The world attempted to push Sami Jarrah and me to be friends before either of us were ready to accept the greatness that is now our companionship. Not only did we go to the same tiny college, we also lived on the same freshman hall, were both English majors and both worked in our school’s Annual Fund office.
But it wasn’t until we went on the same summer study abroad program to the UK after sophomore year and happened to find ourselves sitting next to each other on a train to Scotland that we discovered we had a lot in common. Namely, a love of travel, an unquenchable thirst for cider (Scrumpy Jack, if you’ve got it), and an appreciation for cute guys with accents.
Later we’d learn that we both listen to a lot of podcasts, so it makes sense that we’d finally do one together.
This is the first picture iPhoto tells me we have together. Edinburgh Castle, summer of 2005. Yikes.
Since then, we’ve moved across the country together, lived with a psychotic cat (RIP, Necy) in Portland, and befriended strippers and doctors, sometimes in the same night. We’re connectors; good at introducing folks to each other who would one day become friends. We’d throw a party every year to celebrate the anniversary of our arrival in Portland because we were vain and self important enough to think people would care. Turns out, people DID care. That, or they just liked the free booze. Either way, they came, they danced, and we’d congratulate ourselves on amassing an awesome group of acquaintances.
Now that I’m in LA, we don’t see each other as often, but make an effort to meet up at least every couple of months. Our latest excursion in the name of friendship was to Las Vegas, and I must say this is incontrovertible proof that we’ve gotten better (and by better, I mean hotter) with age.
Sami’s smart and kind, but he’s also full of surprises. I think this is reflected in his recommendations, which range from compassionate to…ahem…creepy.