“I just need a minute.”

Early this morning, after I’d rolled myself out of bed, just late enough to miss the yoga class I’d ambitiously told myself to attend, I was taking stock of everything in my kitchen and realized there are a few staple items I’m going to need before starting the Whole30 on Tuesday. Despite the fact that it was 6:25 and the sun wasn’t even up yet, I texted my lovely friend M for advice on the best time to go to Trader Joe’s (answer: pretty much never), and then we just went back and forth for a bit, catching up on our Thursday nights, until it was just past 7 and I needed to finish getting ready for work. M and I frequently text this early in the morning about anything and nothing – I think since I live alone and her N doesn’t wake up until after she’s left for work, it’s a chance for both of us to have a conversation before starting our days. M is the only person (aside from Mama B on occasion) who I text with that early in the morning, so when I heard my phone chirp early yesterday, I assumed it was her. Imagine my surprise when it was a message from my anchor G, who not only is NOT a morning person, but is an hour behind NYC in Texas. Immediately nervous something was wrong, I frantically opened the text to read “I just need a minute,” and as I read on I smiled: first, because everything was fine, and second, because there are some conversations you can really only have with your best friend at 7 in the morning from across the country.

In this day and age, there are some really weird ways that we show each other affection. People write “Happy Birthday!” on Facebook instead of calling or even texting, and sharing your Netflix password, or better yet, your HBOGo account, is the highest honor a friend can bestow. The really good friends always check with the photo subjects before posting a group selfie to Instagram, a quickly-becoming unwritten rule for a good friendship, and you can maintain entire relationships through a small tablet between long text conversations and maybe a late-night Facetime now and again. Sure, there’s a personal aspect that’s missing with these types of interactions, but when you have friends scattered all over the country, plus a busy job, it’s hard to find that half-hour or hour to sit and catch up on life. I mean, it’s not like I’ll text just anyone at 6 in the morning – let’s be real, 9 times out of 10 the only thing I want to hear before 7am is the buzz of the coffee maker and Weather on the 1s (NYC gets it). But for a quick conversation to confirm if I should stock up on coconut butter from Trader Joe’s or Whole Foods, or maybe a conversation to help a friend through a frustrating moment, I’ll respond any time of the day.

G and I are in a similarly interesting place in our lives, as we’ve had a lot of personal experiences that mirror each other in the past two years. She also dealt with a life-changing break-up, she also dealt with someone who wasn’t mature enough for the promises he made, and she’s also navigating single life with a cautious yet reckless abandon, something I picked up from her because I admire it so much. We’re really good at keeping up with each other on the phone, long Sunday afternoon phone dates where I pace my apartment as little miss follows, laughing at everything and sharing all the details, but every once in a while we need an early-morning bitch fest to get out the frustrations of being 20-somethings with someone who understands exactly how the other is feeling. It’s in these moments I’m so grateful we can text quickly instead of waiting for the long Sunday calls; it’s a chance to bitch and moan to someone across the country so you don’t take frustration out on anyone around you. It’s also a great chance to stay attuned to the little details of our lives, the way we did in college, when an early morning bitch-fest meant someone breaking into the other’s dorm room and climbing into her bed, demanding a hug and stealing as much of the comforter as possible. It’s comforting, almost, being able to share a few minutes in the morning, because it makes me feel like she’s two doors down again, waiting for me to walk to class.

I don’t think our morning text sessions will ever reach the level that M and I text. After all, M and I live two blocks away instead of 2,000 miles, and are basically in constant contact all day, between grocery lists, videos from work and coordinating weekend plans. It’s nice to know that the option is there, though, when I really need G for just a minute. Sometimes that just means one of us has a date later that night and we’re nervous, or sometimes it’s the morning after the date and you need to share details. Sometimes it’s just an excuse to send angry words in ALL CAPS because it’s frustrating to be the only single person in your group of friends, and sometimes it’s half-joking complaints that those friends will never understand what we’ve been through, though god knows they keep trying. I’m sure the next time I see her name on my phone it’ll be a long conversation over the actual phone, since we’re way, way overdue. But in the meantime, it’s nice to have “just a minute” here and there to stay in touch, regardless of whether I’ve had my coffee yet or not.

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Jessie Spano-levels

Something odd that’s plagued my group of college girlfriends is that we’ve never been single at the same time. Back in college, it’d be one out of three single, maybe the occasional month of two out of three, but inevitably at least one of us was in a relationship at any given point in time, both in college and beyond. In particular, my anchor G and I had absolutely never been single at the same time and never expected it to happen, as we both found ourselves in serious relationships starting at 22. When those crashed and burned within a few months of each other, we planned a night in the city, just before New Year’s, where we could finally experience something we’d been looking forward to for years: single G and LB, dressed the hell up and ready for strong drinks and cute boys.

We reminisced the next morning when we both got back to my apartment woke up in my bed because where else would we be, about our hilarious antics the night before. Between vodka shots (never again) and a little adventure to Village Tavern, we’d somehow managed to act like we were 19 again in all the right ways, consequences be damned in lieu of a good time. And then just as quickly as she left, it looked like that was the one and only time we’d ever be single together. One perfect weekend memory(ish) of finally getting a drink as single G&LB.

Every year, my college girlfriends and I plan a trip in the summer. Since we’re all scattered around the country, it’s a simple tradition we’ve enacted that ensures no matter where we are or what’s happening, we take a few days to be together, as though no time has passed from that beautiful May day in 2010 when we had to say goodbye to college and each other. After forcing G to come north since the first trip in 2011, my soul sister E and I are finally gettin’ ourselves down to Texas, meeting G in Austin for a weekend where we only have a few definite plans. E found her Person years ago, and for a while, the rest of the trip dynamic was uncertain, as G and I both fluctuated from un-single to very-single at different times. And in the end, it’s perfect: single G and LB, ready to take on the Texas sun and those Southern boys, the second time ever in 8 years of friendship.

There aren’t words to describe how I’m feeling about this weekend, a chance to get away, a chance to see my college lovies, a chance to make some permanent changes and a guarantee of some college-level PLDs. So, as E and I look forward to a 6 a.m. flight out of JFK this weekend, here’s a gif to do justice to the feeling I can’t describe:

SESC

 

See you next week kids!

Curse you, Sunday Funday

Sunday Funday. Two seemingly innocent words, conjuring images of brunch, surrounded by friends, followed by a day outside, sun everywhere, laughing, dancing, youthful and home by 8, in time to throw on sweatpants and head to bed early, ready to face the Monday. In theory, Sunday Funday should be the classy part of the weekend, keeping in mind that there is work the next day and we should be all tuckered out from the previous two nights. Sunday Funday should be an ease into the normal week, just enough party to be fun without getting too out of control.

While I was staycation-ing in my partner-in-crime’s apartment this weekend, my fashionista C and I decided to take advantage of the slowly-emerging spring weather and spend our Sunday at brunch, followed by afternoon wine on her kickass roof deck. As everyone else (literally, everyone) was out of town, we imagined a day of just us, the lone remaining single ones, relaxing in the sun, trading dating tales and catching up on our semi-new jobs. C picked a spot by her apartment that offered unlimited mimosas (duh) and well-reviewed food for under $20, so off we went in the early afternoon, giving ourselves enough time to enjoy the sunshine after brunch, but not going so early that we were getting day drunk around the church crowd. Making friends with the bartender worked VERY much to our advantage, and after stuffing ourselves with cherry pepper, gruyere and broccoli rabe frittata, egg-and-cheese pizza with prosciutto and broccoli, breakfast potatoes and enough champagne to put the Oscars to shame, we stumbled out and back to her apartment, taking a minute to appreciate the warm sun that would be the backdrop to our afternoon.

Now, so far this seems like a fairly innocent tale, right? Two friends, eating brunch on Sunday, about to have a glass of wine on the roof. Where is this going, you might ask? This is a blog about poor decisions, and so far this sounds like a lovely afternoon.

Me, at the end of the day.

Me, at the end of the day.

After grabbing the wine from C’s apartment, we stepped into the elevator which was occupied with a cute boy and a cooler. We struck up a conversation, as he clearly had the same rooftop idea we did, and decided to meet him and his friends up there for a few hours. Now, when you see a cute almost-30-something who lives in a beautiful high-rise in FiDi, you admittedly make some assumptions about him and his friends. Like, for example, they would all be the same age. Or, perhaps, they’d all be employed. Or even, if you were lucky, none of them would be “escaping from a pregnant fiancee” for the afternoon and maybe there would be another cute one, just for fun.

Yeah. No.

Most of our rapidly-becoming-less-cute friend’s friends were between the ages of about 18 and 22, save for a guy about our age who tried to steal my sunglasses (NO) and a random man who had to be at least 45 that rolled in after about an hour and a half, chain smoking Newports and commandeering conversations with a strong Brooklyn accent. The company was fine, don’t get me wrong. But talking to 21-year-olds about to graduate college, seeping self-consciousness and job-desperation from their pores made us uncomfortable enough to drink a little faster, which in turn loosened our own tongues with hilarious tales (“MY BLOG IS AWESOME where is more wine”) and I’m pretty sure at one point someone was rapping along to a guitar, while I maybe tried to join in. Before you know it, it’s 8 p.m. on Sunday, I’m rolling myself back to R’s apartment, and C and I had somehow been separated for the past two hours, trying to meet up and eventually giving in to champagne hangovers and the general absurdity of the afternoon. Naturally, my legendary self-restraint with distributing my number was in full-force on Sunday, so I’ve already heard from cute boy, asking if I wanted to get a drink this week and what was my name again? I spent yesterday in a hazy fog of crazy tasks at work, trying to relive the afternoon with C via GChat, and planning this post, wanting to savor all the details of such an insane, unexpected and in the end, incredibly fun day.

Perhaps that’s the best part of Sunday Funday, the rapidly-escalating afternoon that ends on a crazier note than most of my Saturdays – after all, this blog was born after Super Bowl Sunday Funday, a day that still lives in infamy with R and myself. And despite the underagers, the unexpected separation from C and the throbbing head that lasted until just before I walked into the office yesterday, it was a great day with an amazing friend, soaking in sunshine, surrounded by strangers, getting a chance to be our crazy selves and walk away by 8 p.m., just in time for sweatpants and an early bedtime, like we’d initially planned.