“Friends are the family you make for yourself.” – Unknown

If Megan had been born a man, my boyfriend would be in big trouble.  In fact, if we were lesbians, I’d have it made.  She has helped me be my best, been a victim of my worst and still calls me her best friend.

Everyone should have a Megan. 

While moving some boxes around, Megan discovered a stash of notes we’d passed back and forth in high school.  We sat up giggling until 3AM Saturday morning reading how ridiculous we were.  We laughed, we cried, we cringed and we laughed some more.  Our trip down memory lane proved that a few things are certain: I did NOT have life figured out like I thought I did.  My parents really were smarter than me.  I am glad I am no longer 14.  Megan and I really are best friends FOREVER.

Like most girls, during my school days I had numerous BFF’s.  It wasn’t until I became an adult that I really understood what true friendship was.  Real best friends do not come and go with semester changes and they often stick around even when you don’t want them to.  They will help clean up your love life as well as your vomit.  Best friends have not only seen you naked, but have possibly seen you push another human being out of your hoo-ha.  The title should not be handed out lightly. 

Yesterday, my mom lost her “Megan.”  Her name was Joyce and she was my mother’s very best friend.  A car accident suddenly claimed her life and the person my mom has exchanged her life story with was gone.  It has been a blow to our whole family. 

As I lay in bed with my sweet Mama last night, I thought about how fortunate we are to be able to reach beyond the boundaries of family and truly be loved by others we encounter.  This life is too short.  Best friends are few and far between.  Mom said to me, “Best friends don’t come along often.  We’re lucky to get one.”

I’m lucky enough to get two.  Brenda, the other woman in this world subjected to my madness gave me a picture for Christmas that says, “A friend is someone who understands your past, believes in your future and loves you just as you are today.”

I am reminded to not take these precious souls for granted.  We may not share the same bloodline, but are sisters none the less.

Go rest high on that mountain, Joyce.  You will be missed.

I like to fill out MySpace surveys. Lame, I know. Stop judging me! This probably stems from an undiagnosed/untreated condition of A.D.D. and my ever-rising boredometer needle. I like to be entertained; there’s no shame in that! Anyhoo, I have noticed that a popular question is “Do you still talk to your ex?” Granted, these questions are probably meant to be answered by 13 year old girls who can still use the term “ex” in the singular sense and have no major responsibilities outside of managing their ever-changing top 10 friends, but my question is “Do most people not talk to their exes?”

I’m learning that the answer to that is “Correct! Most people do not talk to their exes, and eL., you are just plain weird.”

I think it’s pretty safe to say that I am not the norm when it comes to maintaining relationships, so should anyone be surprised that I follow suit after the breakup? I probably still, at least, TALK to more of the guys I’ve dated than not. I never thought that was strange until recently. One of my guy friends said he would have a problem dating me because I’m still in contact with so many ex-love interests. Wow. Really? Granted, this guy has never seen me do the “committed” thing and there is most definitely a difference between “in a relationship eL” and “free as a bird eL”. I believe that if you choose to attach yourself to another person you should refrain from doing things that make them uncomfortable, even if that means saying goodbye to those you care for.

This blog does come with a disclaimer. I believe that “just friends” between any male and female always has the potential to be complicated. I’ve done it for years and I know for a fact, that if you don’t take this into consideration, you or someone else is in danger of getting hurt. So, for all of you buggers out there claiming, “we’re just friends!”… you’d better watch out. That’s all I’m saying.

Back to the subject at hand. When I go into a relationship it’s because at some level I’ve seriously connected with another person and for whatever reason that it ends, I’m still going to care about them regardless… except maybe that ONE GUY… sheesh. In all fairness, I’m not the kind of girl that waits till the ugly-unbearable ending has commenced before I call it off. I have a pretty keen sense of “it just isn’t going to work out”, so that probably has a lot to do with the fact that I can usually see the best in these men that I have once considered potential partners.

I’m sure one of you will rip me a new one with this entry and that is fair. I accept your scrutiny and will consider it honestly. Keep in mind 3 things; I am not stupid enough think that this applies to all relationships. Like I said, I do have “that one guy”. Second, I don’t by ANY MEANS want to imply that anyone can be friends again overnight. It just doesn’t happen like that. And finally, remember that this is “free as a bird eL” writing tonight… this blog may be deleted after my relationship status changes. J

Maybe I’m wrong about my ability to be in love. (Read Love, I Suck at It). Maybe being in love can only best be realized when looking back on it. Maybe it’s not about the ability to make it last but more so about just doing it well regardless of the outcome. A wise man recently said to me, “End it well, so that each of you can walk away better than you were before.”

Fire away friends. Fire away.

Megan and I had a GREAT weekend. Check the photo album (on MySpace) if you wanna see pictures. We laughed, chattered and laughed some more. I truly have the best friend a girl could ask for. After dinner Saturday night she asked me a thought provoking question… “If you had one hour to go back in time, what would you relive?”

Oh man, did that take us far down memory lane! There was that time the “tree fell over the driveway and we couldn’t make it home” or the trip to Greenville for “that concert” or “that night” we should’ve stayed home but didn’t. There were so many moments worth reliving where I wouldn’t change a thing, I’d just go for the ride all over again.

However, there’s one earmark in my past that I will always want to go back to and do differently. It jumps out at me more than any of the mistakes I’ve made and has haunted me for nearly a decade. It was a pivotal moment with a great friend where I said one very stupid thing that caused a ripple effect that would ultimately destroy our relationship. Today, we haven’t spoken in years and not a day goes by that I don’t miss hearing that voice.

I think we can all point to small, seemingly insignificant times in our pasts that if we could only tweak a tiny little bit we could rewrite the story of our lives completely. After all, hindsight is 20/20. Some people say, “I don’t regret anything.” I’m not one of those people. I’ve can name off SEVERAL things I wish I could erase from existence: people I’ve hurt, experiences I should never have had, people I’ve hurt… Did I say that already?

But we move on. We can’t go back, no matter how badly we want to. Sometimes the motion of life goes up and down, but it never goes in reverse. We have to keep moving the bus forward and only occasionally glance in the rearview mirror. Remember the journey, but constantly keep moving toward the destination.

Now if I could only figure out the destination…

Well, I made up my mind about Halloween!  For days I’ve agonized over what to do so I asked myself a simple question. 

“If I could do anything in the world for Halloween what would I do?”

The answer is simple:  I’d hang out with Megan.

Some of you may know Meg but most of you probably do not, so let me give you a little history of why she would be my ultimate party friend for any given holiday.  The saga of our friendship began somewhere around age 13.  I had pixie-short (OK, boy-short) platinum blonde hair, wore ripped up blue jeans and black t-shirts with funny sayings like, “I dress this way to bother you.”  Megan stood out in the crowd, literally.  She’s 6 ft. 1 or 6 ft. 4 when she’s wearing heels and she has an attitude to match.   I’m not sure how we became friends, but it was probably founded on the common ground of cute boys and after-school parties.

Most childhood friendships don’t last beyond graduation, but Megan has been putting up with my B.S. for the past fourteen years.  I’ve gotten her into more trouble that I should’ve ever been forgiven for.  When we were 21 she moved to Nashville to live with me and someday, we’re going to write a book together and make MILLIONS when we sell the rights to the movie.  I would like to go ahead and suggest that the part of Elicia be played by Drew Berrymore and the part of Megan would go to Mary-Louise Parker. 

In that sacred year that we spent together I can’t even scratch the surface of divulging to you all the good times that we shared.  However, I will share one.  I promised the story from the Slaughterhouse.  So here it is.

The night most likely began with a drink or two in the Boom-Boom room (aka our fire engine red garage, complete with bar and pool table).  It was a typical Friday night before Halloween, so I’m sure there was a death match game of eight ball between the two of us.  Typically it would be my job to run the whole table and then scratch on the eight ball solidifying an effortless win for Megan.  This night I’m sure was no different.  At some point in the evening we came up with the bright idea to go to the Slaughterhouse, one of the most talked-about haunted houses in Nashville.

We arrived at our destination and after purchasing tickets we were herded into a large graffiti painted waiting room with two dozen other thrill-seeking idiots.  When we reached the front of the line, the journey began with a 3 feet tall tunnel that we had to waddle our way through.  This alone was quite a sight with my incredibly tall friend leading the way, who was most likely wearing high heels and a skirt.  On the other side of the tunnel was a winding walkway with all of the haunted house staples: the mad doctor hacking up a patient, someone hanging by a noose and a Jason look alike running amongst the crowd.  Even I wasn’t scared.

We continued on to a closed door.  On the other side we found ourselves in a large room with many other doors.  Other people were coming in and out of them trying to find an exit.  We were lost in a maze.  At some point the lights went out and I turned into a five year old version of myself that should’ve never been allowed to watch The Wizard of Oz.  I hid behind my friend holding tight to the back of her shirt as she led me through a different door.  It was eerily quiet.  Megan was inching forward and suddenly she stopped.  I heard something to the effect of “What the…” She describes the moment of feeling hot breath on her face.  No small statement for someone that generally towers over everyone.  Then she felt something cool and metal prickle against her face.  At that moment a strobe light kicked on and PinHead was nose to nose with Megan.

She screamed.  I screamed and PinHead took an elbow to the stomach.  She spun around, grasped me by the waist and hauled both of our butts down a narrow plywood hallway.  The lights went out again, but Megan was still racing toward what she believed to be a door and PinHead was only steps behind us. 

CRASH!

Megan plowed right into the corner of a wall and came crashing down on top of me!  I thought she was surely dead and the wall had most likely become an exit.  We both clambered to our feet and somehow found our way out of there only to be chased from the building by a psycho with a chainsaw!

Megan was dripping with blood in a straight line from her forehead to her bellybutton.  Her hands and knees were scraped and I had a bruise on my arm the size of her palm.  I also seem to remember one or both of us having some torn articles of clothing. 

We spent the rest of the night on Broadway at a brewery trying aimlessly to calm our shaking nerves.  Megan was continuously asking me while hiding her battle wounds behind her glass, “Is it that bad?”   Yeah, it was.  She might even carry a scar to prove it. 

So, I’m off for another Halloween adventure with Megan.  Don’t worry, there will be pictures!

Happy Halloween!