The Outer Inner Circle

So I’m totally Alone in Orange County.  But that isn’t to say I’m Alone in Life.  I am lucky enough to have a group of friends available via phone or text most hours of the day.  These are friends I’ve collected over time, who are entirely geographically incompatible with my life, and btw how dare they not follow me wherever I go?  Because then I wouldn’t even be writing this blog!  We’d be sunbathing, painting our toenails, sipping G&Ts, and I’d be begging to have just one day off from my glamorous and meaningful social life just to sit at home with my cat watching old episodes of everything “reality” that has ever been aired on Bravo!  But since they are all so selfish, here we are.

First, there’s Rebecca.  We barely knew each other in high school (she was a senior when I was a freshman), but she went to college nearby at Berkeley (no, she isn’t a hippie, doesn’t smoke pot, and yes, is totally brilliant), so we ended up seeing each other from time to time.  When I went to college she moved to LA to teach child actor brats (my word, not hers) on set since they couldn’t go to school.  This job actually had its benefits, as she not only met all the hot (adult) actors of the time, but she could get us to the front of the line at any club in LA, which we did exactly once because we were total nerds, but still.  Very cool.  Roughly around the time I moved to Southern California for the first time, she had already been accepted to a “top 3” law school across the country, and we did a road trip together to get her moved and settled and to give me a mini-vacation in between jobs, research, and applying for another degree.  I mention this trip not because it has anything to do with my search for friends in OC, but because there were two really cute and brilliant guys in her class, and I went on dates with each of them, which was the most exciting thing I had ever done up until that summer.  So far removed am I from this time, I will actually dare to use their real names.  Matt had been a Fulbright Scholar, was multilingual, too smart for words, and had a Midwestern boyish charm I’d never encountered in California.  We talked for hours at the coffee shops, and when I left he gave me a copy of The Alchemist (in English, he pointed out, as his personal copy was in the original Portuguese), and inside was a hand written note (which is still there).  He was charming, thoughtful, and on my last day in town he gave me the sweetest kiss.  And then there was Jeremy: tall, devastatingly handsome, Princeton grad, and did I mention tall and handsome?  We played pool, and I totally won (it pays to cram a year’s worth of physics into two short summer sessions—when all you do is think about vectors, winning at pool is a snap!).  I also kissed Jeremy, and I mention this only because 1) there was a time when TWO smart, handsome men actually wanted to kiss me, and 2) it totally creeped me out.  My constitution simply despises multi-dating, and at that moment there was no way I could fathom years later I would be in the middle of a community where multi-dating is the norm, where no one wants to commit to anything other than a cup of coffee, or maybe dinner next week.  (Maybe.  I'll text you.)  But more on that later.  Rebecca eventually moved back to Northern California while I was down south, and we have been apart ever since, having to settle for rushed visits during conferences, phone calls and texts.  She is hilarious, admirable and brave.  She is one of many of my friends who have adopted, but the only one to do so while single.  She has created a home and rich, happy lives for two beautiful children who would otherwise be growing up in total neglect.  So I forgive her for not uprooting her family to follow me around.  Mostly.

Mia and Leah (yes, they rhyme, and yes, all of my friends either have names that rhyme or are simply named Jennifer, Jenni, Jennie, Jenny or Jen, which makes including them in my blog quite difficult) have been dear friends since the early 90s.  We met working at a camp, and shared the most wonderful summer traipsing together amongst the redwoods, drinking steamed milk at our favorite coffee shop, and singing at the beach with our friends and their guitars.  (It was Santa Cruz, so we were the least weird thing going on.)  The three of us try to get together once a year if we can, and are constantly group texting.  We offer encouragement, support, but mostly laugh at things like Mia’s daughter’s reaction to her first sex talk (“Why are you telling me this????”) or the functional plastic peeing boy statue that was a table decoration at the restaurant on Leah’s date night.  Unbeknownst to them, they give the worst possible dating advice.  They have each been married for forever, and have never lived in OC, and so don’t understand when a man asks for your number, he probably already has a girlfriend who will then find your number and start shooting you texts in the middle of the night threatening to “massacre” you (yes, that’s a quote) for hitting on her man, despite the fact that he approached you, flirted relentlessly, and obviously never mentioned her, and it doesn’t at all take a therapist to understand her anger is displaced but still….  Anyway, Mia and Leah are the best.

 Photo courtesy of Leah, who requests no copyright or anything at all to do with this photo

Kat would totally be in my tribe (she’s only 40 minutes away!), if I could see her more than once every 8-12 weeks for a quick cup of coffee.  She’s a surgeon, and not just any old surgeon, she’s a vagina surgeon.  I therefore know way more than any woman my age wants to know about vaginas and all that can go wrong down there (a lot, apparently).  She’s basically on call 24/7, and has a family, extended family, and, well, a life.  So while our time is limited and we can’t share the daily grind, we are always part of the Big Things, and she will always have my heart.  There is another just like her—a lovely friend I see five or six times a year for dinner, who is balancing a young family and commuting from South OC to LA for her job, so regular visits are simply impossible.  And two others whose texts and advice (and visits!) grace my life from time to time:  Marcus and Gayle.  Marcus is a friend of nearly 20 years who lives out of state.  Thank God he does, because he’s a psychiatrist, and trust me, the analysis is bad enough by text!  Every comment about an ex-boyfriend or some major OC drama is followed by, “Wow.  How’s that going for you?”  Considering he charges $600 for an initial evaluation, I guess I should be grateful.  He is, however, quite dear.  Smart, sensitive, intuitive, and always says the right thing at the right time.  When I lamented over the 6’5” CEO who never called (after walking all the way from his table to mine across a restaurant to introduce himself, then staying to talk at the table for like three hours, hello…), he mentioned he was on his way to acupuncture and maybe I should try it.  I asked whether I could get acupuncture inside my brain, and he gently suggested perhaps it is the 6’5” CEO who needs to be poked in the brain, not me.  (I owe him one for that.) 

Gayle I met in Rome in the 90s, and we traveled together for weeks with our giant nerdy cameras.  She lives across the country, and other than a few visits over the years, we keep in contact mostly through text.  She’s a brilliant photographer, and one of those loud east coast people (Californians know what I mean), and always has an opinion.  She also sends care packages with homemade cookies, and shares my unrelenting love of Cadbury Cream Eggs.  She will always have my back, even from far away.

I’d give anything to bring these outer circle friends closer geographically.  Attention Orange County:  this bunch is a hard act to follow.  Teetering around in your Jimmy Choos high on Xanax and alcohol and saying things like, “OMG, did I tell you I have a son?” after I’ve known you for like a year is not going to cut it here.