My Friends
These last weeks, I've become overwhelmed by the blessing of my friends. But before you think I've sapped out and am about to turn sorority-girl/feel-the-love on you, let me say that my friends are WEIRD. Additionally, much of my overwhelmed-ness stems from their mean-ness. That is, their tell-it-like-it-is-ness. So this isn't a big lovefest. Love (and friendship with me, it seems) is a battlefield. And while, it took me some days to get over the 'you're just too self-absorbed' comment, I have to say that the four margaritas over lunch to sing the blues with me when she really just wanted to get her nails done more than made amends. Plus, a lesson was learned. I had been too selfish. My world (and head) had swollen to a size that proved hazardous to my friends. They have relegated me to 12 I/Me/My's per conversation - in total not 12 of each, which is quite difficult -- to help detach me from myself. They said I was too far gone to go cold turkey. Anyhoo, the good news is that without myself to discuss, I've become a great listener and have learned that it is my quirky compadres rather than myself that make my little world go round.

Take Amy. She's my fashionably-challenged friend. Bless her heart, she hates to shop. It's like she's allergic to it. (There should be a 10-Step program for these people. Seriously, what are they supposed to do when the seasons/trends change? Wear barn jackets forever?) Her mom and sisters called me this week to make sure she wasn't wearing flip flops or loafers to the Breast Cancer Ball. But she's a great communicator and the most organized person I know. Every girl needs a friend like this. She never forgets a birthday or an anniversary. She talks to everyone frequently enough to know all the latest and is constantly up on everything. Her brain is like a Fil-o-fax. Thankfully, our lives are entwined enough that I get reminder calls for birthdays, days of surgery and days of Bunko so I can maintain my dubious social status.

Then there is Henrette. Possibly the chic-est/most beautiful girl I've ever seen up close, she's what I call honest-vain. Obsessed with fashion and beauty, she's the first to admit and expose her own vanity 'issues' constantly complaining of her (invisible) acne, (absent) saddle bags and (not) saggy fanny. She of the perpetually thin/boy figure. I would hate her for her body and sense of style alone, but then she'll call me from New York to say she has a pair of the new "it" jeans that she wants to buy for me. (For reimbursement, not for free. I'm not that blessed.) She'll tell me she's buying my skinny size, not my fat size, because she doesn't believe in fat sizes and nor should I. She'll list the different tops and shoes that will work with the jeans and even make suggestions of when to wear them. She admits her foibles, mails me pictures of her forehead zits to show how "bad it's gotten", and never fudges on her dating stories. (She always gives the dirty details without skipping the parts she regrets.) And in the end, it's her honest portrayal of her own imperfections that make her perfect.

No listing would be complete without Holly. Holly is the great commiserator. No matter how wretched I've behaved, no matter how embarrassing the story, no matter how deflated I feel, Holly can make it all better. Holly's the go-to for a good laugh. Nothing is too serious with Holly and everything has a positive flip side. She's my margaritas-over-lunch friend. My cookie-dough-for-dinner friend. And my credit-cards-don't-count-as-real-spending friend. Like a good blazer, if you don't have a Holly, you must find one. Far better for one's well-being than psychiatry.

And, of course, there is Ruby, my touchstone friend. (Don't you just love the name?) She's the one I talk to about all major life occurrences. She knows everything there is to know about me and accepts me just the way I am. She's the one I cry to when the mean (very honest) friends say I'm self-absorbed. She just listens (probably in agreement), and lets me vent. I had my first beer with Ruby. My first cigarette. And I once ran away with Ruby. (To the movie theater. We couldn't think of anywhere else to go.) She hates make-up. She calls it war paint, and when we were in college she'd say, "Go put on your war paint. We have boys to stalk."

There's so much more. These rich characters, of course, cannot be summed up in a mere smattering of sentences. But I'm quite aware that I am a lucky girl indeed. And not because of I/Me/My, but because of them. No matter how the chips of life may fall - and fall they will (along with my skin - what's with saggy knees and flabby armpits already? I'm twirty not forfty) -- I can always say that I was blessed. It's amazing what one will hear when one is quiet enough to listen, and what one will see when one is so poor that they cannot go out for Mochas much less shopping designer clothes.

she she me Sponsor: Classy Classifieds offers Discount Shopping to she she Girls
We are thrilled this month's listings on our monthly Classy Classifieds. Shop Girl and I are in love with the blazers from jcrew.com, the over-the-knee socks from Alex Blake, and the formfitting undershirts (perfect barely-there layer underneath itchy sweaters and sheer tops) at 15% from www.autrepeau.com. You'll have to check out the delights from Spanx, Boots and Toddi, A Proper Garden and Simplysoles.com for yourself. (There's too much yumminess there to get it second hand.) And definitely don't forget to get your Halloween invites at Chelsea Paper. Adorable goods, and you can even shop for a good cause!

Enjoy the retailing! Be sure to take note of the discounts offered to she she girls.