Pete and Nikki

Nikki and Pete.

Friends for life

I’m not sure which one of us would be Larry and which one of us would be Jeff. While Pete has a family and obligations that make him much more like Jeff, I dare to say that I am much more grounded in reality and would probably say, despite being less hilarious-that I am Jeff.

But certainly, beyond both loving the show-my Peter and I embodied these characters, and their relationship quite well.

Odd couple

So, to keep things brief, I will tell a short story that lends itself to my claims here.

In case we don’t know- Peter is my best friend in Arizona, who was a co-worker and mentor of mine for two years. For almost all of that two years, I sat at a desk that faced his desk and spent more time with him and Greco than anybody else on this planet. For most of two years, I ate forty meals a month with him, spent over 50 hours a week with him, countless happy hours, and probably thousands of text messages and about a hundred midnight phone calls.

I owned his old furniture, I drove his car, I was often his alibi, he took me to buy my first bike, he picked up our morning lattes with cinnamon, he introduced me to udon noodles and albacore, he fitted my helmet, I taught him yoga, we sang Old Dirty Bastard to each other, quoted Gangs of New York, I paid his vet bills, he paid mine, and we were often each other’s first-call when something funny happened a mere twenty minutes after leaving the office. We literally were and are partners in crime. There was never even a moment of romantic chemistry between us-and I know both of us wouldn’t have it any other way.

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Cheryl: I thought you didn’t like talking to people.
Larry David: I don’t like talking to… to people I KNOW, but strangers, I have no problem with.

(neither Pete nor I were nice, normal enough people to be Cheryl)

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To this day, I truly believe he is one of a handful of people I was meant to meet in this life. He is also probably one of the only human beings I will ever meet that I can love unconditionally. (See: non-romantic) He is the Mario Batali to my Gwyneth Paltrow, the Leonardo DiCaprio to my Kate Winslet. The Gayle to my Oprah. For those who have never experienced a relationship like this, I really, really hope you do.

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On to a story I remembered yesterday:

Pete is small. He is a smallish human. I am certainly taller than him in flats, and tower above him more or less in heels. No matter, he certainly hasn’t lacked for female attention in this life. Anyway- we were both leaving our job, we had spoken about it many times and in order to fully maximize our health insurance, we decided to schedule a bunch of appointments before we quit.

So I scheduled a physical. I get to the office and right away they weigh me so I can feel like not eating for the rest of the day-and get my height. Now, ever since high school I’ve been under the presumption that I was around 5’7 or 5’8. In talking about this with Pete, he was comfortable with the notion that he was around 5’6.

This doctor’s office measures me and tells me I’m 5’4. I freak out. In my head-my first thought is that my BMI basically now means I’m morbidly obese. My weight-to-height ratio is totally motherfucking fucked if I’m THREE TO FOUR inches shorter than I thought I was. That’s a lot of height. Gone. Boom. I look at the nurse and she jots down 5’4. I didn’t have time to argue but I drove back to the office depressed.

You know who else was going to be depressed that day? Peter. I get back and tell him the bad news. Not only am I actually 5’4, but he is now around 5’2 or 5’3. Five feet and motherfucking two inches.

He freaks. He’s enraged by this doctor and demands a recount. I don’t know what to tell him- I say- I’m upset too. I’m very upset. He is turning red now. He will not stand for this. He knows that I’m at least 5’7 and he is not taking this lightly.

The long and the short of it is- (see what I did there?) Peter makes an appointment for the next week at my doctors office to “settle the score.” He goes and demands to beĀ  measured twice. Five feet, six inches.

If that story isn’t ripped from Curb, I don’t know what is.

Larry: He insulted me. He implied that I was lying about my stepfather!
Jeff Greene: You don’t have a stepfather.
Larry: I know, but I didn’t like the implication!

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