Happy Birthday, Jessica Jones | 4

Here we are in 2011, on one of our favorite days of the year… which comes again this Friday! You always like to take care of me, especially when it comes to things like makeup, or pacing myself during a progressive dinner, or not performing a citizen’s arrest on the lady who almost ruined your son’s birthday party (and then stole my phone). You look out for me. You teach me things.

You’re tricky, though.

You’re my voice of reason and my teacher, but also my biggest instigator. It’s confusing and always out of control: like when you splashed water on me in the Matador bathrooms, but then tried to tell everyone I had a romper malfunction. Or when you told me Tumblr was the best blogging platform, then promptly switched to WordPress (same thing happened when I finally got a Blackberry… you peaced out to Team iPhone and I was over hanging out on BBM all by myself). Or, when you revealed to me that South America was actually a continent for the first time, and I swore you to secrecy, but then you blogged the whole freaking conversation (an alias of Schmorianne helps NO ONE). Or when you told me it would be funny to scare Paul last year by reenacting the whole “Danger!!” scene from Friends, but then your foot ended up getting cut open by a glass I broke and somehow it all became my fault for being “too committed” to the moment.

You’re actually kinda mean.

It’s ok, though. I got even during the whole “AN EGG IS JUST A BABY CHICKEN” revelation.

Thank you for the years of laughs, my friend… and you’re welcome for many of those moments being at my expense.

Happy Birthday, Jessica Jones | 3

Friends who diet together… die together.

I’m pretty sure that’s how the saying goes.

Jess and I have been on our fair share of diets together. We’ve also started our fair share of blogs about said diets, but that’s a whole new post for a whole new day. Seriously, we’ve done it all. Adtkins, Weight Watchers (stupid celeb endorsements – we believe anything we see in US Weekly), HCG, fasting, juicing, hot yoga. I dealt with her candy withdrawals like a BOSS, and she dealt with my carb-cravings with as much (tough) love as she could muster. In this photo from 2010, we’re at our favorite Seattle late-night spot – Taphouse Grill – for a friend’s birthday. And the only thing we were allowed to have that late at night? Tea.

Not the pizookie. Not the Caprese pasta. Not the spicy tuna roll I DIE FOR… nope. Just green tea. I don’t even think we were allowed any sweetener. Not sure what kind of demon diet this was, but Jess… your cheekbones here are on point (as is my silver eyeshadow). Thanks for being there for me for my dieting fails… and I’m sorry for anything I said to you out of hunger.

Happy Birthday Jessica Jones | 2

2009 will always be “the year of Corianne and Paul”, but that wouldn’t have been possible without one Jessica Jones.
No, seriously. You think I’m just being poignant in that statement, but no… I’m actually being quite literal. 
She had been dropping hints all evening, almost annoyingly so:
“Paul, Corianne – you two just need to get together. It would be way easier on Jen and I, we can’t welcome a new girl or a new guy into this circle.”

“Corianne – Paul will share his dessert with you! Paul, why don’t you feed her a little bite?”

“Paul, Corianne looks scared. Hold her hand.”
So, later that night when Paul and I quietly started talking about “what if” we got together, it just felt right to have her pretending to ignore us on the couch beside us.
(Just kidding. It still feels a bit creepy and like something we maybe should have done over a candlelight dinner, but this is us. This is the same girl that, so far, had seen me through some very personal and emotional times in my life: poor fashion, bad haircuts, my snobby attitude, and diet-induced anger, just to name a few. I felt like nothing is ever off limits).

Happy Birthday, Jessica Jones | 1

Instead of the normal birthday collage, I am going to be featuring my best friend @jessicanjones, the birthday girl, throughout the day. We’re getting too old to be able to remember all of our fun memories without a little bit of work, 

so I’m going to start from the beginning and see how I can do.

This photo is from 2008, the year we “re-met”. We bonded over the campfire at Dave Matthews Band, which we attended together because of mutual friends at church. When she told me she had an affinity for all the pieces of the Pub Mix I hated (I mean, how perfect is that), and she brought all the magazines I hadn’t, I clung onto her like white on rice (hehe).

We got to talking, and discovered that Jess and I actually met YEARS before that – I was the front desk administrative assistant at a real estate office, and she was the personal assistant for one of the agents. I was a crabby, arrogant, bleached blonde with a love for Britney Spears and huge chip on my shoulder between the hours of 8-5pm; I couldn’t fathom how no one understood how to do anything themselves in an office setting – are people really that technologically challenged? I mean, you enter your code, your press how many copies you want, you stand on your head for 13 seconds, you clear our your code, and YOU PRESS ‘COPY’!

So, imagine my excitement when a super cute, trendy girl walked in. FINALLY. Someone I didn’t have to hand-hold through the whole tech process. She was so smart and capable, I just knew she was going to make my life easier. I mean, her Macy’s blazer was screaming “business profesh”.

Imagine my disdain when she called me an hour later at the front desk to ask me how to check her voicemail.

She didn’t even know which line was hers yet (I still remember she was extension 2252), but if she would have thought to pick up the phone on her desk and look at the screen, it displays the extension after a 10 second pause and pressing the * button three times in rapid succession, but whatever… apparently that was too hard to figure out herself. I mean, aren’t Asians supposed to be extra smart? Well. She “claims” I never gave her the instructions I said I would, but I still think she’s lying. So, she needed my assistance… and that – in addition to re-filling the coffee pot – is what I was paid to do. I stomped back there and showed her, and she didn’t say much – but she nodded her understanding. I glared at her one final time and left.

Later Jessica told me she had nicknamed me the mean, squeaky-voiced blonde. We never talked again, although we worked about 10 feet apart for quite some time. I’m pretty sure she avoided me between the years of 2004-2008.

Our friendship is proof that God can restore ALL THINGS.

(Sorry Davey, this isn’t about you.)