Girldate Rule #1: bring a REAL camera

So, I went on a date last Saturday night. I wore red lipstick.

After months of reading each other’s blogs, back/forth emails (I was even sent a Christmas card) and a session on Twitter last Friday that felt more like a party than a night at the computer, I met Simone, the lovely lady behind Skinny Dip. Her expertise? Dating, relationships, being a 20something with great style, plus getting candid about a few personal romantic misadventures.

Several months ago, while obsessively checking my blog stats (there must be more than 10 people who read this thing!) I noticed that someone called ‘Skinny Dip’ had tagged me in a post. ‘Who the hell is Skinny Dip?’ I thought.

She wrote about how she’d been following my blog (my blog?) for a while (a while?) and that I had inspired her to start her own Birthday List. I was floored.

Had she not done that, reached out via that one mention, I don’t know if we would have come to know each other. But I’m glad she tagged me, because together we can party like rock stars. (For a full account, I suggest you read her post here.) She does it in a hilarious way and even describes the moment at which I thought to myself, ‘hey, this girl is one cool chick’. She told a perv to eff-off on my behalf. Ah, Simone, be still my heart! I think it was something like the equivalent of opening the car door on a first date.

Arranging to meet Simone was part of personal goal (long term, so not really on the List, per se) to have more girl dates, outside of my usual circle of friends. Dating outside my girlationships, if you will. If it’s said that people come in to your life for a reason a season or a lifetime, then I want to embrace every opportunity that comes my way. My friend pool has felt a little dry lately.

This will not be rant about how “women can be so cruel” to each other, even though I find the meanest ones are just insecure. Sort of like the boy who pulled your hair in class, mean girls just want you to pay attention to them, too. Try it some time and watch what happens (it should be documented. Seriously.)

I once wrote that the partner you choose determines the course of your life, so choose wisely. At 29, I’ve realized the same thing applies to friendships, particularly the female kind: You can find those women who support you and help elevate you to new levels of intelligence, style and strength; or you can find the ones who will talk you out of every good idea you’ve ever had, only to call you when they need something or someone to complain to. I’ve had them all.

I’ve haven’t always been lucky in friend-love, I’m afraid. In romantic love, I’ll admit, I’ve had success. But with the ladies, I’ve unfortunately always been attracted to the bad seeds. Now, allow me to preface my next statement by saying that the friends I now have in my life, I love. They have unique qualities and have shared in some of my best memories, particularly through my 20s. But to find these few gems I had to troll through many choppy waters:

The too needy friend.

The too mean to your other friends friend.

The too insecure to really be happy for you friend.

The always in a negative mood friend.

The sour on love friend.

The don’t know how to keep my knees together friend.

The “you never call me” friend.

The “um, I don’t really read books” friend.

The Everybody’s Boss friend.

The friend, um, ‘powders her nose’ (and I don’t mean with Maybelline.)

For every friend I’ve kept, I’ve walked away from dozens more. This, dear readers, has burdened me since grade school.

I could never seem to find my place in the world when it came to figuring out which piece of the “in circle” I fit into. Was I a popular kid? Sure. Was I lonely though? Absolutely. I usually found myself feeling like I was on the fringe of most girl groups, and I didn’t like being the ringleader if it meant having to make other girls feel like slitting their wrists (a star-tactic of the quintessential mean girl.) Instead, I wore my heart on my sleeve – still do – and opened myself up to war wounds inflicted by those girls who boasted more confidence at age 11 than I ever did at 18. Although, years later, at around age 24, I learned that insecurity often dresses itself up as confidence, so beware the wolf in sheep’s clothing (and Prada.)

There was a distinct period in my life when I realized I might never find the “perfect girlfriend”. It was during a breakup with my boyfriend and my mother was in cancer treatment. I was renting a basement apartment and came home past midnight most days from my job at the newspaper just to avoid the silence. I had pushed away all of the friends who just didn’t seem to have the right words for helping me cope with the possibility of losing my mother. I was so angry at the world. Eventually though, my anger softened and I chose to view that difficult time as one of immense growth.

In many ways, I’m having another growth spurt, especially since the start of this blog. I’ve committed to surrounding myself with inspiring people and to being someone who fits into the Circle of Inspiration for others as well. That’s called synergy, I guess, and I’m all over it, like brown on rice.

I have a good feeling that my date with Simone last Saturday will go down as one of the great moments I had while reinventing myself. And I’m even more sure that brunettes do have more fun, especially when wearing a little red lipstick.

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