[This is part I of a two part series, inspired by the fact that I was deleting my Myspace account. I realized that they had saved 
every email correspondence from the past 6 years… it was like discovering the Pompeii of my social life. There they were, all my shennanigans. Pefectly and horrifically preserved.]
PREFACE: To be a successful person in life and also to understand this blog, you should have some familiarity with the Kenny Chronicles . But for those of you who won’t because you’re too lazy (and God love you for that) I will give you a brief background. Whilst attending college in London, I met a charming, British Indian lad who was stricken by yours truly. Several months later, he moved to my blue-collar, closed-minded Midwestern town to “study abroad,” but I fear all of that was just a really pathetic excuse for said illegal immigrant to be with yours truly. But can you blame the chap? Shortly thereafter, I discovered charming lad had more money than God and a very hopeless addiction to heroin. Two traits that I don’t generally seek out. In the rolodex of past relationships, I now affectionately refer to him as My Slumdog Millionaire. Oh, and Kenny. He is basically the male version of me, otherwise known as my metrosexual best friend.
The moment Slumdog moved here, it was blatently obvious that he didn’t belong. Everyone here is exactly the same. He was British. He was Indian. He was 26. He wore Versace Couture and got regular facials. He had no occupation, yet immediately paid cash for a home in my city’s most expensive neighborhood, where he parked a Porsche Carerra 911 and two Mercedes in the driveway. He was surrounded on all sides by maple trees and white doctors with young families. To say that he stuck out, would be to say that my mother is paranoid of life, or that my dad hates Al Gore, or that I have a mild distaste for mayonnaise and commitment.
Among the many positive benefits that heroin has to offer, my favorite is paranoia. It only took about two days on American soil for Slumdog to decide that our unexplainable chemistry meant that Kenny and I were having a secret, steamy love affair. I laid down the law that Kenny wasn’t going anywhere. Long ago, Kenny and I came to the conclusion that when we finally meet “the one” they will understand our relationship. It seems that since then we’ve both dated quite a few “not-the-ones.” During the three years of hell that followed, Kenny was the only person who knew. He helped me hang on to any small shred of sanity I had left, when he wasn’t pissing me off, of course. We crafted many a sneaky maneuver to carefully hide the addiction from everyone, including friends, neighbors, family, my employees… and the cops. As someone who hadn’t had any experience with drug addicts [so sue me], I didn’t want everyone to judge him on the off chance that he might someday overcome his addiction. Chalk that up to naivete and Nice Midwestern Girl Syndrome – both traits of which I’m glad to be free.
In a last ditch effort to gain me back for the 100th time, Slumdog planned a trip to see his London doctor and “sort himself out.” As usual, I was left to tend to all of his bills, the ginormous house, 3 cats, 300 gallon salt water SHARK TANK [for which I had to dice up raw shrimp and squid to satisfy their ravenous appetites morning, noon, AND NIGHT], and various other duties – all while I was attempting to run my retail store in the mall. Bottle of wine, anyone?
Kenny and I had always thrown combined birthday parties. Well, hey, whaddya know? I’m going to have a big, huge house all to myself… I spose we could just have a small little get together type thingy here, eh? And so we started planning a top secret gathering for the week after Slumdog’s departure. It was especially confidential since Slumdog hated the Kenny. And Slumdog was a freakishly paranoid about his house and/or possessions.
The theme was to be “Risky Business”… cus well, it was. And Kenny has always had a ridiculously unwarranted mild obsession with Tom Cruise [and does bear a slight resemblance to him circa Top Gun. ..or so he says]. We had sent out a few, or 300, invitations via every social networking avenue available. I should also mention that we’re not good at keeping promises, or anything on the “down low.” Thus, we booked a DJ, purchased ambient lighting for the entire house, ordered several hundred glow in the dark beads and Ray Bans, and secured people to help us move out all the furniture. My London roommate was also flying out from New York for the, uh, get together. Oh, this is only the beginning.
Things to anticipate in part II:
*An exact replica of the party invitation as has been preserved in the MySpace museum.
*When everything blows up in our big, fat lying faces.
*Slumdog misses his flight to London, which throws Kenny and I into Mission Impossible crisis mode.
*Kenny distracting the cops, as I burst out into tears and tons of minors scatter out the back door and hide inside the rich neighbors’ tube slides.
UPDATE: CLICK HERE FOR PART II
How to Talk Yourself Out of Dating Almost Anyone
Oh Brit you crack me up! That picture is so old but classic.
oh erica. sorry for outing you on my blog like that. good times….good times.
bearman – 1. thats a lie. 2. next post, i will show the emails. they’re worth the wait. 3. hahaha. i realize that showing these “lost polaroids” to the world certainly doesn’t help his case. my bad.
mr. c – UM YEA. don’t get me started on that crap. AND he was in the process of having an actual SHARK POOL built in the basement.
a. First
b. When do we get to read the emails?
c. You saying that Kenny convinced the DJ to depants doesn’t help his case of just being Metrosexual. Kenny we are here to support you in whatever you choose.
300 fucking gallon tank!?
It’s amazing how much craziness was going on at this time that we always had tons to talk about, and I only got a mere fraction of the details. But thanks for not inviting me!
I can completely understand the female/male best friend (with the “it’s not ever happening” thing) dynamic, since I’ve got a couple of friends that put me in the same situation. Well actually, I was on the other side of it, where my friend’s boyfriend would be convinced I was in love with his girlfriend (my friend), and would watch me like a hawk… looking for a reason to say he has “proof” I loved her. That’s a fun situation to mess with someone’s head… unless they’re bipolar and like to yell and punch things. Then it’s not so fun.
brandon – um, would u not have been a bit creeped out if i asked you to my bday bash and we’d never met? and is this “friend” you’re talking about the one you actually did want to hook up with? cus if thats the case, then um, i can see why he was watching you – you man whore! haha, jk.
jill – haha. oh man. they were scattered EVERYWHERE!
lola – well its no surprise. i mean, i won’t be shocked if you show up wearing my underware next time i see you. and uh, can you blame them for being threatened by our awesomeness?!
Hiding in tube slides. Great visual.
Can’t wait for Part II.
Ugh, blunt. Yet another thing to check in the we-are-evil-twin-bitches category! I have the exact same problem with my metrosexual best friend. Everyone, including his fiancee, think one of us is carrying a torch for the other. I don’t usually plug my own stuff in comments but you should really read this:
http://lolalakely.blogspot.com/2009/04/lola-vs-crazy-girl-paranoia-land.html
This type of dialogue might be right up your own friend-significant-other-paranoia alley
Looking forward to part 2 biatch!
Can’t wait for the second chapter….sounds like it will be a blockbuster!
yorks – yes, its currently in production to be out summer of 2010
candice – UGH. getting to it. keep your pants on (and this doesn’t just apply to this blog)
linlah – well, to my credit, the slumdog didn’t have myspace… nor was he very good with computers. so it was actually pretty safe from him on there.
when i get back in town tomorrow you better have the rest of this story completed! i’m on the edge off my seat here. geez.
Is anything Top Secret on MySpace? But hey your MySpace is like its own little journal without the pretty cover, nice find.
Um, this doesn’t end well, does it?
chris – that is open to interpretation.
mvd – can you believe i’ve never even seen that!? and uh, yea… definitely something like that. there were many many questionable things going on in that house. by various individuals.
With hidden heroin, pantsless dancing, and underage drinking, this sounds like a page out of “Boogie Nights.” The cops probably thought they were busting up an Indian drug cartel with ties to the porn industry.
Oh my lord this is hilarious! I can’t wait to hear part 2!!!
part 2 sounds like the kind of juicy shananagins that make life worth living.
I probably would’ve been slightly creeped out, but shown up anyway to witness the chaos for myself. The situation was ripe for something interesting to happen.
And no, it was not one of my “friends” that I actually did want to hook up with. Nothing but platonic with this one, for good reason.
brandon – you’re right. i guess ripe would be an understatement. hah. nothing but platonic? thats weird, i can’t imagine you’d find a reason not to date someone. huh.
pinky – 1. thats cus you’re awesome. 2. i’m glad we’re both over it. 3. al gore blows
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1. I don’t like mayonnaise, either.
2. I’m glad you’re over the Midwestern Nice Girl Syndrome.
(I’m over SNGS..Southern NGS)
3. You’re dad is groovy. Al Gore bites.
4. Don’t make us wait too long!!
It was only a lie b/c you started screening your comments and I didn’t realize that.
bearman – SORRY! it was becoming quite a hassle going back and deleting creeptown messages.
Part II comes out when? You got me on the edge of my seat witing for the conclusion (or is it next installment?). You’re a very thrilling writer, Brit. I would love to read the screenplay to your life. Or is THIS it? 🙂
haha. well thank you george. do you have any idea how many times i’ve been told my life should be a movie!? its worse than anything any writer could possibly make up.
so kenny chronicles has nobbly knees hehe not so metro kenny! yeah i know you read this! 😛
wow you americans really do live lives like they potray on the picture box. i always feel like im on some tv show whenever im in america… haha.
cant wait for the 2nd chapter!
hang on…i just realised something.. sharks!? slumdog had sharks in a shark tank … at his suburban home? were they baby little sharks like no more than 60cms long or we talking real big freakin man eating sharks??
susi- part II is currently being written. and uh, YES SHARKS!! real ones! with big teeth. and what the crap is a picture box!? haha.
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Umm – shark tank??? In his house? Really? Clearly this man would get along swimmingly (hehe – no pun intended!) with my uncle (who is adamant that he wants to purchase an emperor penguin and house it in his pool… in the Emirates!)
What happened to the shark(s) when he left?
@ Farah:
Harry said it best….Men and women can NOT be friends…cause the sex thing ALWAYS gets in the way. In other words…he wants to rail you.
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