Within my most inner circle of friends, I have five.
1. Rosco, my ex and basically the oxygen I breathe. Rosco knows every dark chamber of my psyche and miraculously still adores me and I him in a sibling-esque way. He is the one with whom I exchange about 50 heart emojis texts per day with – as I am emotionally needy and flamboyant and he matches me on that level of “sappy.” Rosco has spoiled me rotten in the love-department.
2. Sara whose sparkly-eyed smile is infectious and whose altruism is unmeasurable. She’s the one, for instance, who insists on scooping me up and driving me to Urgent Care if have a UTI. Sara is on a mission to find her prince, and her stories of kissing frogs along the way are outrageous and often hilarious. She is always down for whatever chicanery I concoct and would literally move anywhere in the world with me at the drop of a hat. We’ve considered it with the utmost gravity.
There is a sacred tree in the woods above my house where we’ve buried a time capsule, and we frequent it often to bury ex-boyfriend paraphernalia like plants and necklaces. We’re also starting a podcast together about dating misadventures.
3. Angela, my parallel-universe friend. Angela and I always have eerily similar life events coincide. In fact, if she has an eye infection, it’s pretty likely I have one too. She is a Cali-girl who was a child-actress and now finds herself constantly dodging life’s dodgeballs while being a “never taking shit badass.”
This beautiful, ageless, red-headed light-being often dates business tycoons, sons of senators, and whirling dervishes (sometimes half her age (kudos to her for having that much game). She calls me to spill about broken hearts, business adventures and misadventures, and the copious marriage proposals that are showered upon her by adoring suitors. This girl makes the world sparkle a little more.
4. Alex, the Israeli attorney, a true outlier of society with his eccentricities and existentialist-driven sentiment. He lights up every cell in my being. I was once madly in love with him, and then resolutely uncle-figured him due to the fact that we get on like wildfire. This is largely because he unfailingly listens with rapt attention when I chatter like a magpie, then interjects with astute commentary, always trying to dissect my minor issues to their truth-core. Psychoanalyzing the shit out of everything is totally our jam.
5. And lastly, Charlee, my British home-girl – a spritely fairy-creature who, at age 49, is still deciding what she wants to be when she grows up. Charlee can make me laugh and not stop until my belly aches. And, she wraps me up in her mamma-bear energy whenever mamma-bear energy is just the remedy for a shitty day, month, or year.