Monica and Me

It seems that often the only times we truly share our feelings about someone is when it's too late. Be it an unexpected passing or a cataclysmic fight that one can't come back from, we never get a chance to say those last few words we wanted to. In keeping with the theme of 'friendship funeral' month then I'll do one last hyper dramatic faux eulogy of my friend Monica Morell as she passes from her life in Los Angeles to New York City. I realize this is wildly over the top, but trust me, she would want it this way.

***

"Tell them I'm an actress if anyone asks."

They won't, I assure her. But I agree to go along with her charade.

"Isn't this how people get discovered?"

Sure Monica. Something like that.

We're in an Uber to a swank wrap party for the Mindy Project, probably two bottles of wine deep already. I'm wearing a purple button down shirt and my date is looking downright intimidating in a red dress that would make every one of my female coworkers blush.

Her name is Monica Morell, recently 30 and living halfway in between reality and a dream. Everything that comes out of her mouth is equal parts absurd and charming making her the ideal person to bring to a swanky party. She oozes some sense of class, though it's unclear if she was brought up that way or if she just watched enough Audrey Hepburn movies to fake it. She is completely 100% an original, there will never be another like her.

I met Monica the day I moved to Venice, over six years ago. I was desperate to find an apartment as I was currently living in my car and my roommates Jack and Nick had been evicted from their Hollywood apartment a week before. The week prior we had signed a lease for an apartment on Pacific but a shiesty landlord had torn up our agreement when someone offered to pay more.

"Couldn't we sue you?" I asked in an email.

"I'm guessing you can't afford a lawyer." Was his response, well played sir.

As I wondered up to 627 Westminster to meet my future landlord, a spunky ball of energy comes tearing through.

"Is this an open house, mind if I join darling?"

She seemed like a character, like she was putting on some sort of act. She removed her oversized sunglasses to reveal a beaming smile. Despite the fact that it was 80 degrees, she was wearing a scarf and some sort of messenger hat to go along with striped leggings and a Parisian blouse.

Without waiting for an answer, she barged on in and joined the tour. After taking a cursory view of the place she exclaimed 'I'll take it!"

This caught both me and landlord off guard.

"Well, uh...this was actually Dave's appointment..."

"Here's a $2000 deposit."

She handed him a stack of hundreds like it was nothing. Who IS this girl I thought.

Before I had time to protest the landlord looked over to me. "Unit 2 is available too, and think about it, she probably has cute friends."

So goes the tale of how I became neighbors with Monica. The cute friends actually ended up being two fairly nice guys, but no one lasted more than a year with Monica. She cycled through roommates like she cycled through men, once she found someone to be uninteresting they were gone.

As we grew closer, the mystique around Monica grew even deeper. She was not the east coast socialite that she pretended to be, but just a middle class kid from Ohio, a sorority girl that bartended at Ohio State.

We would fight often but never longer than a few days. She would admonish me for refusing to grow up, while I would tear into her about her blatant social climbing. Monica of course wanted to be a star, and why wouldn't she? With a personality as strong as hers she was certainly capable of becoming famous which frustrated her even more as she wilted away as an executive assistant at Red Bull.

I think the majority of the tension between Monica and I ended up coming from the fact that we were so similar. We were both running from a mediocre existence in flyover country. By 30 I always assumed I would be writing for a hit tv show and I'm sure Monica assumed she would be hosting something on E.

And so when both of our careers kind of stalled it was often Monica who I could turn to for a shoulder to cry on. We would have dinners that would quickly turn into four bottles of red wine and us passed out on my couch. If I had a bad break up she would suggest we stay up all night and then go for a 6am swim in the ocean. She was kind of like the sister that I never had in a way, whereas no matter how frustrated we might make each other, she would always be there for me.

Over the years we would creatively collaborate a few times, eventually drunkenly writing a pilot on napkins at a bar in Newport Beach on Thanksgiving Day. We even came up with genius plan to exploit her Puerto Rican heritage to become diversity staff writers on a TV show.

We went on trips, attempted to sneak into concerts and more than a few times would come out of black outs in the Hollywood Hills with limited recollection of how or why we got there.

The complexity of 627 Westminster would always change but Monica was the constant.

She had always talked about New York, a veiled threat that she may not always be there for me, but I knew that she couldn't actually leave. In Venice, Monica was the star of her own show, in New York she would be just the next dough eyed victim to be chewed up and spit out before she knew what hit her. So when Monica started dating a guy in New York I thought very little of it.

I never thought much of her boyfriends because, well, I never thought any of them were good enough for her. To be fair, most of them didn't think much of me, especially when we were doing clavicle shots right in front of them. I guess they just didn't understand what we were. They, like her fake dietary restrictions, may be a flavor of the month but Monica was my ride or die, a free spirit that couldn't be contained.

When I finally got the email that Monica was leaving, my world slowed down for a minute. She couldn't actually leave, I hadn't known a life is Los Angeles without her.

I convinced myself that it was another threat, a cry for attention. But the closer the deadline came, the more I thought that it might be true. I started coming home and there were just things outside my door, a long board, a few cases of Red Bull, a sweater. You're taught from a young age that when someone starts giving away all their possessions it's a bad sign. Shit this might really happen.

Of course her exit wasn't without flair as Ms. Morell refuses to go quietly. There has been an event every night for the past two weeks with expected attendance. This will culminate with a going away party tomorrow, and then I'm sure 5 more next week and then we all go to Mexico where I fully expect her to hijack Alexia's 30th birthday party, but that's ok because that's the Monica we all know and love.

With less than 10 days before she's gone forever, I've taken some time to reflect on our time together and my oh my, what a run we had. I'll never forget the Polaroids, the hand written letters, the times she kept us out of jail. What a gem you are Mon, there will truly never again be someone like you.

So as she prepares to move her life 3000 miles away and start a new beginning with Jake (a good dude!) here are some things that I want to get off my chest before it's too late.

You will kill it in New York. You found your place in the sun out here and we'll keep it warm in case you ever want to come back. Your east coast adventure begins in a week and it's just a new exciting chapter in the novel that is your life. I understand I've been known to cut you down and make you feel small but that was always just a projection of my insecurities onto you. You are smart, creative and some day you will be a star. I know we're likely to get into at least one more quarrel before you go, but I hoped I could leave you a couple words of inspiration before that happens.

You can achieve anything you want and some day all your dreams will come true.

So everyone please raise a glass to Miss Monica Morell, the most interesting person in the world.