#willaford

What Happened to Willa Ford - News & Updates

Willa Ford broke out into the music scene with her debut album, Willa Was Here in the early 2000’s. A singer ever since she was a little girl, Ford participated in several children’s choirs growing upーat one point, she even performed at the popular destinations Busch Gardens and Disn...

The one thing they don’t tell you on the package is that the “party” is only big enough for one. 

Totino’s pizza has one immediate standout: price. While many frozen pizzas range anywhere from $4-$8 per pie, I have never seen Totino’s priced higher than $1.50. Sure, you could find it at a higher price other places, but really, you shouldn’t be buying your frozen pizzas at gas stations, so that’s on you. If you buy your frozen pizza at a Shell station, you deserve to pay an obscene amount for it.

When you remove the pizza from the oven, it doesn’t look like much. In fact, it looks like someone’s idea of what a pizza should look like. There’s something resembling mozzarella cheese, upon which rests a smattering of what you assume are pieces of pepperoni that were haphazardly distributed via a shotgun blast. The sauce is the polar opposite of plentiful, almost looking glued on a flaky, paper-thin crust. A feeling of dread flows through your body: you have made a crucial pizza mistake.

But then you bite into this vague representation of pizza and realize your worries were totally unfounded. It’s delicious. You did well.

I glance at my phone and see “10:30″ staring back at me. I let out a deep sigh. Roughly 18 hours from now, my friend will be a married man. And I can’t think of anything to say. 

I take a sip of my rum-heavy coke out of one of the mugs the owner provided me. I’m sure it was intended solely for coffee use, but he probably doesn’t mind me using it more creatively. 

Are Wisconsin nights always this quiet? I’m staying at a renovated barnhouse “slightly off the main hub of downtown Kenosha”, according to the owner. The only noises I hear are the hum of a generator punctuated by the sounds of crickets. Honestly, it’s a bit unnerving. If I was to get murdered by the Kenosha Killer, I probably wouldn’t be found for a few days. 

I quickly lock the door.

I stare at the notebook on the table begging for me to write some words about friendship, my excitement for this new chapter in his life, anything. I used to LIKE writing wedding cards. I used to be better at this. 

I freshen up my drink, choosing to forgo the “Coke” part of the Rum and Coke combination. I peruse the delivery menus that were left out for me as part of my welcome package, all woefully out of date.

It would be easy to just write “SO HAPPY FOR YOU!!” on a card and just be done with it. But I promised a good wedding card, and now, unfortunately, I have to deliver.

Five cigarettes and two “Rum and Rums” later, all I’ve written is “I’m so happy for you” in barely-legible handwriting. Fuck. 

How do you compress over 10 years of friendship onto one sheet of paper? Is there enough room to fit every inside joke and crazy story? 

I’m four rums in and, creatively, I’ve peaked at “I’m so happy for you.” I crumple up the paper and add it to the pile at my feet. My English professor would be proud.

I don’t know how the wedding is going to turn out. I can’t predict if the marriage is going to last. I don’t know if his story will have a happy ending. I really hope it does, and I think it will. But I can’t put any of this onto a wedding card. 

So I go to bed with the one thing written on the page that I’m confident in:

“I’ve cherished these past 10 years, and wouldn’t trade any of it for the world. Love you, man.”

And then I drew a picture of a dick. Old habits.