Kenny

Christmas Song of the Day: Les Cloches Du Hameau

On entend, on entend
Les bergers, les bergers
Chanter dans les prairies
Ces refrains si legers
Qui charment leurs amies

I am so lucky. I've been blessed with some really great friends. Some friends are family. Some are friends I've met along the way. You have been introduced to Little Lacie of the Enormous Brain who I met two jobs ago. Today you get to meet Kenny.

Ken was interviewing for a sales position in our office when I met him and offered to get coffee. He boldly ended his order with "Thanks, Dolly!" To this day, he swears he never said that and I might believe him – he's never used the moniker conversationally since - but I know what I heard. Bastard.

Ken could be Frasier and Niles Crane's more verbose middle brother. I quickly found that we could chat about anything – and he knows his stuff. I don't think there is a subject on which he does not have a working knowledge. He's killer when discussing songs, books, movies, television, he's up on current events, has distinct political opinions (which for the most part, we share), his library of jokes is extensive – and his timing is exquisite. It will kill him for me to relate the following:

Ken was doing his sales-y thing on the phone. I will tell you, sitting in a cube next to him hearing the pitch all day could get old. I called Guest Blogger to sort of drown out the most recent story I had heard for the 8th time. He was talking to his latest mark and mentioned that he knew a little bit about wine. "I'm an oenophile as well…" I related this to my cousin.

She replied, "He didn't pronounce it OH-na-file did he?"

"Uhm, yes. Oh, there, he did it again."

"Tell him it's pronounced EE-na-file."

This little correction spurred a flurry of emails and contradictions that to this day, make me smile. I scored. And I scored big.

Ken gives the most amazing neck massages but unfortunately is incapable of NOT mentioning foundation garments while rendering his services to stressed females. Always, at that point, the massage would be over and I'd tell him to get the hell out of my space…until I needed another neck rub. The love of his life is his daughter, born 4 years ago this coming June. He is a devoted family man. Mostly. He cooks, he cleans, he's the poster boy for Metrosexual, and he's as good as any girlfriend when you need to talk.

I can't tell you how great it is to have a really real guy as a friend who'll tell you all the guy secrets and be brutally honest about it.

"Ken! I met this guy and he was really nice, we talked for a long time and he gave me his business card and…"

"Sells insurance?"

"Yeah, he was so sweet, helped me clean the snow off my car..."

"He's trying to sell you insurance, E, don't get too excited." He was right.

Then during another interval; "OK, E? This is how it is. What is the answer that will get me laid?"

"Yeah, but then there was this and he said this…"

"Maybe you didn't hear me. What is the answer that will get me laid?"

"Hahahahaha. Yeah, but then his body language while he said this was…"

"What is the answer that is going to get me laid?"

"You really think…"

"What is the answer that is going to get me laid? It's all we think about, E. It's not that complicated. It just is." He was right. Again.

The best thing about Ken is that I know he loves no matter what. And bless him, he'd do me in a second, just as I am. Not that I'd let him, but it makes a girl feel beautiful. He appreciates the subtle nuances of my character, he tolerates the big honking Catholic that I am and makes fun of my lack of fashion sense; my green corduroy coat being particularly offensive. He has read books at my urging and will sit on the phone with me, both of us stupid from chardonnay and watch "The Quiet Man" while we quote it together.

Happy Birthday Kenny. I love you.