Happy Birthday Sabra!

Tomorrow is my friend Sabra's birthday. She will be twenty five. !25! We met at 14 or 15 years of age in freshman English at The Colony High School, otherwise known as hell. I thought her name was Satan and she thought my name was BITCH. I don't remember what made us become friends initially, but once we did we were inseperable. We shared a love of all things Nirvana, Hole, and blue nailpolish. She adored John Daniels and I was in love with Steve Cardone. We both wore airwalks and torn jeans, because we did not need to CONFORM, dammit! We were grunge all the way, baby. Let us remember a few of the many, MANY adventures of Sara and Sabra.

- Of course, the first night I ever stayed at her house. Sabe's room had a cool black and white theme, with pictures torn out of Rolling Stone and Spin magazine covering the walls. That night, we proceeded to drink whiskey straight from the bottle with her pencil-dicked neighbor, Billy. The last thing I remember was laying on her bedroom floor. I puked on myself, then rolled over into a corner and puked again. I repeated this pattern a good 2-3 times, and then the room spun me to sleep. The next morning I was introduced to my first hangover. And she still wanted to be my friend!

- The night that Sabra, Sarah Brown and I walked the streets with a carton of Sarah's mom's Marlboro lights. We smoked eight million cigarettes each. We went back to Sabra's and listened to Bush, feverishly gabbing about the hotness of Gavin Rosdale. Then we all got light headed and nauseous. Turns out the cigarettes had been recalled because they contained formaldehyde. Our insides are forever preserved.

- I remember Sabra and I walking home from school one HOT, HELLISH afternoon... TO HER HOUSE a million miles away. Of course we were both dressed in dark jeans and shirts, and I was wearing actual COMBAT BOOTS. I also had blue-black hair and was ghostly white. I WAS SCARY. Sabra was all cute and blonde and innocent. I was a member of Marilyn Manson. We went to Winn-Dixie and stuffed various goodies into our Jansport backpacks. I distinctly remember swiping a delicious tube of pringles, and that Sabra was MUCH better at stealing than I was. Someone had a little bit of experience, I think.

- Last but certainly not least, the time that we were smoking pot in the ditch by Sabra's house. (very rock n' roll, right?). We were also drinking something cheap and disgusting, like MadDog, and I couldn't hold my shit together. I ran inside and threw up in their kitchen sink. Sabra came in moments later and asked if I was ok. I said yes, but that I'd puked in their sink, then collapsed in a disgusting pile of fucked-up-ness on her couch. Sabe asked if I had washed it down and I said no, pleading with her not to make me get up. Later inspection of the sink revealed whole beans. I had puked up whole beans. And Sabra washed it down. God Bless this Girl!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SABRA! There won't be any puking this year!