in which this explains why i don’t know how to make friends.

If you’ve known me well enough to have been granted access to my sad-sack ramblings (in real life) about my childhood, you’ll know that I’ve been missing and searching for a girl named Laura Danielle Hughes. After years of stalking through social networking websites, and casually mentioning her to those I thought might know of her whereabouts, she ended up finding me on Facebook. And, oddly enough, it hasn’t even been awkward or tense; it’s as if we’ve just been on a “Lost Weekend” all this time.

My bangs were always a mile high, on any given day.Laura and I grew up in a little neighborhood called Villanova Court in Sicklerville, NJ. We met during our Terrible Twos and our parents became fast friends because of it. I remember lots of dance parties at my house – dancing around the coffee table between all of the grownups; I remember sneaking downstairs while our parents watched scary movies – they’d always hear us pitter-pattering down the steps and send us back to our bedrooms; I remember locking ourselves in her laundry room or bedroom when her big brother, Mikke, would start bothering us – we’d fashion ourselves in the air, backs to her bedroom door and feet on the wall a few feet away (she never did get a lock on that door!).

We learned how to swim together (obviously, she was a bit quicker to learn), ride bikes together; we joined dance together (I eventually quit because our rehearsals were on Saturday mornings – hello, cartoons?!?!), started school together. We pretended we were Debbie Gibson together, fell in love with Nick Carter together.

We started our own nonsensical language that consisted of actual words, just said in a way one might think an insane person would say them. I’ve recorded them for you, because they are just too difficult to explain. Also, remember that we were, like, ten when we said these things. It wasn’t like we were babies who couldn’t speak correctly.

I had a Mother Goose stuffed animal/animatronic thing. Like Teddy Ruxpin, Mother Goose’s mouth and eyes moved, and she’d tell you a story when you put a tape in her tsched (we’ll get to that). She wore only a bonnet, and when you took the bonnet off, she’d have a bald head. Which, in turn, descended into whatever this is:

For some reason, this was what we called vaginas. It, literally, has nothing to do with vaginas, and I’m not even sure what made us start calling them that. I also have no idea how to spell it:

There was also a time that I threw my poncho (yeah, I had one) into the closet instead of hanging it up. Mother grew angry about this and said, “Jasmine, pick up the poncho”, but it turned out to sound more like this (which we then made fun of until the end of days):

And, finally, we would randomly ask my sister if she wanted to die. Sinisterly:

(As you can see, I didn’t brush my hair, lolo up my dry face, or put on any makeup. I apologize for all THAT.)

So, our friendship went pretty strong for nearly fourteen years. We survived through my parents’ divorce and my subsequent moving to a few different places with each parent; we survived through her parents’ troubles (though they made it through!); we even survived junior high and half of high school. It was during high school that her parents’ troubles began. She and her mom moved so far out of town that Laura had to switch high schools. I’d always been really shitty at talking on the phone, and Laura started dating and hanging out with people that just… weren’t like me, I guess you could say? I didn’t drink, I didn’t do drugs, I didn’t cut school (often). Eventually, our short, awkward, and not-very-often conversations ended, and I just didn’t see her anymore.

I ran into her at a Wawa on my seventeenth birthday (she wished me a “happy birthday”, which was nice), and then didn’t see her again until this past Halloween – she surprised me by showing up to the Halloween concert I performed at as No Doubt. It was craycray. She’d found me on Facebook a month or so before, and we’d been messaging/catching up – and then I just saw her in person again. Words can’t really describe my pure joy. I felt like this.

Of course, we’re back to our lameylame selves and haven’t seen each other since, but I know it’s ok this time. Mostly because I know her every move (thank you, Facebook!), and we text message. And I know we will hang and become the best of friends again. We’ll watch that HBO Spice Girls concert, gather our family around the living room, and make them watch us perform it for them. Then, we’ll play “Touch the Ground and You Die” (while, of course, singing “touch the ground and you die, you see, duh nuh-nuh”) and, most probably, climb trees. Everything’s coming up Milhouse.