While walking along 8th Avenue in Chelsea, Phillip reached into his Marc Jacobs bag and pulled out what looked like a small fox and put it on his head. It was a fur hat, reminiscent of Dr. Zhivago. I laughed. “Are you serious?”
“What?” He asked indignantly. “Its cold!”
I rolled my eyes. “Its not that cold. I’m bald and I’m not cold.”
He side eyed me. “Yes,” he retorted. “But I don’t have any body fat to keep me warm.”
Phillip loves fur. Wearing a fur-collared coat, he paraded through Chelsea, looking like Evita.
While at dinner at Elmo’s, Phillip insisted on being sandwiched in the booth but them wondered why Kristoff and I rolled our eyes when we had to get up for him to use the restroom four different times. “Make way for Princess Pelvis!” said Kristoff.
Later, a chubby girl walked by our table.
PHILLIP: Aw, I feel sorry for her. I bet she has trouble fitting in.
KRISTOFF: Did you see how big she is? I bet she has trouble fitting into a lot of things.
Phillip and Kristoff may come off as vicious queens but in all actuality, they would give you the designer shirts off their backs- even if they know it’ll never fit on you. My new INK jeans were a gift from a sample sale that Phillip attended. “I’m buying you some jeans,” he said on the phone. “What’s your waist size?”
“34. But I wear 36 at H&M. So it could go either way.”
“I’ll get you 34. If they don’t fit, too bad. You need to lose some weight anyway.” I was too giddy about getting free jeans to care that he just insulted me. In fact, I rarely care when Phillip insults me. We regularly trade barbs, even in our greetings.
“Hey fatty,” he says.
“Hey herpes,” I reply.
When it comes to Phillip and I, ‘lardass’ and ‘cornholer’ are terms of endearment. After fifteen years of friendship, we’ve earned the right. What matters most is that he is always there when I need him. After a cute boy at Vlada blew me off, Phillip smiled sweetly. “Aw, don’t let it get you down,” he said, reassuringly. “You’re a great guy. Someone out there would love to tap that fatass and kiss that thing you call a face.”
But then again, what should I expect from someone that sends me text messages that say things like “Baby Girl’s pussy is all swole up”. Phillip’s text messages are notoriously crass. ‘Baby Girl’ is Phillip’s alter personality. She is very slutty and is rarely concerned with consequences. “Baby Girl was rode hard and hung out to dry,” he recently typed, recapping a date. “Now it hurts to fart”.
READ ABOUT THE TIME I HELPED PHILLIP MOVE HERE.
READ ABOUT WHY FIREMEN SHOWED UP TO KRISTOFF’S ROOFTOP PARTY HERE.