I would like to open the blog (in these final hours of this special day) to any and all reflections and memories of, and roasts and toasts to our awesome friend Ellen.
Here are mine.
1. When she was sick (and if my memory serves me correctly, maybe potentially just "sick" as in HUNGOVER). Having spent a day out in the city, I returned to to ph d to find Ellen in her bathrobe, splayed on the floor in the hallway of the apartment, with a big empty bowl in her clutches. It was about 3 in the afternoon. Despite my many attempts to figure out why she wasn't in her bed, a whopping 10 feet from where she lay, I couldn't get a straight answer. She just kept laying there on the floor, mumbling every now and then, but more importantly, blocking my way to bathroom, and I had to pee. In retrospect, I probably should have been a little more tender because she was nursing the worst hangover of all time AND food poisoning simultaneously, but I wasn't, so she called mychal and told her how tough I'd been. Tough, you say, elle? No, tough I SAY: Tough LUCK, Elle. Lay off the vod next time.
2. I also have very fond memories of seeing Ellen crossing 39th street at 8th Avenue in the dead summer heat. On crutches. She was HUFFING and PUFFING across that street. Why, you ask? Why, what. Why was she on crutches? Because she broke her toe for the eighth time. Why was she coming to my workplace? Because BEFORE she broke her toe she had agreed to sign on as a telemarketer for the American Symphony Orchestra. Did the girl back down simply because she had been gimped? No. She trekked it all the way from Union Square sans taxi (the fare would have cost as much as she earned calling strangers.) to Hell's Kitchen. More like Elle's bitchin' kitchen.
3. Watching the bachelor with Elle. Especially when she a. DEMANDS silence or b. DEMANDS we rewind to watch a squirrel cross the street or c. DEVOURS a bento box. Or sharing with her the utter destruction and disaster that was the outcome of season 13. MES-FUCK. WE WILL NEVER FORGET AND WE WILL NEVER FORGIVE.
These represent the proverbial (hi katie) tip of the iceberg when it comes to the titanic that is Ellen Wert, our beloved birthday girl. Ellen, sail-on, live-on, cornbread-on, child. LOVE and HB.
I'm so very glad that you were born.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
One word, one memory: BLOKUS.
Not to mean that I have only one memory of Ellen - I have many:
When Ellen wrote something heinous on that paper for that game we played at Hadley's game night? Remember? It may have said something about Oprah. Sorry - it most likely said something about Oprah.
One random and unremarkable night at PHD when Ellen joined me on the couch and she answered every question I asked her with some bizarre response while eating a cake, and I laughed so hard I cried.
And last but certainly not least: When Ellen entered the room to teach the kids dance and they screamed, "Oh no, not her!" I wasn't there, but the blog about it killed me.
Happy Birthday, Ellen!
I love you both. So so much. For the birthday posts, yes. But probably because you all are my still friends even though I'm nuts.
Post a Comment