“The only thing I miss about the old Rosie show is the fact that I could talk about Staph Infections everyday, all day, whenever I wanted” – Totes Rosie O’Donnell on her yacht in Miami
Hey ladies, let’s face it. We get frustrated dating guys but every day of my life, I am constantly “dating” another chick to see if she will pan out to be that Bestie who laughs at everything I do. Chances are, she is not. Most likely she is far from that. I love chicks, I dress for chicks, I make jokes for chicks, I go dancing with chicks and nothing puts me in more fear and anger then a chick fight.
What is a best friend? Why do we need a friend that’s the best? In my opinion, it just sets us all up to fail. I’ve had so many best friends in my life and at one point in my early twenties, I referred to everyone as my best friend. Literally strangers. I struggle with this term best friend. It’s too many expectations for one girl to live up to. I know that because I fail at it all the time. I’ve also learned that it’s quality, not quantity. I think women have this mentality of a flock, like we’re chickens. The more chickens there are, the better we feel. Or so we think. I don’t use the words “best friend” any more. It’s too complicated when I do. There isn’t any meaning in it like there used to be. Everyone is a best friend nowadays. Every chick says I love you to each other. Every time that happens, I think, “Do you really LOVE me? Like my family loves me?” I don’t know.
I do know that some of the besties in my life have given me irreplaceable moments that I will forever treasure. Every guttural laugh, gross cry and embarrassing moment usually has taken place with a bestie. I’ve had many in my lifetime and I’ve been many people’s best friend and I have been the culprit/victim of the fake best friend many a time. The bond that you quickly make when drunk at a party or in line or at a Pilates class or anywhere you feel alone and see another chick. That’s the worst, the fake best friend. We’ve all been there, whether we are the fake one or not. The forced texts, the Facebook posts, the party invites, the fake laughter and the snide comments that pierce your soul. How do you shake this person or relationship? I don’t know. I really don’t. I find it hard to let go of friendships for fear that no one will ever like me. Or it’s that flock mentality again that makes me feel like the more chicks around me, the better person I am. This just simply is not true. I’m at a point in my life where I’ve finally realized that I don’t need a million friends, I have them on Facebook. I just need a couple that I know are always going to be there and will be for life. That’s the Thelma and Louise relationship, the one where you shoot your bestie’s rapist and drive off a cliff. That’s love.
Allison Sardone was my first real best friend. One day when we were playing hide and go seek, I hid in her bathroom linen closet. Her Grandmother or Great Aunt came in, not knowing I was there. She proceeded to go number two. In a real way. Never knowing I was there. Allison stopped playing hide and go seek and figured I walked home. Nope. I waited it out, finally came out and I never mentioned it to her. That’s doo-doo love.
Maru Gonzales would bake chili with me every Sunday and go to church to stalk my crush. She even blew out all the prayer candles with me so I could light them again and pray that Mikey Richardson would one day love me. That’s hyper love.
Charlotte Miller came with me to the Metropolitan Museum of Art even after I decided to do blow beforehand. That’s stupid love.
Louise Munson drove me to the emergency room when I had kidney stones and let me bleed all over her Chanel flats and picked me off the bathroom floor when I was positive I was going to die. That’s serious love.
Vanessa Johannson persuaded me to do new things, like go to the Zoo. Enough said. She also always plucks my eyebrows. That’s experimental love.
Anna Hopkins most recently became the Batman to Robin during Hurricane Irene. She let me practice stripping for her (for a job), bought all the supplies and committed whole-heartedly to a serious itinerary for the 48 hours that we were trapped on the Lower East Side. From hurricane photo shoots to crying in a room to crying to Sleepers to playing psychiatrist. That’s inspirational love.
Leslye Headland, the kindred. We both lived together in a studio apartment for two years because we were too broke and emotionally unstable to do anything else. We killed maggots, played rockband obsessively, dealt with many a break up that ended in the fetal position or broken glass and most importantly we watched The Secret Window until 3 am. Because we had too stick it out together. That’s ridiculous love.
All of these women have become my sister, mother, boyfriend, teacher and therapist. Most importantly, they helped me love who I am, because they love me. I don’t usually cry or get that emotional but I’m gonna. I would take one of these relationships over a million “acquaintances”. We might not all live in the same city or talk every day or be best friends anymore, but they have made MY journey through life f***ing worth it.
All of those other fake besties can exist all they like, but they will never be in my Anne of Green Gables.