I hate L.A. I’ll be honest about it – I do not like the city I live in one bit. I like the scenery, I like the weather, I like the beaches, but I hate the city. I’m not the kind of girl that goes out, I don’t like getting dressed up, and I hate having my picture taken. Nothing about me screams “stereotypically girly.” I’d rather be at home with my dogs and my documentaries. I’m also not big on bragging. I won’t tell you what celebrity I talked to, or name drop the person/production I work for, I won’t help your career. If you want to be friends with me, my friendship only comes with me it doesn’t come with my connections, I’m big on hard work and making your own way. In a city like L.A, where everything is very visual and all about, “where you’ve been”, “who you saw”, “who you know”, and “what can you do for me” it can be hard to fit in.
But I’ve never really fit in. I’ve always been a “guy’s girl”. Which I’m not complaining about, because I am what I am. I was a tomboy and sort of sensitive, and I grew up really fast and so I couldn’t relate with most of the girls my age. I found them generally frivolous, and I didn’t think boys weren’t into silly things, either. Boys liked sports, and video games and we didn’t have to talk about “who we liked” or “what new dress we got” so I mostly hung around them. I didn’t have to relate to boys. They didn’t want to know what I was thinking or feeling and I was much more comfortable that way. They just let me be. Girls back then had a way of wanting to bond in an emotional, intimate way and that just wasn’t my style. It wasn’t then and it’s still not now.
The girls were always too mean and harshly judgmental for me to deal with when I was growing up. It wasn’t that big of a deal in middle school, but when I got to high school the girls became ruthless. My guy friends who had girlfriends couldn’t hang out with me …
… because their girlfriends didn’t like me, and girls that didn’t know me thought I was stuck up or slept around (predictably. If girls don’t like you, you’re probably “a slut.”)
When I was my late teens I met my first real girlfriend, M.B. She was like a sister to me and we were inseparable for about eight years. I went through a hard time and they say that’s when you find out who your true friends are—and I did. The only people that were left after my spiral were my guy friends and my family. M.B. was gone and I swore that I would never trust another girl again. They were catty, and selfish, and I’ve never really connected with them anyway. Disappointed in myself, I knew that I should have trusted my initial instinct.
When I moved back out to California from Michigan, I was convinced I wouldn’t be able to find anyone with any kind of substance out here. For the most part, I was right. If I had my way I would’ve never met or bonded with anyone, as I’m not good at cultivating relationships. But someone pushed me and reminded me that I’m not always right about things, believe it or not.
Before M.B. and I had stopped talking she had introduced me to Bunny, her lifelong friend. I always felt that I would never compare to Bunny and her lifelong friendship with M.B., and I really envied it. In truth, I was somewhat jealous of Bunny. Obviously. After M.B. and I stopped speaking, Bunny would occasionally look in on me to make sure I was doing okay, and she actually had helped me out of a really tough spot one time, for which I will be forever grateful for, but I honestly thought she would never speak to me after what I asked of her. Days went by and she kept looking in on me.
Eventually we moved past the incident and the superficial, and started talking about other things. After I moved out to California, Bunny was the only person I talked to every single day. And three years after I called her to rescue me that night, I still talk to her every single day. She’s the first person I text when I wake up and I say good night to her almost every night. I run almost all my decisions by her and she talks me out of my emotional spirals. In spite of myself, I became more friends with the girl I’d envied those years ago than I ever had with M.B.
Bunny and Pooh are our nicknames for each other. She made me go out and meet people, even though she was 2,000 miles away from me. She helped me through hard times out here and made me believe that chasing my dreams was a worthwhile cause. I don’t know how she did it, but she got me emotionally attached to her. That’s the thing I can appreciate most about female friendships—the bonds run deep.
I always thought I was a “guy’s girl” and that I would never experience a real friendship with a girl. When I moved out here I was sure of it. Sometimes I’ll be sitting here thinking “Geez, can these girls be any more vapid? Can’t they have some self-worth? Brains? Substance?” Then my phone vibrates and I see a text from Bunny and it reminds me that people thought all the wrong things about me once, too. Once upon a time no girl would give me a chance and I thought that I would never have a close friendship with another girl and then … bam. There was Bunny. Bunny showed me that sometimes people surprise you, and sometimes people are worthwhile.