It was the last day of 2009 and a bunch of my girlfriends and I were ready to ring in the New Year in Pittsburgh. We got ready and headed to the city in two cars. About halfway there, Rachel called me. I was the driver of car one and she was the driver of car two.
"Helloooooo," I answered.
"Listen," she started. "I'm not going to chase you around the city all night."
Yikes. That is not where I saw this conversation going.
"Well," I said. "I'm not going to deal with your piss poor attitude."
And that was it. That was the only argument that I have ever had with a friend of mine in my adult life. It was 45 seconds long and straight to the point. When we got to the party, we laughed about the phone call and hugged it out.
*In Rachel's defense, I was speeding in the rain and she was not familiar with the area. Sorry Rach,I love you.
You know those shows on Bravo where all of those women are just screaming at each other 24/7? They're doing it wrong.
In my opinion, girlfriends in your adult life are as important as water, oxygen and a good mascara.
Great girlfriends are the ones that eat at restaurants that they don't like because that's where you wanted to eat. The ones that come to target with you even though they don't need anything, knowing damn well they're going to drop $50. The ones that pick up the phone when they're busy, just to make sure you're alright. The ones that give you their last advil or tampon.
They tell the truth. Why yes, those pants do make your thighs look huge. They tell you when you have something in your teeth, sometimes they pick it out for you. They cut you off when you've really had plenty of wine. They call you out with you are being a B.
More importantly, they are your support system.
You know when you're younger and you think that every single event that happens is just so significant? Then, you get a little older and you realize that most of those things didn't matter at all. But, all at once, life just hits you for a few years in a row. The only reason that I survived that life thrashing was because of my girlfriends.
When shit goes rogue in your twenties, it's your
girlfriends that have your back. When you hate a man, they hate him
with you. When you love a guy even though he's a total moron, they'll
rationalize why that's okay. These are the same people that keep you
from causing physical bodily harm to the same men described above once the shit hits the proverbial fan.
They ask about your parents. When you mess something up really badly, they tell you that you're still awesome, and they mean it!
Some of my most significant life decisions have been finalized over guacamole and a margarita with Mel K Jones.
While celebrating my birthday this weekend, I looked around at all of the amazing people in my apartment and felt so incredibly thankful for a (little more than a) few good friends.
You know when you first meet someone and your soul just screams "YES!" Those are the ones.
Whether it be through an ex, or a current boyfriend, or college, or work or randomly in central America in an airport; when you find them love them and support them and thank them and repay them by doing the same things that they do for you
Those "friends" out there that pick fights with you, they aren't friends. It's like Meghan Trainor said; you need to let it go. Life is hard, maintaining positive friendships shouldn't be.
Here's to finding your tribe and being grateful every single day.
Xo
Monday, March 20, 2017
Monday, March 6, 2017
The Inception of #Thisis28
My mother pulled me aside in the grocery store. She did this from time to time when I was acting out. "Nicole," she began. "You need to stop telling people that. You are not going to die."
I remember this vividly. I had a piece of American cheese in my hand. Mom often let Larry and I get a piece of cheese from the deli or a cookie from the bakery while she grocery shopped. Really, anything to keep our hands occupied in an effort to avoid the 'who can yank the most coupons out of the aisle dispensers before we get to the check out' contest that Larry and I actively participated in when mom wasn't paying attention to us.
Looking back, that random woman in the spice aisle was probably creeped the fuck out. Here I am, six-year-old Nicole, telling a random stranger that I am going to die at the age of 27. I was the female version of Haley Joel Osment in the Sixth Sense.
I have no idea when I decided that I would die at 27, but it has definitely been a thing for as long as I remember. I was fascinated with the idea of death. I once asked my mother what a will was. "It's a letter that older people leave for their family before they die. It tells the family what to do with all of their belongings."
"Cool," I said. "Can I have your coffee pot when you die?"
I got sent to my room.
After the grocery store and a few other lectures from my mother, I stopped talking about how I was going to die at the age of 27, but I still actively thought about it. I (unknowingly) would have been in good company with those belonging to the "27 Club." Still to this day, I do not know where this idea came from. But, here is what I can tell you...
I have a theory about my twenties (also addressed in previous blogs). For me, 25 was the year of hot men, ask anyone. I am steadfast in this theory. Now, 26 on the other hand, that was the year of the flu; saw a whole lot of doctors that year.
I didn't really think too much about my alleged death year as it played out, but I mentioned it to my friends on occasion. I rear ended a guy in stop and go traffic about three weeks after I moved to DC when I was 27, smashed my big nose off the steering wheel and everything. But, even though I was going about 10mph at the time; I told my friends that I believed that's when I was supposed to die (I know this is dumb). On September 16th of my 27th year, my friends threw me a half birthday party to celebrate six months survived of the alleged dooms-year.
On March 15th (the day before my birthday) of my 27th year, I refused to drive to work. I walked instead. I figured that if I had made it 364 days, I wasn't going to go out in some non-heroic way. When I got home that day, I refused to leave my apartment. I went to sleep at 9pm. Not today, I thought.
And then just like that, I woke up the next morning and I was 28. I was a combination of shocked that I had made it this far, embarrassed that I told so many people that I wouldn't, and kind of confused because that whole grocery store scenario felt like last week and now I was pushing 30.
Regardless; this was the inception of #thisis28. It began as a joke.
"I fell asleep snuggling a bag of Doritos #thisis28."
But, then it turned into a journey of living my best life. Like, here I am with my dad that escaped death a million times using the puppy filter on snapchat #thisis28. This is me spending every weekend at the pool #thisis28. Promoted! #thisis28. Here are some gorgeous flowers my boyfriend sent me #thisis28. Here we are in the Caribbean (again) #thisis28.
To be honest I am pretty glad that I did make it to 28 because this year has been all about some serious finding myself shit. You know that whole "let go of the things that no longer serve you" quote? Yeah, I did that and you should too. Twenty eight turned out to be the best year yet, for myself, not America.
So, with only 10 days left of #thisis28 I figured I would post to explain why you guys have to see that hashtag all of the time and to say thank you for all of you awesome people that are in my life. I feel so honored to be surrounded by amazing friends, family, and coworkers in DC and beyond.
Thanks for putting up with my crazy, especially for those of you that knew the Haley Joel Osment version of me.
Here's to 29!
Xo
I remember this vividly. I had a piece of American cheese in my hand. Mom often let Larry and I get a piece of cheese from the deli or a cookie from the bakery while she grocery shopped. Really, anything to keep our hands occupied in an effort to avoid the 'who can yank the most coupons out of the aisle dispensers before we get to the check out' contest that Larry and I actively participated in when mom wasn't paying attention to us.
Looking back, that random woman in the spice aisle was probably creeped the fuck out. Here I am, six-year-old Nicole, telling a random stranger that I am going to die at the age of 27. I was the female version of Haley Joel Osment in the Sixth Sense.
I have no idea when I decided that I would die at 27, but it has definitely been a thing for as long as I remember. I was fascinated with the idea of death. I once asked my mother what a will was. "It's a letter that older people leave for their family before they die. It tells the family what to do with all of their belongings."
"Cool," I said. "Can I have your coffee pot when you die?"
I got sent to my room.
After the grocery store and a few other lectures from my mother, I stopped talking about how I was going to die at the age of 27, but I still actively thought about it. I (unknowingly) would have been in good company with those belonging to the "27 Club." Still to this day, I do not know where this idea came from. But, here is what I can tell you...
I have a theory about my twenties (also addressed in previous blogs). For me, 25 was the year of hot men, ask anyone. I am steadfast in this theory. Now, 26 on the other hand, that was the year of the flu; saw a whole lot of doctors that year.
I didn't really think too much about my alleged death year as it played out, but I mentioned it to my friends on occasion. I rear ended a guy in stop and go traffic about three weeks after I moved to DC when I was 27, smashed my big nose off the steering wheel and everything. But, even though I was going about 10mph at the time; I told my friends that I believed that's when I was supposed to die (I know this is dumb). On September 16th of my 27th year, my friends threw me a half birthday party to celebrate six months survived of the alleged dooms-year.
On March 15th (the day before my birthday) of my 27th year, I refused to drive to work. I walked instead. I figured that if I had made it 364 days, I wasn't going to go out in some non-heroic way. When I got home that day, I refused to leave my apartment. I went to sleep at 9pm. Not today, I thought.
And then just like that, I woke up the next morning and I was 28. I was a combination of shocked that I had made it this far, embarrassed that I told so many people that I wouldn't, and kind of confused because that whole grocery store scenario felt like last week and now I was pushing 30.
Regardless; this was the inception of #thisis28. It began as a joke.
"I fell asleep snuggling a bag of Doritos #thisis28."
But, then it turned into a journey of living my best life. Like, here I am with my dad that escaped death a million times using the puppy filter on snapchat #thisis28. This is me spending every weekend at the pool #thisis28. Promoted! #thisis28. Here are some gorgeous flowers my boyfriend sent me #thisis28. Here we are in the Caribbean (again) #thisis28.
To be honest I am pretty glad that I did make it to 28 because this year has been all about some serious finding myself shit. You know that whole "let go of the things that no longer serve you" quote? Yeah, I did that and you should too. Twenty eight turned out to be the best year yet, for myself, not America.
So, with only 10 days left of #thisis28 I figured I would post to explain why you guys have to see that hashtag all of the time and to say thank you for all of you awesome people that are in my life. I feel so honored to be surrounded by amazing friends, family, and coworkers in DC and beyond.
Thanks for putting up with my crazy, especially for those of you that knew the Haley Joel Osment version of me.
Here's to 29!
Xo
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