This is my (our) friend Carrie, known here as E’s mom because she likes to be anonymous but hey, guess what, I’m telling everyone that your name is Carrie.  So suck it.  Carrie is also known as Mexico.  Also, she is straight gangsta.

I met Carrie about 13 years ago when she was bossing me around and making me cry at my first job with Blockbuster Music.  It was Carrie who introduced me to my beloved wife, Janie, shortly after I started working with her.  Janie and Carrie have been friends for over 20 years and it hasn’t always been pretty.  So I hear.  A few years ago, when Janie and I first started dating, the three of us had a time out, or what we like to call “Intermission.”  There were a good couple of years where we did not speak, but we’re back together now and it’s like the most verbally abusive and sexually suggestive relationship I’ve ever had, except for that other one.

Carrie is a generous and loyal friend to most everyone unless you are stupid or ugly or dumb or me.  I’ll be honest.  Carrie is one of the worst people I’ve ever met.  She’s terrible and awful and drunk and terrible.  I guess that’s why we hang out – like minds and all.  We’re both pretty sorry excuses for human beings, except for me.

Carrie is the best sort of friend to have because she’s so easily taken advantage of.  In her eagerness to please she’ll make no complaints about coming over to clean our house, make us dinner, do yard work, do more yard work, clean the house some more and then oh, yeah, get out there and do more yard work  The garden isn’t going to weed itself, bitch.  We take full advantage of it because cheap labor is hard to find and if there is one thing I can say for sure about our good friend Carrie, it’s that she’s cheap.  And drunk.  And an asshole.  And that I love her.  Sometimes.  On Monday afternoons from 1pm – 1:15pm.

You might think, Oh Linsey.  Be serious.  Say something nice about her. Well, I’m sorry.  I don’t have anything nice to say.  I’ve been trying to shake her for years.  She is like a piece of rice that gets on your finger and it’s sticks there and you flick it off, but it gets stuck on your other finger, and you’re shaking your finger and you’re flicking it off and maybe you think it finally flew into the sink but then 45 minutes later you’re looking in the mirror and it’s stuck to your face.  That’s Carrie.  She is nothing nice.

Okay.  Fine.  She has lovely teeth.

Also, she’s funny.  And maybe 12% of the time she is funnier than I am and that makes me sad.

Carrie has a son, Emilio, with whom I identify greatly because, on the inside, I too am an 11 year old boy.  We can talk about video games and more video games for hours and still find more video games to talk about.  I have very fond memories of hanging out with him when he was younger, especially that one time when he shit in my bathtub.  Or that other time at the grocery store, when he was about three, I gave him a tube of hemorrhoid cream and told him to find his mom and tell her she needed it.  I heard him three aisles over screaming at her: No, Mama.  You need this.  YOU NEED THIS!  I’m a pretty awesome person to have around kids.

In all honesty, Carrie is probably one of the most generous people I’ve met, both with her time and talk about dicks and balls.  In fact, everything I know about male genitalia comes from Carrie and I prefer it that way.

Carrie loves coffee, the rap music, her son, booze and Cry Baby.

Carrie dislikes animal abusers, when the bridge is up, fish and that time Janie and I accidentally set her cat’s tail on fire.