Note to self #252: It’s okay to have a few girl friends.
In May of 2017, I was reminded the importance of friendship. More importantly, the need of a sisterhood. For a woman, it’s important to have a bond with another female who is experiencing life right along with you. She may not have the same story, but her experience is something to share and learn from just like yours. A woman’s insight is something amazing. A woman on her own has the potential to be absolutely amazing, but together we can be even more.
I grew up most of my life around boys. I’m the only girl amongst three children, and I mostly hung out with my little brother or male cousins. Play cousins included. I didn’t hang out with my female cousins too much. They were either much older, younger, or just not on the same page as me. I was a tomboy who would rather hang out with the boys. I enjoyed playing rough and getting dirty. I had no interest in boys nor anything pink. I was a rowdy rough tomboy and enjoyed running the streets.
It wasn’t until I moved to Staten Island in 2002 that I actually began to acquire legit girl friends.
I moved around a lot. So meeting a girl, or anyone for that matter, was always a short-lived experience. However, when my father made it known that S.I. would be home for quite some time, I actually dreaded the idea of making friends my own age and gender. To me, girls were complicated and talked too much. They were boy crazy, and I later labeled them emotionally unbalanced once puberty hit. I never considered myself a “girl” so to speak. I felt like a tomboy in my own lane and I felt comfortable there.
Then the Character Clique was born. Three girls and myself made up what I’d consider my first sisterhood. Pooh, Tweety, Scooby, and Queen Tigger (me). We were in middle school. Give us a break.
We argued, a lot, but we shared more laughs and memories than anything else. During class, we passed written notes to one another that resembled a chat room. We had what we called “baby books” that were filled with cutouts of what our children would look like, completely ignoring the law of genetics. I almost always had to choose between slim pickings when it came to those baby cutouts, but I always chose wisely leaving even less than a choice then there was before. With that being said, one friend always seemed to get the most random nationalities to choose from. Since Pooh owned the magazines she would always choose first, leaving the three of us to fight over who would get the second best looking batch of kids. Those were good times with some the coolest, and aggressive (mainly Pooh), girls I’ve ever met. I was beginning to learn that hanging out with girls wasn’t so bad after all.
Then in 2004, I met my best friend, whom I’ve lovingly nicknamed Shitty. We met during 5th period lunch and argued over an unwanted bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. She tried getting a snack from the vending machine and accidentally chose the wrong one. She pretty much tried to force said chips down my throat while I sat innocently at a lunch table minding my own business. I’m sure her version of events would be a bit different, but the fact remains that I was the poor gazelle while she played the ferocious lion. Anyway, we later found out we had a class or two together, and by the time we graduated she was one of the very few friends I had from high school compared to the many I made during my freshman year.
Shitty was one of my tethers to the popular crowd. In high school I wasn’t popular, but I didn’t quite fit in with the misfits, nerds, or athletes either. I was known, but not on that level. You get me? The difference was that Shitty was known. She was pretty, sassy, social, and, most of all, another tomboy. This was a connection that happened over time. We may have been introduced during the most lit lunch hour ever in Curtis High School history, but this friendship didn’t truly flourish until our junior year of high school. I was dating and riding that emotional rollercoaster of puppy love. I’d call her all hours of the night to update her on the latest argument my boyfriend and I had, and questioning if I was wrong. She was brave enough to tell me when I was and why. She assisted in giving me clarity when my rose colored glasses were too thick or whenever my pride was a bit too much for a situation. Shitty kept it real with me during a point in my life when all I wanted was authenticity. High school, and being a teenager in general, was a time of confusion and questions for me. She seemed to always have the answers or knew where to get them.
In 2011, I met Dirt Dirt in college. My Pittsburgh shorty who was girly as ever, a little bougie, and hood as fuck. “I don’t have ugly friends,” I remember her telling me. If I looked nice, she told me. If I didn’t, she’d playfully shade me and point me in the right direction. Dirt Dirt was the first girly girl that I didn’t mind hanging around. She enjoyed getting her hands and feet done, playing with hair and makeup, and shopping. Yet, she too loved getting down and dirty with the boys. She was confident in who she was as a young woman, and that alone was enough of a reason for me to befriend her. Dirt Dirt helped me rebuild my confidence on a level I wasn’t aware I needed help in: Womanhood Phase 1 – The Introduction.
Like I said, Dirt Dirt knew who she was and refused to let anyone else tell her otherwise. I guess she saw a bit of me in her and wanted to bring that out more. If not, I have no other idea as to why that young woman took such an interest in me and was determined to stomp a good portion of the tomboy out of me. By the end of my sophomore year in college with her, I was more knowledgeable when it came to beauty in general. Over time, I was trading in comfy clothing for outfits that showed off my curves. I left my iconic ponytail behind for curly weaves and bobs. I even began dabbling in makeup. By the time I graduated, I only looked like a tomboy on laundry day or if I was in for the night.
In May of 2017, I was surrounded by another group of women. In our group chat, we refer to ourselves as the Sailor Scouts: Sailor Moon, Sailor Jupiter, Sailor Venus, Sailor Mercury, and Sailor Mars (me). I’ve grown up with two of the women in this group, but the other two were new to my small rolodex of friends. Aka “new friends” meant a new learning experience, and an experience was just that. We went on a girls trip to D.C. for a friend’s birthday. It was here that I learned about the Womanhood Phase 2 – Sexuality.
I’ve never classified myself as being sexy. Well, at least not openly. To me, it didn’t drip out of my pores, and I couldn’t give “sexy” with just one look. I’m awkward as FUCK. However, this trip taught me ways of how to tap into it. Let me tell you. Ain’t nothing like taking half naked pictures in a hotel room with your girl friends in the background tipsy rooting you on. As one friend played photographer, another took the role as DJ and the other a model coach. I was stepping out my shell and doing something that was one more step away from being a tomboy.
That night, I fell in love with my body. My weight has always fluctuated over the years. Yet, on that night I was on only one size. That night was about embracing the thickums I was at that very moment, and I did just that. I dropped my robe and left it all on the dance floor. Well, more like bed, couch, and windowsill. Every curve, roll, dimple, and imperfection I could visually see became my favorite parts of me.
thank those women for that night. I didn’t think my head could get any bigger than it already was after coming into contact with Dirt Dirt and her vain-like ways. That trip ended on a high note for me. I found a bit of confidence that I thought I lost back in Tennessee with the rest of my shit. However, I still find myself scrolling through those photos smiling and reminiscing. After that trip, I slowly began to regain my confidence. Yes, it was doused in sexuality, but so what. Confidence is confidence in any form.
And a start is a start.
If it wasn’t for all of these women, and a few others, I don’t think I would know so much about myself had I stayed around boys. I needed to learn from other young women how to step out of my shell, how to bring the beauty within to the forefront, and, most importantly, what it means to be a girl. A girl needs girl friends. A partner or two who can identify with her and share this experience called life with her. Yes, women can be a bit of trip, but so are men. After all, if boys can all play nice with one another and help build one another up, why can’t women? There’s nothing like having a loyal woman friend by your side anyway.