Adios, Chris

It was the best lasagna I’ve ever had in my life. I wanted to eat more of it, but in order to do that I would’ve had to pave paradise and put up a parking lot. In simpler terms, my stomach would’ve needed a trailer in which to store things. In normal terms, I was full. 

I’m getting ahead of myself.

For those of you who don’t know, myself and the blogger at THIS blog – Chris – have been friends since Grade 4, best friends since Grade 5, and mistaken for each other since Grade 6. Shoutout to our softball coach!

Last Friday night (isn’t that a Katy Perry lyric?), a surprise party was thrown at his house in his honour (as well as someone else’s, but I don’t want to reveal names without permission).

The reason? Chris left for the U.K. today to chase his dream of playing international basketball.

Just kidding, he’s going there for school, but if their basketball team comes knocking, you can be sure Chris will answer the door…after looking through the peephole.

It was a going away surprise party, which his mom (my blog’s #1 super fan) graciously hosted.

I arrived at the house just before 6pm and my biggest fear when I took my winter boots off was, “I hope no one puts my boots on accidentally and goes home with them.” Something similar had happened to me before, though I caught the culprit before they could leave.

There is a time and place to put yourself in someone else’s shoes, but it should never be literally.

That is one of those fears you don’t know you have, until you think about going home with only socks and a brave face.

His mom greeted me at the door and the night of meeting strangers who already knew who I was – by first and last name – had begun.

That’s the thing with Chris. He always calls me by my first and last name. Even when he’s talking to people I’ve never met. If I ever get famous, he’s going to be my hype man. The whole world will know my name within three days and be tired of it by the fourth.

If he calls me just “Paul”, it’s weird. I’m like a puppy that’s trained to go to the washroom outside. Only in this case, I’m trained to hear my last name.

Chris arrived at the house and was greeted by a large group of friends and family, who didn’t realize he had walked in the front door. It was perfect.

At 7pm, dinner arrived, and so did the lasagna of my dreams.

I didn’t tell anyone this, but earlier that day at lunch, I attended an Italian buffet with some old friends from school. I had already had enough food to last me until 2pm on Saturday.

Trust me when I tell you that I was walking laps around my house from the time I got home from the buffet, to the time I went to the surprise party, in order to expedite the process of digestion. I knew there would be food to be had that evening, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist.

Fast forward to 7pm, the two huge trays of lasagna were unveiled, as were two trays of salad. And if you have a good memory of my old blog posts, you’ll remember that I used to go to Chris’ house after school when I was a kid, and his mom would order pizza and caesar salad from the best pizza place in town.

I always thought the salad was homemade, though. It wasn’t. It was from the restaurant. Well, here it was again! Just like old times. Julia (Chris’ mom) and I had this exact conversation last Friday and laughed.

ANYWAYS, food.

I had one piece of lasagna and knew I was in heaven. I went back for a second piece just to make sure.

It was the best lasagna I’ve ever had in my life. I wanted to eat more of it, but in order to do that I would’ve had to pave paradise and put up a parking lot. In simpler terms, my stomach would’ve needed a trailer in which to store things. In normal terms, I was full.

All the while, I was trying to forget about my heavy lunch and the fact that I was starting to cut into my Sunday calorie intake.

I don’t count calories – that was just a clever line I thought of, which was probably true. 

I felt like a huge propane tank. Not in the sense that I was gassy…man, where am I going with this…back track Paul, back track.

I felt like the shape of a huge propane tank. Nailed it.

You know those signs on the back window of cars that says, “Baby on Board”? I needed one of those on my stomach, except it would say: “Food Baby On Board”.

Am I a genius? Or am I a genius? Discuss amongst yourselves.

This post has gone from “a goodbye to Chris”, to “this is how much food Paul ate on Friday”. Sorry. I’ll try to connect the dots somehow.

After the food was in our collective stomachs, myself and a few others headed to the basement to play video games. I felt like I was 11 years old again. From the video game battles and the sleepovers, to the nerf gun fights and hockey games, this basement held a lot of happy memories from my childhood.

It also held a turtle named Franklin.

We played video games the rest of the night. There was an 8 year old among us, so I made sure to beat him by 40 points in a game of NBA 2k16. I was in full camp counsellor mode, so I did it in a respectful way.

It was an accident, okay! The kid even said, “It’s boys night.” He was fine with it.

He was one of us – 25 year olds who needed glasses to see a TV, ten feet away.

I was about to leave and Chris mentioned there were a bunch of leftovers so I offered to take some home, which I realized after was probably rude of me to do. Or maybe it wasn’t. I don’t know the protocol of asking to bring leftovers home, but I offered because I thought I was helping.

Julia, I’m sorry if it was rude of me to take leftover lasagna!

Thank you for it, though. I took good care of it.

Now I just sound creepy. Or like a babysitter. Lasagna sitter? No, that sounds like I sat on it. Ugh.

Chris and I then took some awkward pictures in his kitchen because we only seem to be able to take a good photo together once every three years. We then gave each other a high five because that’s our new way of saying “bye” (as of that day) and I went home.

There was a nicer photo, but this one sums up the 7 minute struggle for a photo that didn’t look like we had to go to the washroom.

And then we saw each other again this past Monday for a last hurrah at Pizza Hut lunch buffet.

Now that he’s on the other side of the world, it’s up to me to keep Pizza Hut in business until he comes back. I’ve already been there before, by myself, so that won’t be a problem.

But much like in between the couch cushions is the “place” for coins, Pizza Hut is our “place”. Many conversations with pizza in our mouths are held there.

It’ll be weird without Chris around. We didn’t see each other often, but I’m already wondering who is gonna retrieve the baseballs I hit this summer.

Now hiring: best friend/ball collector.

Maybe I’ll just get a dog. Same thing.

I’ll end with this:

At Chris’s house there were discussion topic cards. One of them said, “What do you look for in a friend?”

Chris replied: “Geographical Convenience.” He was quoting The Simpsons, relax.

Isn’t it ironic? (Now I’m quoting an Alanis Morrisette song, aren’t I?)

Well, Chris, by the time you read this you’ll be in the U.K. and probably acting awkward. Enjoy your time over there, good luck, don’t offend anyone, and be sure to name drop me as many times as you can. If I ever go over there, I don’t want to go through the hassle of introducing myself.

As you can tell, I’ve gotten a really big head ever since that surprise party where everyone knew who I was before I could tell them. I was a local celebrity. 

Seriously though, good luck on the basketball team at school and don’t bang your head on any doorways on the first day.

Tut tut cheerio.

Or as they say in the U.K…. adios, for now!