Girl Crush: A triptych

“Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive.”  ~Anäis Nin

My friends LB and Mah have bought a house together. Normally, I’d frown upon boyfriend and girlfriend shacking up and think of all apocalyptic type problems that could arise just to make sure they’ve thought of everything, but in this case, I teared up a little while looking at photos of their adorable red door adorned home. For my first visit to their house, they emailed to say that a friend of Mah’s sister would be visiting so she would be joining us for dinner. Great! I thought. I made sure to have both the crackberry and the cell phone handy. The crackberry just in case any unforeseen circumstances should arise, like she tried to have a conversation with me and I was unable to come up with an adequate response to make me come off both smart and funny. Lest you think that I never worry about these things, it is in fact at the top of my mind when meeting new people: That thing that we’re all worried about; what if they don’t like me? Though more importantly on a rainy evening: Does Aveda offer a product to beat the shit out of my hair and into submission? Never fear of course, for in I walk and there’s Margot. She wants to talk politics and blogging and makes up a fun game called “Posing with wine glasses”. She thinks that Yellow Tail Shiraz is the greatest thing produced from God’s green earth and has more creativity in her tiny self than I will ever have. In the end, after a night of sitting too close to the television and doing color commentary on the debate; she hugs me with two arms. I tell her that when I’m in Chicago again, I’ll give her a call. She tells me that when I come to Chicago, I’m staying with her. She also says “You’re fierce! I don’t understand why boys aren’t running after you”. It makes me hug her harder.

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I’m attending my third Sleep is for the Weak signing. I cannot help but exclaim that I have very talented and pretty friends and I’d like to buy many of them a pony. I’m chatting with Amy and Tracey and standing at the back wall, sipping coffee when Hilary walks in. She looks at us, including me, just standing there possibly biting my cuticles and rolling my eyes; and says that she’s nervous. I remove my thumb from my mouth so that I can give a full on WTF look. Why be nervous? She’s nervous that she’s standing here in front of the three of us (keep in mind that it’s not even my book. I’m just standing there enjoying the coffee and how nicely my new sweater coat fits and perhaps I’ll get one in black) and she doesn’t know what to say and she almost didn’t come in (Me: mmmm, cuticle. Tasty, tasty cuticle). Tracey and Amy ask her name and this time I remove my index finger long enough to say “Oh yeah! You commented on my site today”. I bust out the crackberry (I told you it comes in handy) and sho’ ‘nuf there’s Hilary’s comment. Later she joins me on the back wall and now I’m all nervous trying to come up with some sort of nonchalant conversation as if I’m good at small talk. In my head a constant loop of “oh my god, but you’re so fucking cool” going through my head. I spend twenty minutes staring at her and plotting a way to get her to join me at Vapiano the next time I’m in town. I’ll probably come off as needy and utterly uncool via email and vapid and she’ll hate me but perhaps I’ll try. Later at dinner, Tracey and I turn to each other and express our love of Hilary. It’s official: We’d like to adopt her.

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I’ve known Rita for a few years but mostly tangentially. We know the same people and work together and yet we’ve never had an actual conversation. I assure you that it has nothing to do with oil and water personalities but that at BlogHer – when we usually see each other – it’s so easy to get swooped up in the tide and the next thing you know it’s all over, you’re back at the shore, dripping wet, thinking “What the FUCK was that? Did anything happen?” So we’ve just never really chatted. She’s in DC for the reading of the book that she has labored over for the past three years. It makes me most envious that she was able to see a project through for that long while I find my ability to sit through a 120 minute movie comparable to running a marathon. I commend her. While at dinner I find out that she’s hilarious. And not a simple chuckle but the kind of hilarity that forces my cheeks to hurt and my head to throw back during fits of laughter. She tells these stories with her full body and facial expressions. First a story that forces me sides to ache as my shoulders go up and down in my silent laughing thing and then one that is heartbreaking. I request that she writes more. I wonder why I’ve never really talked to her before. Then I realize it’s probably because I spend too much time worrying about whether or not someone will like me and gnawing on my cuticles rather than actually allowing words to come out of my mouth. Perhaps I’ll work on that.