My Favorite Waste of Time

I'm thinking that my inner self just knew there was an important anniversary taking place. Why else would I have posted two entries about Ville in one week? Today is the 25th anniversary of the day we met. Wow! Twenty-five years!...

Before I tell you about how we met, allow me to explain something. Her actual name is Debra, which was shortened to Debi. Being the kind of person who gives nicknames to the people I love, I quickly dubbed her Debsville, which was soon shortened to DeVille (because she drove one). Later, it was shortened even further to Ville.

I'd spent a Friday afternoon in March 1986 with Paul, who had been telling me about a girl I should meet because we had the same kind of humor. He'd asked me to drive him and one of his friends up to Santa Barbara so that they could go to an under 21 dance club. I wasn't at all interested in spending the evening in a gay disco. I was 35 years old and putting myself through college while working, and I was tired. He then said that he'd invite this girl to go with us. I caved; I'd been wanting to meet her.

When Ville bounced into the front seat of my car, she was all kinetic energy, two-tone black and blue hair, and Obsession perfume. I don't think we were 10 miles on the 101 before we knew we were going to be friends, although she was 16 years younger than me, and not even old enough to drink (not that that stopped her). That was 25 years ago and we haven't stopped laughing.

Our friendship has been the wittiest, most mentally stimulating relationship I've ever known. Notice I didn't say intellectually stimulating. There's nothing intellectual about us when we get together, but I always leave her presence feeling energized and full of the love of life. And that's what a good friendship does, I think.