It's not that I don't care. (I DO!! I care enough for multiple exclamation points!!!) I'm just not good at it. I'll forget to write you those old-school-super-cute-hand-written notes I promised, I'll get sucked into my own life ie: college, wedding planning, etc...and then I'll awkwardly attempt to post on your facebook wall....I'll sit there with my post in the box...
"HEY GIRL! It's been forever, huh? Miss you tons! How is everything?!"
...hmm over-zealous much? let's try it again, Fryer...and this time, try not to sound like you want to wear her skin for Halloween.
"Hey ____. Hope everything is going well."
Ew...now you sound like a passive aggressive ex-girlfriend trying subtly tell them to choke on their frozen yogurt...hmmph. Oh well! Looks like I'll just wait until their birthday or assorted major holiday...
I happily stalk you from afar...and your birthday approaches...and I forget. Or I'm not on Facebook on your birthday and therefore have no idea that it actually happened. (What? Don't act like you have everyone's birthdays memorized. You don't. YOU. DON'T.)
But every once and a while in this InstaTwitterFace-a-fide world, you get to have real conversation with your "friends"....I mean friends. Sorry about the quotes, but do you really know 758 people? (No, you don't. YOU DON'T.)
On my way to a basic work-related errand, I ran into a dear friend (no quotes) who was victim to the aforementioned forgetfulness. We had been the best of friends for YEARS of our formative awkward phase. (And when I say our formative awkward phase - I'm referring to....mine). We danced, sang, acted, star gazed, sailed, and giddily talked about everything together and then....poof! Life gets weird. You go to different high schools, different colleges, live in different states, get married, and one day you see a profile picture and think - hey, I remember you! You were (and probably still are) awesome! Why did I let you slip away?! STEEELLLLLLLLAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!
Okay. You probably don't get that dramatic.
But I do.
So yeah, back to long-lost friend...we run into each other and immediately start talking a mile a minute about life/transition/puppies/cars/marriage....my brain says..
We make plans to hang out that coming week.
And then it happens.
I get hit by a wall of weirdness. The kind that makes you feel like an alien invaded your body and you can't control your own limbs...well, no. It just makes you feel weird.
Did she think I looked okay?
Have I gained weight since the last time she saw me?
Did I come on too strong? She's going to think I have NO friends. (she'd be right-ish)
What should I wear? Does this blazer say "I have my ish together?"
Ah! This is a double date? Oh crap, I have to coach Husband on what to say/not say. Awkward dance moves, freakish love of Ina Garten, cartoon voice (don't ask), and falling asleep to the Food Network without brushing my teeth are off limits. Focus on my new car. Yeah, that's a selling point. Who doesn't want a friend with a kick-ass new whip?! BOOM!
Ew. I hate myself. I'm going to cancel.
...NO! I can't! I'm an adult!
Does ANY of this ring any bells? Not even Notre Dame status. I'll take a jingle bell. Anyone?
Why do we play this game? We're all a bunch of hot messes. Can I get an "Amen" from all my 20-something peoples?
Yeah, I could hear the roar all the way on my side of the internet.
We're perfectly happy to proclaim it to the world via ironic memes (old folks, google that term), but when we really need to project who we are to the world most of us try our best to create a shiny-perfectly-intact-responsible-pulled-together-adult shell.
Well, that got me thinking about one of my absolute favorite desserts. (ANOTHER DESSERT, LILY?? yes friends, another dessert. deal.)
Let me introduce you to trifle. Not English trifle with freaky fruit gel and sprinkles, but a sticky sweet good ol' American trifle. You guys, do you know what trifle is?
WHATEVER THE HECK YOU WANT IT TO BE.
Yeah, I just yelled in your face a little. Sorry.
But seriously, this dessert is you. It's layered. It changes depending on who's making it. It's full of completely different textures. It's a mess really. However, somehow it still looks gorgeous. But how, Lily?! Welp, wanna learn a lesson from a conglomeration of ripped up cake, pudding, and fruit? ...yeah you do...
Peaches and Cream Trifle
Step One: Bake a vanilla cake. Yeah, that's all I'm giving you....vague much? Well here's the thing...since I've got a big girl job now (booya! more on that soon) I don't have as much energy to make all da thangs from scratch, so a boxed cake mix will do as long as it's not Betty
Step Two: While your cake is cooling, put a metal mixing bowl in the freezer (this will eventually make sense...and for those of you who know me...it already does) and cook up some instant or not-so-instant vanilla pudding. Yep, this recipe just gets more and more difficult.
|This is how far past season I am...(fail)|
Step Six: Cut your cake in half across the top, thus making it thinner. Cube it from there.
So after making this, I got less nervous/dumb. No one has it all together. If they say they do, they are 1) Lying 2) Completely out of touch 3) Beyonce (girl has got is going ON)
There you have it friendys. Let your shortcuts, weirdness, and ripped up bits shape you into something beautiful. People will love you for it.
...Or at least I will. xo