Good friends

For a swell sunday night dinner at Cecilias with the girls. Always the perfect hostess, there were five bottles of wine for six of us.

An early thanksgiving dinner was the theme with cute little cornish hens instead of turkey. Then each of us brought a side. My mashed potatoes with fennel and rosemary were delish but not worth all the work so I won’t even bother giving out the recipe.

It was a great evening and I have the hangover to prove it. When is nap time?

I finally gave in, gathered up enough friends to at least look popular, then lost interest. How do some of you get so excited about what other people are doing? I just don’t care, because you’re not that interesting. Surely you knew that already.

But thanks to FB, I was thrilled to hear from a girlfriend I had lost touch with.

Kara was one of my first good friends in LA. Both new to the city, we were starting out in advertising together. We drank too many martinis and talked about boys. Then she met a man and moved away a few years ago. I always regretted that we stopped talking and thought about her every time I met a new man I thought I might like.

We concocted a funny-but-darn-practical list of requirements for true relationship happiness that we imagined our next dream date would have:

Nice hands.

Smells good.

Either loves or hates cilantro along with you.

I can’t remember anything else from the list, but come on, it had to be long. It was based on what we had hated but endured in ex’s. Ridiculous maybe, but we just knew her recent breakup had been inevitable, all because of his cilantro-allegiance. She hated it, and ended up hating him too.

Years later…add just a few more things, but the list still holds up.

When a friend leaves the company, keep something of theirs. You’ll both feel better.

A good friend got laid-off last week and he surprised me and left me his mirror. I had been admiring it from day one. I kept thinking how perfect it would be in my bedroom. He had lots of great stuff in his office, but I really wanted that mirror. I felt a little better about his leaving, knowing I could look at myself more. Or something like that.

I miss you AC, but see how great it looks in my place.

Waiting for the phonecall to hear that you’re getting laid off is torture.

We heard it was happening, and some even knew they were going, but then when it does it’s still sorta surprising. We’ve been looking around at who isn’t busy, who we could do without. Today it’s only 6 laid off, and it wasn’t me, but it’s not over yet. So there is no relief in still sitting here cause it will likely be more over the next months.

But it’s an end, and that’s what’s so hard. Working with people who are friends has been lovely. It’s what turns an okay job into one that I really care about.

Saying goodbye is never easy. And I’m just not ready.

And only a real friend would tell you something so harsh but true.

Thanks again Greys Anatomy, where I learn all my big life lessons.

I cant wait to indulge like the piggy I am, on stuffing and pie tomorrow. I’m doing what any smart single girl does, eating out with friends. The holidays can be weird when you’re single and have no family close by. I ate with Dena and her family last year too and it was a blast. She included me after I got not-invited from spending it with my crazy boyfriend at that time. He wasn’t divorced yet and just made plans for himself and his son without me. I felt awful. I felt better after I dumped him and his divorce-drama 2 months later.

Tomorrow it’s a buffet, and I know that usually means crappy food, but not this place. It’s kinda fancy and really delicious. If only I had a tupperware purse. We’ll eat as much as we can and swear we’re never eating again. Then 4 hours later I’ll wish I had a snack. Shit. I care about food way too much.

It’s my favorite meal of the year. I will be thankful for all-you-can-eat deliciousness.

Every girl should be so lucky to have a friend like him. We used to work together and he was one of my first friends 13 years ago when I was new to LA. He’s married to the superfoxy Jennifer, who became one of my good friends too. Because she didn’t mind a bit when Alan and I went to lunch, or to movies or Costco or Pottery Barn at lunch, I vowed to be that kind of partner. See how fab they are.

When I finally found my perfect apartment he helped me move over lunch. There was an expensive jacket at Banana Republic he knew I wanted, saw it get marked down, and put it on hold for me. He worked late to help me put my portfolio together so I could work as a writer. Years ago he patiently took dozens of photos of me when I wanted to put an ad online. I even borrowed a shirt and jewelry of Jen’s, she dresses much better than me. And damn her, she never takes a bad photo.

I’d like to think I’ve learned a lot from his friendship. He was one of the first people to admit to me that relationships aren’t easy. Gasp. As I complained about each and every dork I dated, it was obvious that perhaps just maybe I had overreacted, or taken something too personal. And god knows, he heard it all. The good, the bad and the fucking ridiculous. There’s just something special about a guy friend, and getting a guys point of view. He can say things your girlfriends shouldn’t, and it seems perfectly ok. More honest yes, but more educational for the long haul.

Two days ago a bunch of Alan’s friends and family got together for his birthday. There was lots of wine and lots of love. For a guy that happily does so much for everyone he knows, he’s a one-of-a-kind friend.

I work in advertising and it is a little different. I’ve gotten used to sometimes being one of the guys, or at least talking like one. Anything goes and it makes the day a lot more interesting. So it’s five of them and me for lunch one day. It only takes a minute for the conversation to take a turn, down a back alley of filth and tacky innuendo. YAY. Let’s talk about shit other people won’t. It’s all about the shock value now.

These guys like to talk about balls. Not their own, that’s just creepy, but balls in general. And since I like to push the envelope and ask ridiculous questions it’s a nice match. Someone they know is 1-ball shy and that’s enough to get it going, how important are balls, really?

Would you rather lose a ball or your hair?

If you only had 1 ball when do you tell the new girl you’re dating?

How long could you keep it a secret?

If you had more than 2 would you brag?

Their ball-talk must be like our bikini wax chat, there are lots of notes to compare. And I didn’t have brothers so hey, I appreciate the information. When one of them tries to steer the conversation in another direction, bringing up the topic I really never need to talk about-poop-I’m disgusted. Ugh. I’m a lady. Come on, balls are fun.

I dry my tears and drive over. Terry seems strong and funny but she’s good at pretending. There is no sadness, only the back and forth war stories of friends who know each other too well in some ways. We used to share an office, there weren’t many secrets. But there was tons of gossip, her divorce, a serious fight with my mom, 2 nutty boyfriends, lots of dieting and donuts, and plenty of compassion. I kept us up on pop culture, she knew everything else. I think my work was better when she sat next to me.

We go to a bar, where else.
We talk about it.
We don’t.
We talk about everything else.

We exhaust all our usual topics plus the scary ones. We laugh at the fact that a year ago I did the Avon 39-mile walk for breast cancer, just for the fun of it. Maybe next year we’ll do it together. Then she hops out of my car, telling me she doesn’t want to start crying. And she says what I can’t “I love you” and she’s gone. Now I can cry.