Only for you, I do these things. .

Do you ever have moments when you're laughing so hard you can barely breathe? Where you're on the phone chatting with a friend for what feels like ten minutes, but really, hours upon hours have passed? I do. Constantly. This entry is dedicated to a dear friend of mine. Her name is Mariana Lopez and I can say with the utmost confidence that she is funniest lady I know. A friend for life? Easily. A cradle to grave? No duh. .

You see: Mariana and I first met in college, at the University of San Francisco. I had awkward frizzy hair and wore the same thing every day. She had long hair back then and may or may not have been obsessed with Tegan and Sara. I sometimes said funny things in class and she was the only one that appreciated my ridiculousness. Let's just say our statistics teacher was not pleased with our blossoming friendship and/or hysterical outbursts mid-lesson. I grew to love this woman. This kind, hilarious, utterly hilarious woman. But it was college. People are weird in college. I was new to being a lesbian and ate a lot of cereal, corn and kidney beans. I was an insecure lady, and for various reasons, we broke up after two years of dating. . 

In my heart, I knew we could be friends at some point. Although it was hard to see this, especially right away, with the wound being as fresh as it was. I remember sinking into a mild depression. I recall being super nervous walking around campus wondering if I'd see her laughing with her new friends and girlfriends. I reached out, in a pathetic way. I made her feel bad - constantly wondering how she seemed to get over me so quickly. She saw the bigger picture, though. She knew I needed time and space to heal. She'd come back into my life to test the waters, realizing often I just wasn't quite ready yet. With time, came understanding and forgiveness. With understanding, a truly wonderful friendship was born. .  

Mariana, you've been my support for several years now - through the drama, the ups, the downs, the firings, the abusive women, the . . all). When I lived in Los Angeles with my parents, I remember talking on the phone with you, cracking up mega (about what? what is always so funny?), and my Mom inquiring, "Oh, are you speaking with Mariana again?". Heck yes, Mom. Totally. I tell you everything. Perhaps more than you desire to hear, but oh well. You know my secrets. You know when I am pissed off. You know what I look like happy and you know when I've had my feelings hurt. I'm enamored by your ability to make me laugh. The hearty laugh. The deep down, I'm not messing around, guttural laugh. You care about me. You care about my stories, my experiences, my life in Seattle. You worry about my safety. You love my parents and they love you . . 

I knew we could be friends again . . It just took a little time. 

Can I thank you now? Can you feel it in San Francisco? How much I love and appreciate you. How much I care for you and your life. I need you to be happy. I need you to be healthy, wealthy (give me money) and wise. You can't leave me. Do you hear me? I would crumble into a pile of squish. . 

In other words, I love you, friend. Today. Now. For always. . 

Oakland - 2006