Friends from bizarre-o land.

Here we go, ya’ll. Time for our first guest post here on The Spotted Duck. I’m pleased to introduce my dear friend Bridget Horne from Yellaphant. Please give her a warm welcome! Everyone, Bridget, Bridget, everyone.

Now I could go on about how Bridget and I came to be such pals but she does a pretty good job of it herself here. Suffice to say, WE HAVE A LOT IN COMMON.

Bridget, take it away…

—————————————————-

When Shelley asked me to be a guest blogger on The Spotted Duck, I was a little apprehensive at first.  It’s absolutely fine to vomit up yesterday’s conversation about singing about sloots or my recent pre-occupation with pooping and call it writing on my own blog. It’s a horse of a different color to do it on someone else’s blog. People might not be expecting that on a reputable blog. You can’t just ambush them with poop. Literally or figuratively, it’s usually not appreciated.

And right there I was going to insert a giant picture of poop because I bet after that assurance you REALLY wouldn’t have expected it, but this is not my blog and I am not going to do that. It’s called discretion. I have it. See, mom, I’m not “the crude one.”

So instead I thought I’d talk about what it’s like being bizarre-o Shelley. Think about THIS: Our paths crossed on the blogosphere some time ago as we were both beginning to pull our hair out over wedding preparations. Turned out Shelley was getting married the week before I was, which was awesome. Because suddenly I had someone to bounce ideas off of and ask advice of and swap stories with because she was going through pretty much the same exact experience in Boston as I was in Philadelphia.

THEN we both started the house hunt around the same time. IT’S A HOUSING FRENZY, YA’LL. Shelley and Andreas bought a gorgeous condo in north of Boston, and I was looking just south of the city. And not my city. THEIR city. What happens when you take a Philly girl and drop her on the Massachusetts coast? IT’S AN ISSUE, PEOPLE.

I’ve spent months agonizing over the move. What’s in Boston? Where will I get my soft pretzels? Who will sit in the corner drinking beer with me and not laugh when I call water “wooder?” And I’m proud to admit that I only occasionally spend the night crying on the kitchen floor with a bottle of wine and a poster of Rocky Balboa because WHYYYY GAAAAHHH? And all the while, Shelley has given me tips on neighborhoods to consider and pumped my wine-soaked head full of grand images of Boston-living. Maybe it won’t be so bad.

Then, we both resigned from our current jobs, effective on the same exact day. And now we talk about jobs and life goals and current ambitions.  HOW WEIRD IS THAT?

As Shelley said in last Wednesday’s post, she’s all in these days.  Pretty much just like Shelley, I’m getting married, turning 25, buying a house, moving 350 miles away from my family, and starting a new job, all within a span of a few months. Could I be any more in? Is there a rule that once you turn 25 you’re expected to make all these grown up decisions RIGHT NOW ALL THE TIME? I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT I WANT TO DO WITH MY LIFE. IT’S CALLED A QUARTER LIFE CRISIS, AND I’VE GOT ONE.

Who needs a drink?

Anyway. Like I said, it’s like we’re pretty much leading bizarre-o lives, doing all of the same really big life things at the same time. And when you are going through all these things, it’s really nice to know someone who’s going through them too, and understands what you’re feeling, and doesn’t judge you for having an occasional Tuesday evening meltdown.

So when Shelley asked me to help her out with a blog post, I was more than happy to agree. Because even though I haven’t met her yet, I can say pretty confidently that she’s my friend. Whether she likes it or not.

P.S. I almost just ended this post with the same picture of poop I was going to insert in the beginning because that would have been hilarious. GOD I am SO GOOD at self control today.

—————————————————-

Catch more of Bridget’s laugh-out-loud style over at her blog, Yellaphant.