Only a best friend tells you when your face is dirty

A good friend knows all of your best stories... a best friend has lived them with you.
A good friend offers support when you have been humiliated... a best friend pretends nothing happened in the first place.
A good friend will be there to bail you of jail... a best friend is sitting next to you in the holding cell.
A good friend will take your drink away from you when they think you’ve had enough... a best friend watches you trip over your own two feet and says, “You better chug that, you need to catch up.”

In the late summer of 2008, nine ladies and myself congregated for a seven day escape to Siesta Key. We united for the week to celebrate our 30th birthday, preferably known as “the first anniversary of our 29th birthday.” Dreading the upcoming year when we were all about to enter a new decade (our puma years), we used this trip to honor our 20‘s... scared that once we entered a new period of our lives, we wouldn’t be fun anymore (don’t worry, this didn’t happen... we are still fun... even more fun). Our home away from home was “The Mockingbird,” a three bedroom house with a private pool, just one block away from where The Travel Channel deemed the “Best Sand Beach in America” (**Side note: I was just reading this aloud to my BFF and she cracked up laughing... the house was named “The Hummingbird.” Apparently “The Hunger Games” has taken over my mind). There were ten girls in one house with three king beds and two hair dryers. Let me type that again in case you missed it: ten girls with only two hair dryers. And don’t be shocked when I tell you there was no girl drama that week. Nada, zilch, zero. Even when Hurricane Fay invaded the scene and kept us sequestered in the house for 24 hours putting together a 1000 piece puzzle... you can only imagine the conversations we had. And even one morning after a night unhinged at a beach bar, one of the girls asked another: “Did you make out with who I made out with last night?”... and the answer was yes... and still no drama. Just a bunch of belly laughs and refills on the mimosas.

It’s been proven that those with a strong friend network tend to live longer and healthier lives. If that’s the case, then I should live to be 108. There are friends that come into your life for a reason, then those who are around for a season. But the friends I want by my side in Greece for my 50th birthday are the friends I want around for a lifetime. Lifetime friendships are built on:

trust = Please don’t tell anyone what happened last night
honesty = Your spray tan looks really orange
unconditional love = It’s okay you spilled red wine all over my favorite white pants
compassion = I’m sorry that jerk hurt you, I’ll kick him in the shins next time I see him

Since the Siesta Key vacation, we have managed to invade Nashville, Atlanta, Tampa, Marco Island, New Orleans, New York City, Charleston, Chicago, Fort Lauderdale, Las Vegas and others that I’m sure I’m forgetting. We are spread across the state and throughout the country, but we make it happen by maxing out our paid vacation days each year traveling to be with each other.

We take an annual girls’ trip to the SEC men’s basketball tournament every March. We travel near and far to support each other in half-marathons and marathons. You can’t forget about blue lot Kentucky football tailgating in the fall. Or jumping out of a perfectly good airplane over the Gulf of Mexico (if you consider “perfectly good” being held together by duct tape and the pilot wearing a parachute). Or doing an impromptu A thru Z pub crawl in Lexington. Or the 2,539 bottles of wine that we have shared.

We (most of us at least) live the single life, so we celebrate each other at any chance we can because the opportunities are limited. As Carrie Bradshaw once brilliantly said:

“If you are single, there isn’t one occasion where people celebrate you… Hallmark doesn’t make a ‘Congratulations, you didn’t marry the wrong guy’ card. And where’s the flatware for going on vacation alone?”

I love that quote. I want to register at Macy’s, then throw myself a “Congratulations, I have been single for eight years” party. I would have a cake made out of cupcakes and would wear the perfect dress from Alexander McQueen. And I would really appreciate Kate Spade chinaware. The best part is that I know my friends would totally embrace this idea. After all, we have each other to thank for all the boyfriends that we are not married to (or we divorced). Any future boyfriend will not only have to pass the Dad test (I take pity on the poor soul), but also pass the friend test, which could possibly cause the potential groom to jump ship. If he can survive a night out with my friends, then he can survive a climb to the top of Mount Everest. If he can survive taking 25 jumping pictures of us without getting irritated, then he can survive a marathon with no training.

These lively girls have been witnesses to all of my crazy stories over the past few years, and they have partaken in most of them. We will still be sharing adventures when we are 80 and have to use valet parking so we don't lose our car. These amigas will always be my best friends... because they know way too much.