Have you ever thought about how you would describe your friends? I have, of course, because as a writer I shoot off at the mouth a lot, and because my, er, posse, is split over many miles I frequently need to talk about people behind their backs.

You know. In a way.

But suppose you had a friend you wanted to start including in local outings, or a parent who would be in town for a barbecue. Or suppose, like one of my friends did a few years ago, you fell in love with some guy and part of getting to know you was knowing you with your friends.

Not that everyone has to be BFFs or the deal’s off… But when your friends are like family, meeting them can be more daunting than meeting a senile grandmother with a hissing cat and a bit of preparation is good for everyone involved.

So let me introduce my local peeps, one post each, in random order and with names tweaked in consideration of future background checks. Although this is not meant to be a tribute, it is somewhat spurred on by the tremendous support I’ve gotten from my friends during the Worst Year Ever, Almost.*

Shotgun
The only surface thing we don’t have in common is that she does not like cats and I like dogs less than she does…but this gap is rapidly closing. We were brought together by Alicia, who thought the fact that we hadn’t met was baNAnas, because we would clearly start braiding each other’s hair on day one. So our first date was over drinks and cigars at Shelley’s downtown, where we got lit and discovered that we read all the same blogs, have all the same hobbies, and have suffered from the same frizzy-hair issues and random ailments throughout our entire lives.

(Perioral dermatitis, y’all. We ain’t talkin’ about chicken pox, here.)

Of all my friends who were never actually in the Concord Blue Devils (or wanted to be), she is the only one who knows what the hell they are and has SEEN THEM PERFORM. Also, she was a band nerd. And a drum major. She knows that cheerleaders, even the most well-meaning ones, are pussies.

Shotgun’s got class. Her mother (who clearly picked her over me when they split us up in the nursery) raised her to be a lady, and a lady she is. She is principled and well-mannered and poised, but she will still tell me to go fuck myself if I’ve got it coming. She may just be gentler about it than she would to someone she didn’t care about at all.

When she loves, she loves all the way.

Although she is tough and smart and expects the best of people, she appreciates The Goofy in a way that most with her discipline might not. Were she not so damn cool, she would be one of those people who might think there was something wrong with me and I would seriously consider her evaluation. Because if it came from her, there’d be something to it. (I have been known to dismiss someone’s opnion of my lesser points if I have found them lacking as well.)

But because she is so damn cool, and there’d be something to it, she is a friend I love and look up to for more reasons than just that she is a bazillion feet tall.

* 2008, if it weren’t for the clarity brought by major life situations and for the people carrying me through all this crap, I would bitch-slap you back into the 70s. Cross my heart.