More on Jeffica

I'm kinda sick about my friends. I have this freako discriminating streak when it comes to humans, so those that I keep around tend to be extra-quality. Jeffica is one such person. He came into my life interning at the ad agency I was working for. His resume was printed on rose-patterned pink paper. He wore a white belt and white boots and pinstriped jeans. He was hanging around looking for stuff to do. I wasn't biting. I hustled over to my future boss's cubicle. "Is the new intern a woman?" "I don't know. His resume says he's Jeff." "Right. Short for Jeffica." Anyway, he got a job there and things were groovy. We weren't like best fucking friends who cried over mushy movies together. We were like coworkers who hung out on occasion. We had our share of ridiculous ass shit. One night after work we stumbled into a Midtown Christian store completely crocked and bought a handful of Christian party invites for a party that never happened. On another occasion, we wrote a fake Internet party flyer to a gay bar (Therapy) near our office, and got most of the agency out. We invented this fun zone called "The Club," which was basically him jacking his headphones into my CD player's extra port, and we'd rock out while we wrote ads. This was great, because if we were just sitting there and shit was getting blase, he'd say "Yo, let's go to the Club." For Halloween, he and this other kid Gertie and I decided to be each other. He wore a tweed coat and a sweater vest. At the end of the day, he says "Being you is fucking exhausting. I need a nap." When he moved off to Chicago (to fucking support his WIFE's decision to move there!!! What kind of shit is that?!), I was bummed. I had to fuck the proofreader extrahard to get over that gnawing loss. I visited him twice in Chicago. One night, we went berserk and called CB (my aforementioned future boss) at 5 in the morning, and talked about some gay black dude who wound up in Schuba's. We think he was looking for Cuba Gooding Jr's house. The second time he was pressed to squeeze me in, but he did. We met at the W hotel, had drinks and looked at naked girls on the Internet commenting on whether they were hot or not. And that's the way friends should be. Unless you're some kind of human charity case, you can get a lot of mileage out of that shit.