What Can I Say? I Like the Ladies.

I have way more guy friends than girlfriends because girls are so jealous and bitchy. 

If you've said this recently, I want you to know that that's a "you problem" and not an issue with an entire sex or gender, and I hope that your "you problem" resolves itself quickly. 

Most women are awesome and some women suck, but unlike men, I don't have to constantly remind myself that I do like women.

Here's why: 

They're always on my back caring about how I feel and if I'm happy, they won't stop nagging me about how great and worthy I am and they won't shut up for two seconds so that I can forget that they have valid thoughts and feelings they want to share with me because to them I am the most important person in the world at that moment. Fucking bitches. 

Throughout my life, I've been extremely lucky with the ladies, and I think it's simply because I listen to them, support them and think they're funny. 

My first girlfriend was my mom followed four years later by my sister. If you don't know them, imagine the most talented, hilarious and intelligent person you know, tell that person you chose him/her because that will really make her day then completely forget about that person and go meet my mom and sister. To say I'm lucky to have them as my life partners is a gross understatement while saying that it's their kampf to be stuck with me is pretty accurate. They're my best friends. 

Andrea let me get away with far too much showboating when we were little, and I partially blame her for my inflated ego. She effortlessly brought out an imagination in me that I would love to have back. We conquered a lot of imaginary worlds together, and she always played the blind Mary to my overzealous Laura Ingalls Wilder because she trusted me to lead her through the sunflowers and up the ladder into her tree house. Jesus, Andrea, I hope you let yourself peek every once in a while. 

Then there was Annie. She was an exotic (from Connecticut!) bright light in a town that I was starting to feel angsty about. Very few times in my life have I felt a level of terror comparable to the time we kicked a soccer ball through a window from the inside of the house, or looked at the aftermath of our butterscotch pudding fight in her kitchen or squeezed ourselves under beds and into cupboards trying to hide from Nazis. I watched Gandhi and Empire Records with her rolling up our skirts and selling Jagged Little Pill to imaginary customers on the floor of her bedroom. I think she, more than any childhood friend, helped form the adult me. 

You know the last scene in American Beauty when Lester Burnham reflects on his life the second before he dies? I think my second will end with..."and Margaret." 

I started a new paragraph because I wanted the drama. That won't actually happen, but we both really like the film. Margaret isn't my friend, and she isn't my sister. She's my Alaskan appendage. Together with our college room/soulmates, Christine and Ana, we talked about our studies, men, and far more important things than men. We helped each other decide who, what and where we wanted to be. We're still talking about it, and although she doesn't just give me the goddamn answers, there is no other voice in the world I want to hear scream, "Emma! What are we doing with our lives!?" 

I now find myself in another country deeply entwined in a group of women politically incorrectly called The Gypsies. They're irreverent, intelligent, brave, creative and my life source. Each day I come home to two women who are responsible for making it a home and who really want what's best for me, as I do them. And although I teach Rosemary's Baby after Children of the Corn on Wednesdays, I always look forward to the day because the women I meet for coffee make me laugh and inspire me.

Have I seen most if not all these women succumb to jealously? And are they capable of laying down a thick layer of bitch?  

Mos Def 

But they don't do it because they're women. They do it because they're humans, and I don't want to be friends with people who aren't humans because that would mean I was just an actual crazy person. 

I could never describe them as jealous and bitchy because that's not who they are. They're individuals who aren't just navigating the stormy seas of life; they're trying to conquer them like bad ass pirates, and the coolest pirates are covered in scars, right? Maybe their moments of weakness are just one pirate reaching out to another pirate saying, "Hey, buddy. I need your help getting over this wave." 

I lost the point in that really awesome pirate metaphor, but what I'm trying to say is that I wouldn't be nearly as confident and independent as I am without the help of these women and so many others. I need them when I'm sad, weak and tired; I need them when I'm happy, excited and proud, and I want them to come to me for the same reasons. They can wiggle their way into cracks that men just can't seem to fill...even the gay ones.