My first male roommate is tying the proverbial knot on Friday.
Not to me, god no. You ever have one of those friends that you love dearly and the thought of them in other context, well, "just isn't right?" That's me and Roo.
Roo and I met at Portfolio Center in Atlanta. More specifically, the first time we met was at a gas station in Michigan with my dad giving poor Roo the stare down. He was not thrilled with the idea of my male friend.
But I was. Roo was a great roommate and a really cool guy. Sure, he had fridge blindness, didn't unload the dishwasher, or remember to buy paper towel, but he did lots of other things.
Like listen to me cry and have girl melt-downs, drive my drunk self around after a night of drinking, introduced me to a bunch of crazy photographer friends, including his soon to be wife, Ginny, and he used to wait up for me at night if I was out.
We laughed, listened to lots of Johnny Cash and Bob Dylan, and we just clicked.
Roo even forgave me when I accidentally almost chocked him to death while we tried to drag his mattress up our two flights of stairs.
Tomorrow morning, I board the plane to take me to South Carolina, to see Roo and Ginny get married.
I'm thrilled that after all these years, we still have things to say and I took a chance, apparently telling Roo within 5 minutes of meeting him via phone, "We should live together."
And I'm glad we did. He was one of the best roommate's I've ever had and I'd bet he'd say the same about me.
Life is funny. Some people stick. Roo and I stuck.
More on the wedding when I return.