This is Monica:
Today is Monica's birthday. For serious. My first awareness of Monica's existence came to me in the Spring of 2003, at Paris' birthday party. She was the girl that my roommate Daphne would be living with the following year. I have this really amazing picture from that night* where I'm on my bed with all of my roommates and a couple of friends, apparently on the phone and holding a bottle of vodka. This is my first picture of Monica. It's worth noting that, if my memory serves me correctly, this also might have been the night that Julie convinced us all that chasing shots of vodka with shots of rum would be completely legitimate. Or maybe that was a different party.
Anyways. Monononica, my lovely petal, was a part of my it-would-make-you-puke-how-cute-we-were-all-together close group of college friends. Which really just means that she's one of the girls whose boobies I've squeezed, who has had me spill red wine on her couch, who has had me describe plastic surgery on a disturbingly detailed level, and who has accompanied me on many a late-night, ill-advised adventure.
For years, every time I hung out with Monica, she ended up in a state of medical emergency, often culminating in a trip to the ER. She hates it when I tease her about this, and insists that she's much healthier now. As evidence, the last two times we hung out she didn't think she was having a heart attack. So there's something. Or maybe I've just lost my edge.
Monica is the talented photographer who captured this moment of ADORABLE NOMNOM SQUEE from when Gabriel was about 7 months old, and I just felt like including it:
I love this girl so much, I'm driving two hours today to go to her ice skating extravaganza birthday party. Me, one of the most singularly uncoordinated humans on the planet. If that's not devotion, I don't know what is.
I love you baby. Happy birthday!
*Note to self: invest in scanner.