anytime soon (apocalypse pending). see you on dads in short shorts tomorrow.

insert cliche: the more things change, the more they stay the same.

i have very patient and indulging friends. nearly all of them, upon some preliminary visit to my apartment, are subjected to reading what i like to call a coffee table book: "got to be me," a fill-in-the-blank sorta early education thing that children fill in with adorable answers in nearly illegible scrawl, and then when they grow up to be sane people, they file away in some unthought about place. i, however, force this book on people (if i can't get them into my house to read it, i will at least tell them about it in animated detail), as if they care nearly as much as i do about the mental state of (like maybe) 7 year old rachel.

well, friends, get ready for a whole new syllabus for rachel morgan 101, because i am now the proud owner of various other ridiculous things that i wrote as a child! you will be happy to know that themes 1-3 of "got to be me" are strongly recurrent, but for those of you who may have fallen behind in your reading, here's a refresher: 1. cats. specifically the longing for one. ex: "i'd use a magic wand to: get me a cat;" "i like to play: cats;" "i would be happier if: i had a cat." 2. hating my brother. really, its all about the fact that he exists in general. ex: "i hate it when: my brother talks;" "i would not like to have: another brother;" "what really bothers me is: my brother." 3. how much i love myself. in pretty much every way. ex: "two of my favorite things are: cats and me;" "i really like: me;" "one of the best things about me is: everything." for further background on "got to be me," please see me after class.

seriously, i just unearthed a construction-paper "book" i made when i was 6. it is called "my book about me," and the first page says, "my name is rachel. i am 6 years old and i have already lost 4 teeth! i like myself." omg, i am so totally bustedly predictable with the self-admiration. several pages later, in the midst of discussing my rigorous academic schedule (dogs and hebrew, apparently), i write, "i want to learn about cats." ok, so at least there's no hardcore brother bashing in this book, but two out of three isn't bad, right? in case you need further proof, here is the last page of the book (although there are multiple cat-and-self adoration instances within): "i like many things about myself. i like being jewish. i like being a part of my family. i like books. my face."

finding this second piece of evidence that so strongly mirrored the first, i was forced to take a moment to take a hard look at myself, ask myself some serious questions, and mainly, laugh hysterically at the fact that if nothing else, i'm consistent. sure, i've grown up and realized that it's good to have interests in things other than cats, and that no, my brother really isn't all that bad (although, truthfully, that animosity was a slightly lingering phase, but now like toootal 180! xoxxoxox, hjb), but this blog is essentially a grown-up version of these books in which i fondly write about myself (note that i didn't mention anything about not being slightly in love with my own awesomeness anymore; i think i just say it out loud less frequently now).

(parenthetical paragraph: as i kept throwing those parentheses in that last P, i couldn't help but mention that parenthetical writing, when combined with my intense narcissism, has made me a lifetime believer that someone is reading, and doubtlessly loving my endless witticisms. the evidence for that currently is in... um, nearly everything i write, but i've recently discovered that i was an early convert, when i came across "room 31's how to book," in which my classmates and i instruct a reader on how to do things like: "how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, by d. stern (dumb girl);" "how to try to get out of eating vegetables, a. kaufman (fat kid);" "how to drive a car, by j. shanaberg (yeah, right);" and of course, "how to make a book, by rachel morgan" (fucking nerd). anyway, i must admit i was slightly shocked when i read the first sentence in my how-to-book-it: "hello, fans! (thank you, thank you)." UM OMG. i'm 99.9999% sure that i've written that exact sentence somewhere in this blog. well, i probably would've thrown in a fancier word or two, but the little me was totally awesome, and i was pleasantly surprised to see that i thought highly enough of myself to assume that i had a readership, even at that young (and apparently delusional) age.)

i guess i can no longer ignore the fact that although i'm grown up, livin' the high life with a genuine, amazingly adorable kitty that the 6 year old me would be insanely jealous of, i've still been known to dote (practically coo) on her with just a little bit of that kid-obsessed-kid-crazy-eye-thing that the 7 year old me would likely do (and lets face it, probably 70, but seriously, guys, i promise to never be a crazy cat lady!!). i can admit to maaaybe having a healthy dose of self confidence too, but i rarely do things like devote entire blog entries to writing about myself and comparing my current self to my younger self by pulling direct quotes and pretending they're primary sources for some sort of made up class about myself?

yup, when you boil it down, i'm the exact same person i was 20 years ago. except i like my brother. and i have boobs. and a cat (suck on that, kid me!).

bad luck voodoo clock

as new year's eve approaches, many of us might find our minds wandering towards the topic of time a bit more frequently than throughout the rest of the year (march 6, 2009: oh shit! i have a meeting in 10 minutes! i have time to stop at starbucks, right?, vs dec 28, 2009: oh shit! i only have three days to quit smoking, lose ten pounds and learn tai chi and therefore fulfill all my new year's resolutions for 2009!). time is something that i generally try to be pretty aware of, and i've even been known to be a sliiiiiiggghhttt pain in the ass about being on time/early/way-too-early for movies, parties, concerts, events, meetings, airports (arrival and departure), dinners, weddings, etc etc.

for the past 24 hours, my mind has been slightly more pre-occupied by time than is usual for even my extremely punctual self. well, sorta... kinda...ok... actually, i've been obsessed with a clock. and not like a clock i want to BUY or anything (although that does sound very much like something i would do/say). allow me to explain:

when i moved into my last apartment, i hung this CLOCK. its a sorta-ish kinda cute-ish maybe cheap plastic target clock that i kinda liked and bought a looooooooooong time ago before finally hanging it up in the lovely apartment i shared with my dear stefario. i never really had a problem or particular affinity to the clock, but remember that i'd often hear it ticking when the room was very quiet. i never gave the ticking sound much thought other than an occasional giggle to myself about how freaked out captain hook would be, and the clock lived happily and unobtrusively on my wall for a year.

fast forward to last night. after a long day of moving and a double-dose of codeine cough syrup (did i mention i'm sickly and have strep throat? seriously, i feel like the little invalid boy in the secret garden), i struggled through the final throes of unpacking, having spent a good 45 minutes placing all like 800 pairs of my shoes onto their very own SHOE SHELVES!!! (sorry, just got really excited about the shoe shelf.) anyway, i picked up a yet-untouched box, took off the lid, and my ears were immediately assaulted by the horrendous TICKING of the clock!

i was shocked: i hadn't seen, thought about or even remotely cared about the clock in more than nine months, and suddenly, i just hated the thing. i was totally and utterly convinced that the clock (and its subsequent ticking) was evil! so i tore the clock out of the box, ripped the battery off its back and hid the repugnant thing away from me in the closet. um, at this point, i would like to point out that i had been moving all day, taken a double dose of codeine, and also later spent 5 minutes freaking out and looking for a spider in my bed that did not exist... i think i might have actually been slightly hallucinating.

anywayyy, i woke up this morning, saw the clock and slightly giggled at my cough-syrup-induced insanity, but somehow, i was still quite certain in my reserve that the clock was, if not truly "evil" per se, bad luck. i'm a big believer in following your gut, as crazy as it may be, and have therefore violently thrown the clock into the garbage! yayayayay! no more bad juju clock!!!!!!! i have decided that i need to purchase a new clock to represent a new year, and a new start for me, and i am inexplicably certain that getting rid of that clock is only going to bring good things. maybe its symbolic for like cleansing my life or some deep shit.

so i guess that this slightly literal point about time (and clocks?) and the upcoming new year is that, although the insane hooplah of a new year's eve celebration, coupled with the ridiculous pressure put on things like new year's resolutions are way too much over-hyped bullshit, the beginning of a new year is always the opportunity for a fresh start and for something new. so get rid of something that symbolizes the crap of the past, yo! buy new things for a new and totally kickass 2010!!! this will also stimulate the economy! and create new jobs! and make everyone happy in 2010!!! yaaaaaaaayyy!!!!!!

if i ever run for public office, someone please publish this blog so that people will know i've got a truly sound political mind. happy new year!!!

rub a dub dub

as you may know, i have spent the past few months dealing with the oh-so-pleasant processes of buying a condo and then throwing myself into one of the most terrifying and harrowing experiences i've ever had: remodeling a bathroom. of course, i'm excited and thrilled about the whole thing, but i've found the process extremely difficult and trying, and would have never made it without the help of my wonderful parents, who, as 20% of my readership, are doubtlessly reading this. so before i enter into my typical rant, i must thank the wonderful and fantastic and super-annoying-at-times, momma and poppa b for their many many hours of backbreaking labor and patience with my inability to successfully paint, screwdriver, take a door off its hinges, wash a window or purchase the correct light bulb.

today was moving day, and with the exception of the realization that i don't have nearly enough furniture, everything went pretty well, albeit exhausting. but throughout the day, i just wanted everyone to leave so i could finally enjoy the one moment i'd been fantasizing about for months, dreaming about for weeks, and savoring the thought of nearly endlessly... the first bath. most of you probably don't know this, but i am a serious bath enthusiast. fanatic. fiend.

as a child, i was a voracious reader, and there was nothing i loved more than reading in the bathtub (with the possible exception of writing really, really, terrible poetry/songs). i was the type of reader who wouldn't put down a book to do anything as petty as eat, sleep, talk, walk... pretty much anything... i was a really engaging child, i swear. of course, as a pretty much obsessed swimmer, i was also a big fan of being in the water, so it seems that water + book = reading in the bathtub was a natural progression for me.

i remember locking myself in the bathroom, johnny tremain tucked under my arm (poor, poor johnny and his sad crippled hand! i did a recent re-read of this book and have found that it does stand up to the test of time, johnny tremain fans!), lying in the bathtub, start reading/filling it up (HOLD PLEASE: this is a serious bath survey. am i the only person who lies naked in the bathtub while it slowly fills up? i feel like "normal" people fill it up and then get in? i guess i just like the whole process so much? i need answers!!! is this just another case of rachel-cant-tie-her-shoes-like-99%-of-the-population syndrome? thank you for participating in this very important survey!), filling the tub up to the highest level possible, reading until the water goes cold, draining and repeating. perhaps several times.

since childhood, baths, and reading in bathtubs have remained a hardcore favorite activity of mine, so when i bought the condo, i immediately knew that the 14-inch deep piece of crap they were passing off as a "bathtub" wasn't going to do. of course, my wanting a new bathtub pretty much quickly snowballed into wanting a new bathroom, then expanding the bathroom, then building a cabinet and installing doors and moving electrical boxes. so here i am, 10 weeks later, with a brand new, pretty bathroom... complete with the deepest fucking bathtub i could find.

sure, this 27 inch beauty makes the entire bathroom feel like it was specially-built for someone at least five inches taller than i am. sure, i have to make sure i don't tip over when i climb in because i have to lift my short little leg so high. who cares?!?! this tub is awesome. seriously, i splashed around like i kid!! water sloshed around and didn't even reach the top!! i can do a 360 in the middle of the tub! it took like 10 minutes to fill up because it is so awesomely deep!! this tub is big enough for two (wink wink)!

i'm a happy camper.

today's bath was bookless, but blissful. looking forward to many more, and extending invitations to come visit me!!! yay!

rmb

an ode to my BFF

this holiday season, i've decided to take stock of the things for which i'm most grateful. i've got a wonderful (albeit totally fucking crazy) family, a cool job (i like drinking and writing. that sounds like i mean i like to drink and THEN write, which would be rather hemingway-esque of me, but drunken writing is definitely not something at which i excel. i'll drunk blog for y'all sometime, and you'll be all "WOAH! who let courtney love loose on this ridiculous pink glitterblog?"), a totally VALLEYTASTIC condo, which i will eventually move into (patience is so not my forte. these past 10 weeks of waiting for my bathroom remodel to be finished have been absolute TORTURE!), and amazing, hot, talented, smart and funny friends (that's you!). moreover, i have seriously the best BFF a girl could ever ask for, so drum roll please as i introduce a blog dedicated to my one and only, the super stealth, badass motherfucker, NINJA!!!!!!!

for those of you who don't know, ninja and i met during our 1L year of law school (you know, that thing that most people go to because they want to be lawyers, yet i went to and spent a year at the beach before running for the hills, swearing to jab my eyeballs out with hot pokers if anyone ever tried to put me in a SUIT again and told me to like, LITIGATE?). i remember the first time i met ninja, as she sat outside studying with two other girls i knew. naturally, as the semi-loner i was for the first few weeks of law school, i didn't pay her much heed. i do, however, remember that she was wearing cute turquoise sandals. i should've known then that we were meant to be.

a few months into law school, ninja and i drunkenly befriended each other on the fabulous third street promenade, where we were joined by several of our classmates for a friend's birthday party. it was right around halloween, and ninja and i met a woman in a pharaoh costume. we took pictures with her! and each other! OMG! it was just sheer fucking bliss!!!!

over the course of the rest of our 1L year, ninja and i (and the fabulous ficks, her totally excellent boyfriend and another dear friend of mine!!! don't worry, buddy, i'd never forget you!!) learned that we shared several similar interests, including but not limited to: beer, eating until you can't walk, drinking beer, hearts, burritos, unicorns, shopping, sequins, buying beer, breakfast burritos, mario party, building beer towers, dance parties, pizza, getting fat, rolling around the sand like beached whales, and admittedly, a fair amount of consumption of THC (wink wink, only if it is not too incriminating? good thing i live in CA, where this kind of thing is pretty much standard procedure).

our friendship continued to flourish the summer after law school, aka the best and most worthless summer of our lives, when ficks, ninja, my ex and i were an indefatigable foursome, terrorizing the streets of malibu, dancing, singing, eating and drinking our way many really ridiculous situations, including but not limited to: window-breaking, disneyland fight-picking, trash can peeing, mid-afternoon communal passing out, and a fair amount of roommate baiting. that was four and a half years ago, and i'd just like to say one thing to you, ninj: the magic is still there.

if you've managed to read through that (only slightly) embarrassing introduction without giving up on this lovefest as little more than my pathetic attempt to secure our spots on the next season of the bad girls' club, hi! your efforts will be rewarded, because i'm going to hit you with 10 fabulous things about my BFF. enjoy!

1. she wanted to buy an entire box of lighters that had a light that shone the image of a heart and the word "love." i only let her buy seven, and she gave me one anyway :). love you, ninja!!!

2. she won't bat an eyelash, instantly saying yes when the waiter asks if we'd like another round. at noon. on a tuesday.

3. she is in love with her dog, toby, even though he is a BAD DOG who farts a lot and eats garbage. i've got a bad kitty of my own, so i can relate.

4. she loves teal! like i love pink! we're motherfucking soulmates!

5. at least 30% of our jokes to each other are about my jewiness or her asianness. we embrace our mindless stereotyping, apparently.

6. when i suggested we share a dish at a restaurant, her response was "fuck that shit i'm hungry." don't mess with a hungry ninja!!!

7. um HELLOOOOOO, she's a NINJA!!!! ok, not really. but that's her nickname and i'm pretty sure she goes by it at leas 75% of the time, which is pure awesome.

8. i don't think i've ever had so much fun with someone for so many years... and remembered so few specifics about what we did and why it was fun.... hmmmm....

9. ninja is an actual LAWYER! hot, right?

10. ninja is the best, sweetest, most loving and supportive friend a girl could ask for. she's seen me through the shittiest times of my life and she's celebrated all of my happiness alongside me. i hope to do the same for her, and look forward to the day when we're 89 years old, living in a pink-and-teal palace with the cloned offspring of toby and lulu, eating and drinking whatever the fuck we want (we will be old and won't care), wearing sequined mumus, and rocking back and forth on our unicorn rocking chairs. sounds like heaven to me :)

love you, ninj!!!! merry christmas!!!

ps: i need to add a number 11, because there's nothing i love more about our friendship than the ability to have conversations as follows:

ninja: you spelled toby's name wrong
rachel: ugh, bitch
ninja: no, YOU'RE a bitch!
rachel: no, you!!!!!
ninja: no YOU're a bitch!
rachel: BITCH!
ninja: love you.