You would see the biggest gift would be from me...

For my entire childhood, I lived on the wrong side of town. In hindsight I can see that the invisible dividing line through our town was a bunch of bologna, but in junior high I was obsessed with being the coolest and therefore mortified by the location of our house and its general design. Now, I see our house as the beautiful hard work of a single mother, but at the time it disgusted me. Our appliances were old. Our carpeting was brown. And our bathtub had stains in it.

My friends had nicer houses, and I idolized them for it. They all seemed so normal-- they passed friendship notebooks around and had really stylish bangs and parents that were still together and not gay. They all lived in close proximity on the OTHER side of town so they could get together more often without me. And Lawrence, my ego who totally lacks self-esteem, just KNEW they were gossiping all about my shitty house and my weird dad who wore leather vests.

Acceptance from these girls meant more to me than my Beanie Baby collection. So, one day I convinced the entire clique to come over for a slumber party. I rejoiced when they all agreed. Even Tammy came; she was the prettiest one who had boobs first. We talked about boys and our vaginas. We gossiped about everyone at school.

Then, things took a bad turn. One girl thought she saw a doggie toy on the floor and, when she picked it up, found that it was actually dog diarrhea. If that wasn’t bad enough, we awoke at daybreak, excited to start the day with pancakes. And there it was... a dead, rotting mouse next to Tammy’s perfectly perky head.

A dead mouse.
It scurried under us in the night and keeled over right next to the most popular girl's head. Great.

I already lived on the trashy side of town, and I had forced my friends to come over, touch dog poo, and sleep on mice.

Horrifying.

Worst slumber party ever.

But it’s not because my house wasn’t perfect that my slumber party failed. It’s mainly because my friends weren’t really friends. They were judgmental and mean and not at all nurturing. I don’t blame the actual people for acting this way. For spreading rumors about my nipples or tricking me into sitting in chocolate pudding at lunch. I blame the age. All girls seem to go through this horrible time period of feeling ugly and treating people uglier. This time period alone is the main reason for my indecision about having kids. Ah! So scary.

I’m proud to say that my friends today would have no problem waking up on a mouse at my slumber party. I mean, they might not be happy about it. But I wouldn’t fear that they’d go talk about me behind my back. I wouldn’t think they’d condemn me from hosting slumber parties. They would simply think it hilarious, and it would be a funny story to be told at any gathering and most assuredly at my wedding. Because true friends don’t really care if you have mice or if you buy all your clothes at TJ Maxx or if you stick your hand in your pants at the movies or if you live on the wrong side of town. Real friends accept you no matter what. NO MATTER WHAT. Even if you don’t have good bangs, which I still don’t.

It took me a long time to find them, but I finally did. In college. At work. In random classes. On this very blog. I finally have those real friends who love me even after knowing me really really well... even after knowing I talk about poo and never clean out my trunk and don’t own underwear. My self-esteem changed and so did my friends. To mirror Ellen and the rest: it does get better.
Phew.
Seriously.

Being a writer can be a lonely road. I am often holed up in my apartment for weeks. My friends get it. Once something gets published, it’s like I have my own PR system, as my Facebook friends distribute it like confetti. What support! They’re proud of me. And I'm proud of them too. And it feels so good. Love feels like swimming in a bowl of whip cream. Even the friends I have never met, who stop by here every week, bring me such inspiration and motivation with their own gifts that I love and accept. I feel so lucky to have all kinds of friends who color my life with so much love. So, thank you. For you, I am so so so grateful. I can’t imagine what life would be like if I still had to watch what I said or keep secrets or worry about what rumors you were cooking up.

Please come have a slumber party any time (sans mice). You’re always invited (but give me some notice. I know you love me anyway, but still I’d like to be wearing clothes when you come).

Thank you for being there. And being here. And being you. And being amazing.