If any of you need help understanding the title, here you go, and you don't know me at all.
Dear Haley Allyson Richards:
You're the only one who points at my neck, chanting, "COURTNEY HAS A HICKEY" and that speaks volumes on our relationship. Granted, I can't remember the last time that happened, but it has happened, and it means that we're close. I'm sorry I that I didn't really like you in the eighth grade, but I'm glad we still claimed "best friendship" anyway. Thanks for not turning your back on me when I didn't hang out with you for a solid year. And thanks for being my friend sophomore year when I didn't have friends. And thanks for being my friend when my boyfriend broke up with me, and I didn't have friends again. You're always there for me. And I apparently never have any friends.You're like, the best friend a girl could ask for. Should I say friend again? Okay: friend, friend, friend. You mean the world to me, Haley Bailey. (P.S. I stole that nickname from Drake Eckholdt. He called you that during that week where I stayed at your house and we toilet papered his lawn just about every night. And while we're on the subject, I miss Hawberry House.) Thanks for supporting my Blake Ziser crush from sixth to ninth grade and for coming up with the code name "Strawberry Smoothie" so we could talk about him at lunch... no way he ever knew. I've loved the decade of school night sleepovers and I'm sorry for that time I thought you were flirting with Daniel, and I called you out on it (That was obviously Austin incepting my brain, and I cannot be held fully responsible for it. Suuuuch an awkward conversation...). You're my better half... the half that doesn't hate anyone, doesn't hold grudges, judge, or swear, and I love you for that, BabyHands (Ha, ha). I can't wait to make our husbands be friends, and arrange our babies' marriages. Here's to sixty more years of friendship, and happy friggin' birthday BESTY/BETSY!
P.S. Since I can't write it in your yearbook anymore, I have to say it here:
Oh, please. You knew it was coming.
All my love in the whole wide world to you, Highly Reechahds,
(Australian pronunciation since you lived there...)
Also, the following is the picture that came right after the one above. I saved it for last because it seriously kills me. Long live the San Francisco Art History trip... and how you chose to room with Chels, Kels, and Ockey. Emily & I are still not bitter about it...
...and here are all of the taglines of our friendship:
PSD: the good and the bad, emotion cookies, sexy pins, Misty Blue: Dorothy blah blah, Dobbie's knobby knackle knobs, S.S., He Who Shall Not Be Named, HELLA HELLA HELLA HOE, meatballs, "it feels like hooooome to me", Tim-Tam-Slam, Bieber Justin's Pizza Restaurant in Vegas, Las Veggies, ditching A.P. History for dove chocolate, french bread and Pepsi with Emily to talk about dumb idiot boys... or, PSDs, "Voldemort: Team Player", the sisterhood of the traveling sweatshirt and how I always made you be Carmen, how I was the president of Dance Co. in high school, and you didn't make the team until senior year (I am a better dancer than you are, obviously)(Ha, ha), our moms were roommates in San Fran and increased their own best friendship with Ann and Jolynn... the mom triumvirate plus one, salt in Kelsey's water at the restaurant on the wharf, Sambock Zarbuel and red head babies, "Come here! Lemme pinch ya!", Bobby Pappin, SCB (hahaha), secret parties in your basement with poker chips when your parents were out of town, Paco-Rolls, Pacosaurus-hands, Paco's basement for A.P., Paco's polyg-a-wife pictures in my room, how Emily called Paco Chris, and we never knew who she was talking about, 2Pac & Em, Paco makeouts, Paco black lips (Ugh, Paco. Come home.)(Sorry that that turned into a Pac love fest, but that's just the way that it worked out).
this has gotten remarkably lengthy... the point is,
Happy Birthday, Haley Potter!