Here's to you Brooke

My mom gets annoyed with me because I call everybody my 'best friend.' She says calling everybody my 'best' friend diminishes the word best, and that I use the word much too lightly. Not so. I figure I have been fortunate enough to have many great friends over the years, and refering to them as a plain old friend doesn't do our friendship justice. Therefore, I have many people I identify as best friends.

With that said, I can honestly say that Brooke Svendsen is truly a best friend. This is no stretch. She would definitely make the top three list if I were forced to make one.

Brooke and I were destined to be friends. Our grandmothers, Darlene and Jytta, had been best friends for the past 40 years, until Jytta died this past summer. If that wasn't enough to seal the deal, we were randomly assigned as roommates in a London Film study abroad program a few years ago. Although I thought her high maintenance sleeping patterns (eye masks and ear plugs every night) rather odd, we clicked right off the bat. I put up with her drama, and she listened to me when I over-analyzed. I was intrigued by the way she viewed the world, and she laughed at all of my jokes. For the past three years, it's been a perfect combo.

Today I really missed Brooke. Maybe it was because I got a letter from her yesterday and started laughing so hard I had tears running down my cheeks. Or maybe becauase it was such a perfect autumn day, and normally we would have been rollerblading, bike riding, lounging on the grass on campus, or hitting up the swings at Kawanis Park. Not this year though. Today Brooke was in the jungles of Malaysia, shuffling along dirt roads in the sweltering heat spreading the good word. And I was stuck in an office, staring at a computer screen. Sound depressing?

So Brooke, here's to the good old days. Here's to dancing in the bookshelves in the HBLL with our ipods in sync. Here's to making music videos, and staying up talking until 4:00 a.m. Here's to journal writing, molasses cookies, and The OC. Here's to indie music, sundance films, and complicated love triangles. Here's to chocolate fountain parties, coldplay, and modern art. Here's to laying out at your pool, getting out of dates so that we could chill at home, and living in the Brimhall. Here's to fireflies. Here's to India. Here's to you baby.

Post Script: Wow... this sort of sounds like a wannabee love letter. I promise we aren't lesbos. Just BFF.