Sunday, April 25, 2010

Evan is my homeboy

Alex, my boyfriend, always tells me that if you put it out on the internet, than you really mean it.

I met Evan when I was 13 and freshly picked from the midwest to the west coast. He was tall, long, and had a huge smile the first time I saw him. (When Evan smiles, you're a goner.) Meeting Evan was the beginning of a beautiful, hilarious friendship I had no idea I would be a part of: great friendships are serendipitous.

A transition from the midwest to the west coast is about the same as a transition from one country to another. The dialect is different, the people are different, the textiles are different, and as a budding teenager I was in shock. And depressed. But Evan, ah Evan would be in the group parting welcoming arms into my new home, and life.

There's a list of memories I can scroll through of my favorite moments I shared with Evan. So many years I was blessed to be around him. Now, I was having a conversation with my good friend Ben the other day and we concluded this: we were part of the pre-"EVAN!"-era, that is, we were friends with him before he got famous.

Evan Peter is famous. Really. You get yourself off the 210 freeway, exit sunflower ave. and cruise around residential Covina, and ask anyone between the ages of 20-25 and say "where's evan's house?" you'll get an automatic "behind taco bell, off glendora ave. i'll come with you."

The Peters Residence has a bigger following than the Greek Orthodox Church down the street, that I am positive of. Sorry to the Orthodox Greeks but I'm pretty sure they don't offer around-the-clock soda service with an all-you-can-eat munchies bar and endless sectional of board games. But that, my readers, is a religious gathering of the most deepest and sincerest love.

Evan is like Jesus. You can't help but gravitate to him. I've seen it firsthand with other people. It's fascinating! Everyone is wearing an invisible "Evan is my homeboy" t-shirts and I don't blame them. If anything, I see it as a true testament that, despite my several flaws, something I have is an impeccable taste in friends. It never fails me. And because of that: I am sane.

Otherwise, I'm sure I would turn to some sort of warped version of a beat-neck and crazed feminist.

Evan is one of my true crowning moments as a friend-picker. He's the damn funniest guy I know. My face hurts whenever I hang out with him for too long. But it's like that pain that feels good too. Pain in my face muscles but good in the heart.

I got him back though when I kicked the shit out him in our high school's production of "1984." My teacher decided to shake things up a bit and casted me in the male lead of O'Brien and lucky Evan was my Winston. Before Act Three I would cup his face in my hands, look him right in the eye, say "I love you", kiss him on the cheek I would later smack, and proceed to the pool of light to begin his torturous beat-down. That nightly ritual was my favorite, private moment I shared with my best friend. It's so defining.

All that we did on stage together as actors, and as friends in life, would be impossible if it weren't for our mutual trust.

Evan once told me that acting was only good to him when he was acting with his friends.

And friend, life is only good when I'm laughing it with you. Thank you.

Happy Birthday.


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