I Still Haven't Figured It Out, But I'm OK With That

I met my best friend in seventh grade the way you probably met your best friend in seventh grade: We sat next to each other in Math. All it took was our teacher accidentally farting one day while teaching us how to divide integers, and that was it. Our eyes locked while we were trying to stifle our red-faced, tear-inducing laughter — and the rest was BFF history. When we’re young, making friends is pretty much like the scene from Step Brothers where Will Ferrell asks John C. Reilly, “Did we just become best friends, ” And Reilly says, “Yep!

” Rarely does it take more than a single bonding experience — being the last two picked for volleyball again, hearing your teacher fart, or even living on the same dorm floor — to make a BFF. When we’re still in school, starting a friendship is a relatively painless, non-embarrassing process, even for those who can be terribly shy and awkward in social settings (hi). But then, one day, you wake up in your late 20s/early 30s and realize, “Holy shit. I have no friends! And not the faintest clue how to make any! ” At least, that's what happened to me.

After graduating from college I moved to Los Angeles, where, not coincidentally, many of the people I had spent the last four years with transplanted themselves, as well. None of us had time to gorge on Jerry Springer marathons anymore, but L.A. College 2 for a large group of us. I rented a bungalow with two of my girlfriends from school, we went out often, and the list of people I could call in the case of an emergency was well-stocked. Eventually, though, our robust group began to thin out. Life happened. People broke up, others moved “back East,” and some got new jobs and became "new" people. But before I had time to really take notice or get sad about things, I met the guy I would eventually marry. We all know how this story goes.

You start dating someone and you all but crawl up an orifice of theirs, letting friendships fall by the wayside. We were about romantic dinners, my then-boyfriend and I. We were about going to the movies, cooking potato chip-encrusted halibut together while listening to Frank Zappa, taking day-trips to places that had things like wineries and Zagat-rated restaurants. Our life, like most new couples’, had pretty much morphed into a rom-com montage, save for a scene where we were trying on hats or splashing in a fountain. During our courtship, close friends of mine moved away or started dating people too. While I was certainly bummed to see my old crew slowly evaporate like a water ring on a coffee table, it didn’t affect me nearly as much as it would have had I not been falling shoulders-deep in love.