She's an artist. She can paint, draw, quilt (and I'm talking those quilts where you'd never put it on a bed for fear that someone might EVER put their nasty old pooper on it!); she makes art books, art dolls, jewelry, funky scarves and hats and a million other things, and most of these talents she discovered when she just decided to try it one day and "oh hey, look at that: I'm fantastic at this as well..."
She's a writer. She has a blog of her own (it's partially her fault that I'm even doing this, so here's someone you could blame.) which I won't link to (protecting the innocent and, in this case, the fabulous!) but she can add in the comments if she so chooses. She also writes poetry (or did when we were younger, and it was, by the way, good poetry even though she was a young lady who should have been writing about gloom and doom and how hard it is to be young and beautiful) and clever quotes that poor Bartleby.com will never get their hands on.
She's insane-smart. She'll tell you flat out that she's been clocked doing genius tph (thoughts per hour), and that's on city streets -- imagine her highway smarts! And once you meet her that seems like a ridiculously obvious thing to say, because Well Duh!, she's that smart!
She's 'totally-unfair-to-the-rest-of-us' beautiful. This is now as it has ever, ever been. In the time I've known her (some 30+ years, by the way, so I know of what I speak.) she's always had people (note the lack of gender label here -- EVERYONE finds her foxy!) falling out of the sky for the priviledge of watching her walk by. An old memory for me was all the times that I went out with her and the Queen and got digits, digits, digits. Of course these phone numbers were to pass along to the wonder twins!
She's 'when-I-wet-my-pants-from-the-laughing-you'd-better-help-hide-it!' funny, especially when she, her highness and I all get together. We bring out the best/worst of each other, which is just what old, old friends are supposed to do, right? So we've got clearance there, but we should probably wear a large warning label for those sitting within earshot, because they're really the innocent ones. They don't know to bring the change of underwear!
I know what you're saying now: "why the hell would you know such a person? These people, who are throwing off the curve for the rest of us, should at LEAST be alone and lonely and miserable and such, right?" And in theory I agree with you. But here's the problem: I've known this woman for... wait, how long is a coon's age? Whatever, I'm sure it's been at least 4 or 5 coon's ages. Since we were that age where they used to say folks were in knee pants! And here's what that means, which makes it all the more unfair:
-she knows me backwards and forwards and STILL admits to being affiliated when we're in public.
-we totally end each other's sentences and complete each other's movie quotes and harmonize on each other's humming.
-she used to dress me pretty when I thought someone cute might be somewhere cool and I wanted to matter! (I've never been able to dress me pretty. And she knows how to make pretty much anything pretty.)
-she's constantly making and gifting these amazing mixed CDs which have just the right mix of "woah, this is so cool, who IS this?" and "oh cool, I haven't heard this song in so dang long!" You can't ask me to give up on the music fixes, people. Not cold turkey!
-she's been responsible for introducing me to countless other fabulous people in my universe, including her brother (The King -- you'll meet him later), The Queen and many more. She's like one of those gifts that just keep on giving.
...I hate to admit this, but I could go on and on here. Basically, she's one of those people. And yet wove her still? Yes, I'm afraid I do -- I'll Risk it. So happy Wove, Thursday people, to my Risky and all of those people and we who love them, even though they're far too, too, too...