Girl Code

Well, here goes. I don’t get “girl code”. There I’ve said it. Sure, I have friends that are girls. But they tend be awkward “loner” girls or “comedy” chicks, just like myself. So when a “normy” girl becomes friends with me, I know all to well that eventually that friendship will probably go sideways. Truth be told, I grew up a tomboy and have always preferred to hang out with the fellas. Why? You get what you see. In fact until the age of 25, I only had one “almost” girlfriend. She was a stripper. I met her by the airport at a place called the Jet Strip, when I was 19. Strippers, although quite professional at selling a caricature of what men find desirable, don’t usually act like normy girls at all. I like that about them, because you always know where you stand. There’s no passive aggressiveness going down, or the dreaded “I’ve written down a list of how you hurt me over the past four months”. You only have to witness a coked-up, single mother of three yelling at you, at the start of John William’s Star Wars theme-song, whilst she’s donning a bedazzled storm trooper thong, in the dressing room of a strip joint, “Bitch, everyone knows that’s my locker! Didn’t I tell you I’d whup some ass if you stole my signature song!? And stay the fuck away from Captain-Save-A-Ho at the back bar!!“ once — and you get the rules loud and clear. There’s no secret code. There’s no squealing and fake hugs. That feels solid to me. No smoke and mirrors. No goddamn trickery-a-foot.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not bashing on women. Women fucking RAWK! I love normal chicks! They are like magical unicorns to me. They seriously are the best of us! I just don’t understand how to navigate them, and vice versa. It’s like I was out-sick during a monumental week in childhood, in which all the notes on the inside dope, on how to go about a girl-friendship was handed out. In some goofy way, it reminds me of one my favorite historical figures, Chief Buffalo Child Long Lance - who was actually born Sylvester Clark Long. He was an intellectually gifted African American man born at the turn of the century, who passed as an Indian so he could get an appointment at West Point, in order to further himself and his education. On his way to West Point he feared being found out and fled to Canada, where he continued to have others believe he was Indian. The problem was, no matter how much he learned about being an Indian, whether from books or from genuine interest and celebrated published writings on how poorly the North American Indians fared, he couldn’t fool the Indians themselves. As there were subtleties that Sylvester didn’t pick up on. One being that during ceremonial circles around a fire, an Indian is not supposed to walk between another Indian and the actual fire. It’s disrespectful. One is supposed to walk behind another Indian and a fire. Long-story short, he was eventually found out and became a down and out performer. We all have our shit.

Now here comes the confession - when it comes to my friendships with other normy/unicorn women, I ALWAYS get found out that I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Apparently, I walk like a bull in a china shop, betwixt the normy chicks and their perceived fireplaces.

Recently, there was a UCLA study that suggests the hormone oxytocin is released when women engage in tending children and befriending each other. The two women scientists came across that “aha” moment, after a particularly stressful day together at work. They ended up cleaning the lab, having coffee together, and bonding. WHAT THE FUCK! Even when my two boys were babies and I was hanging out with the other “normy” moms, all I felt was stress. I didn’t want to engage in small talk over which Mommy and Me class had the best schedule on the westside. I didn’t want to blather on about what diaper-bag is all the rage this season. I just wanted to get the fuck out the house and away from the mountain of laundry I had to do. I remember once when I lived in New York City, my kid and I were invited by a normy mommy, a lovely banker’s wife, to their gorgeous pre-war coop. I was trying my best to talk her up without coming across as an idiot or desperate. I spied a huge-ass Tiffany bowl, full of wine corks, and I said, “Oh, you and your husband are wine connoisseurs?” She replied, “I don’t know about that, we just like to save all the corks from the wine we drink at the beginning of each year, so we can see and celebrate how lucky we are at the end of the year.” It was only April. Before I could help myself, I blurted, “Wow, you guys must either fuck a lot, or fight a lot!” She gasped out loud. I quietly let my child and myself out, and eventually had to find a different Gymboree class to attend, as rumor began that I was not one of them. They weren’t wrong.

Here’s the icky part about being a loner chick — people think there’s something wrong with you if you don’t have a gang of cool-ass chicks that have your back. It's the same look as when people ask you if you have a man in your life, and you answer, "I'm focusing on my career right now." 

Apparently there are categories in which “normy” women fall into — the leader, the listener, the user, the frenemy, the martyr, the sharer, the crazy bitch, the girl who has everything - including a small ass, the party girl, and the copy cat. Nowhere in that mess of a list, is the “comedy chick”. Because it’s my belief that being a comedy chick is the hardest and most misunderstood of all the categories. And If I’m going to be completely honest, we fall into all those other categories, every hour on the hour. It’s just how we’re built. Sure at first normies think you are hilarious, and they love rolling around in your irreverence, because then they don’t have to take on the personal responsibility of being a saucy-dick themselves. Btw, the first rule of comedy is — in order to make a joke work, it has to be based on a nugget of truth. It’s no secret that women are much more likely to share feelings then men. And when you mix irreverence with feelings — that’s when shit always goes south. Not usually so with men because they mostly share activities together. So if you mix in a man who is irreverent, it’s usually not an issue. I know I’m generalizing, get over it.

All that being said, I guess what I’m sharing is this - I suck at girl code. I hope I’m not the only one. I’m asking that if you are a normy magical unicorn and you see a loner girl/comedy chick, please give her a hug. She probably needs it. But please, no squealing while doing so. I mean seriously, what the fuck is that about?

Artwork by Diane Cervantes