Oh Ry Guy.
What is the story of Ryan? Well I'm not exactly sure. In the same stake pretty much our whole lives. Went to the same Jr. High (I thought his name was Brian for months) and High School. And then the same college. Ryan you creep. Get your own life.
We were always in the same friend group but it wasn't until the last few years that I actually got to know him. He looks hella intimidating.
The turning point might have been when a bunch of us planned to cook a Sunday dinner, now that we were far away from our doting, meal providing parents. Ry guy was pretty much the only other one to contribute a meal plan, cooking skill, and the thought to help clean up. I thought, "wow Ryan is like a complete person that can function on his own. Self-sufficiency. Weird." This was the dinner when I called my parents and apologized for every single time I turned up my nose at a meal or left without at least putting away my dishes. Karma has a sick sense of humor. Um.. sorry again parentals.
So we ate real food together. And a lot of junk food. We share this disease - ihateeveryoneitis - and the only treatment was withdrawing from the world inhabited by complete idiots and watching 30 Rock while ingesting large amounts of junk. Basically we were real big snots. But everyone else really was stupid so it was ok. We took many trips to the DI because few other people seemed to appreciate the beauty of already worn clothes. And then we laughed at the people who actually wore new clothes with name brands. Weirdos.
We took many* a trip to St. George to sell plasma and sometimes just to get the heck out. I followed him to the gym (where he works out obsessively) where he taught me the importance of using the shoulder machine.
"But Ryan I don't want to."
"Do it Gish. It'll make you look like Michelle Obama."
Let's see.. there's the gym, the food, the clothes, the plasma. AH. I also need to somehow incorporate the volunteering with children, the music, and the writing. Oh look. I just did. My apologies, it's just that that the little part of me, you know, the one the dictates my ability to coherently write descriptions and transitions that aren't crap took my last two finals and then curled up on the couch where I've been sleeping and died.
Sooo anyway. Ryan is a real good writer. And he tries to make his school work real good and not just slide by. Once he made me go to the park with him in the middle of the night so I could take pictures of him all dead like with syrup (blood) on his face. It was negative two degrees and he still took off his shirt for the integrity of the photo. Dedicated, this boy is. And he took these real cool pictures:
Ryan kind of does everything. I think that's the draw. He's interested in life, in everything, in learning, trying new things, going on adventures. It's the best. (This may be why he's changed his major what... four times?)
My ability to write in full sentences is continuing to slip. Ry Guy. You are fantastic. I hope you escape this tiny town one day. If not, I'll probably come visit you as an old man and remind you what a "downtown" looks like. One with more than one street.
*Many? Did say many? Mom I mean one. Really..