Archives for category: Brosties

Today is the day that the New Horizon spaceship Instagrams its pic of the coldest, rockiest, off – kilter planet (I’m from New Mexico so it’s a planet) from the Sun, Pluto.  Today is also Bastille Day, France’s “Let them eat cake” revolution.  Big day, Earthlings.   Big day because, also, on this day, Ma and Pa Hilty a few moons ago birthed a Stimpy.  Scott Hilty (aka Stimpy Bear, Stimp).

I met the gruff and grumble Stimp in the Fall of 1996, his abrasive icy exterior was my own planet Pluto – and I figured my fly-by would be short.  I was wrong.  As a solid member of my friend group then, and roommate to Jeff and Drake (and many others before) at the Kappa Sig Chisolm Trail party house (NOBODY TOUCH THE WHITE DISHTOWELS), he and I softened up to one another and slowly but surely became tolerant (albeit many an eye roll from Scott) of one another’s presence.  Finally I was coerced into picking up Scott from the El Paso airport at Christmas and we would drive, the two of us, alone, in my car to Albuquerque to meet with our crew.  That trip changed everything.  For the first time we HAD to talk to one another, and we haven’t stopped since.  I was christened “chick” – which is Stimp for “you’re okay with me, we can communicate now.”  We not only had interesting conversation, but we also shared humor, a need for connection and gathering with our people, and in the end (who knew!?) THE LAW!

Scott left his undergrad at NMSU with guns blazing on the Rodeo USA dance floor in full “Eff you, eff you, eff you, you’re cool…eff you” and face planted in my lap (I mean to be fair EVERYONE was buying him shots)before heading on up to UNM for Law School.  Then University of Houston post grad, then Dallas (I don’t think he missed an Aggie Lobo game in all those years).  I got HORRIBLY lost once trying to visit him on a work trip – he lived “Oh just an easy turn off the Dallas High Five Interchange”… I pulled into his parent’s driveway at 1 in the morning shaking, the door opened, I was handed the strongest Bombay Sapphire and Tonic I’ve ever had, my cigarette lit by George (Pa Hilty), and I became an honorary family member.

I honestly have too many endearing stories with this man, which is why he is my Brostie 4 lyfe.   (I have that tattooed in Olde English on my back)  (no I don’t)     He is the male version of me.  Angry, unruly when pushed too far, a perfectionist, loud and declarative, opinionated, loyal, moody.  But Scott has shown me in all these years that someone like us also has the ability for great understanding and calm – he and I both have taken a role as caretaker, final hand hold in this realm, of our loved ones passing from Cancer.  (he his mom and I my best friend).  He was my behind the scenes (and necessary) friend/attorney/counsel during my rape trial and beyond.  Perhaps we received a deeper need for connection with our people because of life experience…a deeper spiritual feeling about why things happen, and the meaning of life.  Zen Stimp is a very good place to be, and he has found his zen and his “Broad” – broad is Stimp for “I love you”, and Stimp met this broad Jamie:

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I can’t say I’ve ever seen him so happy.  Content… centered…  it comes with age, with a great partner, some yoga…mad crazy amounts of facial hair (Stimp can grow a helluva woodland face pet).   It also comes with great beer (and PBR), great food (blueberry bread and BEYOND), great friends – Scott has surrounded himself with his passions and it shows.

I am eternally grateful to my Brostie Scott.  For keeping me up to date on what you crazy Burquenos are doing, to making sure I’m doing okay wayyy out here, talking me down off some ledges and throwing me a cheers pic (we started the picture cheers when I had my one night/one beer a week outing after Finn was born, just to feel like a human being again and with no one I knew around…that among other things has helped me find a light in some dark places).    Thank you thank you thank you.

❤ For being my friend.   #TheFacebookProject

I’d give you a lip print dome today if I could.  Happy Birthday.  GIT PLOWED.  😉

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One hot summer day at the beginning of my Sophomore year of college, I dragged myself into “Masters Algebra” on the NMSU campus. I sat down, flipped open my book, turned to the cute guy sitting next to me (noticed he was wearing a pop bead anklet), and said “Whew it’s hot out! What page are we on today?” Cute guy gave me a once over, grumbled “ugh…i dunno” and I spent the next 55 minutes in that class watching him explain every aspect of Algebra to the super cute blonde girl that sat down next to him wearing a mechanic’s top with her name patched onto her very perky left cup.
That was how I met Jeff Forehand twenty years ago. The universe has a funny way of making sure that people who should know each other get second chances. And boy did Jeff blow his.   I wound up at a Halloween party that Fall, and lo and behold there sat Jeff! He (known as Lloyd) and his friend Scott (known as Stimp) were lurking on a sofa drinking dark beer and I introduced myself – OH YEAH You’re the new girlfriend they said (I had just started dating Holt and was deeply questioning his friend choices)…what is your name? Lori? Jeff and Scott then called me Lori for the next two hours.
Needless to say those two assholes became some of my dearest friends on Earth. I can’t get rid of them. I even tried moving to the other edge of the country.
JEFFREY, is one hell of a character.  Here he is in his natural state:

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He comes from a family of soccer hooligan boys from Los Alamos – where YES, there really is something in the water – he’s just different enough to be the most interesting man in the world. He doesn’t drink beer at 4 a.m. often, but when he does it is for Man U. He was a history major (Ancient Chinese? i dunno, Japanese is such a prettier history 😉 ) who went on to teach in Tuscon (and should teach again!) and then brought his darling daughters to Albuquerque where he carves wood and a future for them.
Jeff bleeds Aggie crimson. He taught me how to drink “the really good beer”…he walked into a party with  a six pack of Newcastle or Guinness, Taddy or Old Speck… he would bring Macanudo cigars and give us sips of some bizarre Russian liquor that his super secret international spy dad brought back from his latest mission.  He has the secret recipe for jungle juice.  He taught me not to cry when politically debating.  I was his wing-man for YEARS…I can’t tell you how many little blondes we hunted and caught together hahaha. Catch and Release Blonde Ambition Tour 1995 – 1998…
Jeff finally sat me down one day and made me an honest wing-man by giving me first peek at an engagement ring and getting my blessing…I should’ve been his best man (did you guys hear that?  That was Scott bristling)  He settled down but in the best of ways and though the wedding of the century ended, he has since shaped into one of the most attentive and wonderful dads that dad-dom can claim. He gives the best foot rubs.  He wears his family’s Scottish kilt.  When he says he loves you he means it. When he says he’ll be there, or do something, he does it. He is my Step-on dance partner. He is every 80’s song when it comes on the radio. He wears a candy-built necklace from his daughter that he will never take off.  He’s one of about five people in the universe that I will pick up a phone and call.  He is a consummate gentleman, and one of my absolute best friends, and even 20 years ago we realized we were just NOT nice people, and probably should stick together.

Today is your birthday, El Jeffe. Happy Happy Happy Birthday. All of us love you very much. And because of that I’m making this your dating profile on Match….kthxbyeeeee…… kidding.

But seriously, ladies…he’s a catch.

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(the patented Jeffrey thumbs up)

Joe Chacon​ and I met at a party at my sister’s apartment in Albuquerque. He was working with her at the UNM bookstore. I’m pretty sure he broke his foot at that party. We really knew how to party back then.
Soon after, as we Williams girls do – Colleen made him her roommate. Forever. They moved to NYC years later and were roommates. They probably are still roommates and just don’t tell people. Because of this, we consider him a legally adopted part of our family. “Brother Joe”, as we call him….(okay we don’t. We call him Cardigan….okay we don’t….Just don’t call him late for dinner!….okay I’m done) is someone I actually cannot imagine my life without. He is the best gift giver to my son – doesn’t that say so much about a person – how thoughtful their gifts are!? (I’m sorry…everyone I’ve ever gifted) He came out to me the way I wish ALL my gay friends would’ve come out to me – he fed me whisky shots at Anodyne and then told me and we hugged it out and then we crashed together at the Beene’s place and sang Madonna’s Vogue until everyone yelled at us to shut up. Actually, that really is how all my gay friends have come out to me, so …thank you.
Joe is a snappy tweedy wingtip dresser.  Debonair.  Classic.

He loves fall.

(that gets it’s own line….see that… no one loves fall as much as Joe. No one.)  He is also one of a handful of people who’s voice and mannerisms I can FEEL reading this post. He has the impossibly irresistible power of forcing you to laugh when he laughs. He is always very very calm…until you put him on the dance floor and then THIS happens:

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(Joe’s dance face! THAT FACE! angry dad)

I’ve been privy by proxy to Joe’s struggles and successes via Colleen, and I don’t know if there is a more thorough study of how to push forward, from the South Valley playground bullies to the educational pursuits leading to John Jay and Forensic Psychology (I mean how cool is that?!), from seeing the worst of society to seeing the best in society, working at Rikers Island, and from the sudden loss of his mother to his own beautiful ability to bring children to see their own parents in prison…Joe’s heart is solid gold. He’s the unofficial Guardian of my sister!
Now, would I have to fight him for Chris Pratt? Yes. But Pratt is married, so Joe and I can peacefully coexist.

I love you to the ending of Mad Men and back, Joe!

❤ Thank you for being my Brother Joe.   #TheFacebookProject

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I only have about ten seconds until this post self-destructs, or as Scott Hilty says, “he pulls a Keyser Söze” and is gone…but Chet Markham is on Facebook for a minute and I am going to facebook project his face off.
I met Chet a couple years before I knew his name – at Elephant Butte, a crew of us were camping and he and some other guys came whooshing up on jet skis.
You do not forget Chet when you first meet him – he’s 6’7″ or something (okay 6’4″)…he has a confidence about him that seers directly into you, it’s intimidating at first but then he usually smiles and you decide he won’t kill you. He has THAT HAIR. It’s really good hair, you guys. Once, he was mistaken as a Denver Bronco while we were walking to a club IN Denver. He’s a big dude. He’s a great dude.

Chet is, in one word, exuberance.

Here is a run down of Chetisms. He walked down the aisle to the Star Wars theme song. (they walked together to Cranberries). He has a booming loud voice, that gets boominger and louder-er as a night with friends winds on. He loves Rush. He loves Star Wars. His amusement at others is actually what makes him incredibly funny. He loves the Broncos. He drove us to Mile High Stadium (right before the switch to Invesco) and played the Monday Night Football theme in a strategic move that was brilliant and god damn hilarious. He loves the NMSU Aggies. He once introduced himself to a friend of mine by raising his foot from behind a hotel bed to offer as a hand shake. He is loyal to a fault. He will embrace you in his life and then invite you over to play guitar hero and then not let you leave until well past lunch time four days later. If I remember correctly, Chet is a devout “Christmas” chile fan. He’s a conservaliberatarlican. Or some other wrong kind of party, but he is really fun to bounce ideas off of. He is smart – very smart, and hard working, and hard playing. He is a jeep off road club guy. He houseboats the shiz out of Powell (almost?) every year. He responds to Chip Taberski, if called. He married the MOST patient loving stunning woman ever (COURTNEY CATHERINE) and they are collectively Chetney to those that love them, and I got to sit at the bad kid’s table and witness their union.

When I was moving to Boston, Chet and Courtney couldn’t come for my going away party, so they went OUT of their way and came to Cruces to meet me for dinner a few weeks before I left. It was really special, they are really special, and I have had some wild wild times with them that always make me smile. Even the political disagreements, Chet!  I love you both and cannot WAIT to have my chance to lose my voice again yelling CHEEETTTTTTTT at you. Thanks for popping back on here for a spell.

❤ Thank you for being my friend. #TheFacebookProject
(not IN this pic, but I TOOK this pic – From Amy and Al’s wedding)

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Why oh why do we call him “Hork”?…. I mean, we’re all much older now. When I met Hork it was 1996, we were 25 and under, all of us. I still couldn’t get into bars. He earned his name in the usual way – a drinking night with his frat – (Doesn’t that sound like he’s such a DB broski?! You guys just need to know that Aggie frats were not…really….a thing like that. haha) And so it stuck, and I met him as Hork, and I think it was like LAST MONTH on Facebook that I was like GREG? Ok, not last month but it was a considerable amount of time. So my friendship with Hork began in the churning belly of Club West Happy Hour. The rumbling gut of Bennigan’s 100 Beers Clover Club. The belching innards of countless poker nights – the vile indigestion of Monday Night Football….

OKAY OKAY…so maybe “Hork” fits. I got carried away.

We were at just about every social gathering we could be at together, and finally we started talking. I found Hork to be the most engaging, interesting, formidable socio-political mind of the 21st century. (pitchers of Guinness make you describe your friends like that). While I may be exaggerating slightly, he really is one of the most fair wonderful people. His opinions on everything under the sun are enlightening and usually end with this slightly high pitched giggle……THAT GIGGLE….is what makes him your forever friend. He is an accountant by trade and satirist/observer by birth. He is level – there is no roller coaster of crazy with Hork. There is only presence, witness, and Fish Shirts.

Seriously, Hork has this fish shirt…..it’s -it might actually need it’s own Facebook Project – but…the shirt is legendary. When Hork asks you to rub his belly and he’s wearing the fish shirt, you do it. is all I have to say.

Basically this post needs an audio clip of that giggle, but otherwise, I think it is simple enough to say Greg Monk is an outstanding individual, a really great friend, and I THINK I’ll be seeing him very soon! (fingers crossed)
❤ Thanks for wearing that shirt.

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