Before starting this post I actually Googled “How to blog about your best friend without it being super gay.” I got no results.
Per her request, this post is dedicated to my best friend Laura, mostly so she can read it when she’s bored at the airport. She leaves this afternoon for Italy with her family for two weeks so I’m looking for a substitute BFF until she gets back if there are any takers.
Laura has been my best friend for almost eight years now which is SO WEIRD but pretty cool that someone has been able to tolerate me for that long. We were 14 years old when we met. Which means I still wore puka shell necklaces, Laura’s hair was still a full-blown 70s style afro, and we wore light blue polo shirts/plaid skirts daily, as students of The Mary Louis Academy. We met on picture day, when my lovely best friend looked a little something like this:
High school was, for lack of a better word, eventful. From school dances to sweet sixteens, corner stores that sold us 40s to sake bars that let us drink although we were underage, we were always in search of a good time. We had a solid crew of four through most of high school – a fearsome foursome, known as The Party Crew (or at least that’s what we called ourselves….haters gonna hate). We shared secrets and Chinese food, hated all the same people, had nights we’ll never remember and others that I’ll never forget. She was my partner in crime, the LC to my Kristin, the chaser to my vodka and the #1 spot on my MySpace top 8.
Fast forward to May of 2008, when everyone went into panic mode. I was off to Miami, and she to Binghamton, and although we were best friends, everyone had that sliver of worry that it would be hard to stay in touch. (Mostly because the Find My Friends iPhone app didn’t exist yet – how would I be aware of her constant whereabouts?) But I was lucky enough to have Laura visit me in Miami not once, not twice, but on three separate occasions, every one of which was an adventure in itself. I also paid two trips to Binghamton, and when we were both home in the summer, we’d cram as much time together as we could into those three months. We spent our time making our way through the douchiest bars in New York City (Turtle Bay, McFaddens, Calico Jacks…the bars we hate to love and love to hate), trying to order Dominoes long after they stopped delivering, creeping on 2014s and DJs and creating FUEGO LISTS (if you don’t know what it is…you’re probably on one).
I’m happy to say that after eight long years, and after knowing everything about me, Laura still wants to be my best friend. And so this post is dedicated to you, Laura. The best friend who will be the first to embarrass me in front of a group of people I don’t know but the last to judge me when I do something stupid.
Here’s to being best friends for another 8 years, until we’re 30 and hopefully married with real jobs but definitely still living the reckless lifestyles that we’re used to. Peace, love, and parrot stew.
And for your enjoyment, some photo documentation of the love-fest that is our friendship.
Love you Laur, bring me back a hot Italian man or at least some pasta<3