A reason to celebrate tonight

It's not easy to find a bright light in all the doom and gloom we're experiencing, but if you have a special bottle of wine (or other beverage) you've been saving for the right occasion, tonight is the time to open it.

The Wall Street Journal's husband-and-wife wine team of Dorothy J. Gaiter and John Brecher are hosting the 10th annual Open That Bottle of Wine Night tonight (hear their interview with "Fresh Air's" Terry Gross here). The duo started the celebration because the most common question
they get from readers is when they should open a special bottle of wine. Wait too long, for example, and the wine could go bad.

"You should worry less about what is the perfect moment for the wine than what is the perfect moment for you," the couple wrote in their "Tastings" column. (They encourage readers to send their stories of how they spend the evening.)

This reminds me of the movie "Sideways." The main character, played by Paul Giamatti, was saving an expensive bottle of wine for just the right moment, but it never seemed to come. In the end, he realized the futility of his wait and took the bottle to a hamburger joint, to enjoy it with a juicy burger.

I've got my bottle ready. It's a very cheap wine, but it's my favorite, and I don't find it often. I was saving it for "later," but why not savor it now?

What you get from a relationship

One of my most interesting friends dropped me a line last week.

We talked for more than an hour about nearly everything -- from our lives to our philosophies to our next steps. She's always up to something new and unusual -- learning a language, reading an interesting book, connecting with mutual friends we haven't seen in a while.

It had been some time since we last had chatted. With her, though, it's always as if I'd seen her yesterday. She has one of those ebullient, charismatic personalities: She's the flame, you're the moth. We always have such fun conversations. And we always make plans to see each other -- plans that just never seem to happen.

She's my quick-fix friendship. I hope I always know her. After we talk, her enthusiasm buoys me for days. But I'll never count on her to make good on our plans, to show up for a gathering, to send me the name of that fascinating article she insists I have to read. But I'll love her forever, and will always look forward to our next connection, however fleeting it is.

She's an interesting contrast to my most important friend -- a woman I've known since high school and someone I can always count on to show up no matter how long it's been since we last spoke.

My always-there friend and I catch up infrequently. Our conversations, spoken or written via e-mail, are short. We laugh and we cry together, and we're equally comfortable doing both.

We see each other not as often as we'd like. But our connection is always deep, our sadness at having to part is always heartfelt, and our efforts to get together always turn out.

These women have taught me about the give-and-take of friendships, about how high --or low -- to set your expectations. And to rejoice in what is offered.

That's been an important lesson.

Friends, 18 years in the making

It took nearly 18 years of knowing each other, but my sister-in-law and I have finally formed a friendship.

More than that, I'd say Deana has been a primary lifeline for me these past two years -- getting used to juggling two children, deciding to spend most of my time at home with them, and acclimating to a new city in the midst of all the other changes.

We talk several times a week (sometimes several times a day) to share hilarious -- and not so funny -- kid stories (and maybe a husband tale or two). We blow off steam about the fleeting annoyances in our lives. We celebrate victories as we figure out how best to be a professional woman and a mom and a wife at the same time.

Why did it take so long?

I can't exactly say why. We had always gotten along when we saw each other, and we talked occasionally over the years outside of the family get-togethers. But Deana reached out a little after my oldest child was born, and I was determined to keep in touch with her with regularity.

I guess it comes down to this: We had never really stopped long enough in our busy lives to realize how much we like each other, and how much we could support each other.

And here we are, two years later, sharing a blessing of a relationship that allows us to get a window into the daily lives of our nieces and nephews, though they live many, many states away.

She gives me the reality check I need when craziness is swirling around me.

Best of all, she makes me laugh, and everyone needs a friend like that.

When he says, 'I won't lie'

Alicia: So, D, which red flags start waving when a guy begins a conversation like this: "I won't lie to you"? A reader writes that she has an ex who always responds like that -- as if he's doing her a favor. Or trying to sell her something. And as if him saying it wasn't annoying enough, her kids have started saying it, too. It's like she spends her days surrounded by sleazy used car salesmen.

Deirdre: I know she wants to punch her ex in the mouth every time he says it, too. To me, "I won't lie to you" falls under the same category as "no offense, but ...": no matter what comes next, you're not gonna like it.

Alicia: Absolutely. And my thought is that you shouldn't have to announce that you're not going to lie. It means that you are going to lie, and you can't be trusted in general.

Deirdre: Or that maybe you're not lying this time, which isn't much better.

Alicia: So is there anything to be done with this guy (except for having the reader anonymously send him this link)? I bet he can't be reasoned with, given his ex status.

Deirdre: And if he's evil, he might use it just because he knows it bugs her. But she can do something about her kids. She can talk to them about it and tell them that the phrase is useless. Just as they've learned to use it, they can unlearn it.

Alicia: Hope she can convince them. And while she's at it, maybe she can warn them off some other conversation-ending phrases, "I don't know about you, but ..." "Like I always say ..." What else?

Deirdre: "I don't mean to be rude, but ..." and then they proceed to be rude! Or, "I know it's none of my business ..." and then they get all in your business!

Alicia: "Don't take my word for it, but ..." means I have no clue, but I'm going act like it, nonetheless.

Deirdre: If I shouldn't take your word for it, why are you saying it, then? I think these phrases have become so ingrained in conversation that people either A) don't even realize they're using them, or B) think they can say anything by using such a phrase first, as if that'll make it OK. Except it doesn't.

Alicia: Right. If you're going to say something that might make someone uncomfortable, take ownership of it or don't say it at all.

Deirdre: Words to live by, sister!

The sad side of social networking

Facebook was fun.

Though I haven't been the most devoted of posters, in the span of a few weeks, I was able to:

-- Get instant access to photos of my niece and nephews in Indianapolis, a blessing since we see them only once or twice a year.

-- Reconnect with an old co-worker from my D.C. days, who told me he's now married to his longtime girlfriend (though, back then, they said they never would take that step), he had to bid farewell to two of the greatest cats to walk the planet, and he heard some juicy tidbits about a former colleague who seems not to have tempered her crazy dating ways.

-- Track down a friend from junior/senior high who honestly looks like she hasn't aged a bit, and one of my college roommates, who's married with kids now, too.

But tracking down Patty from college is also how I found out about Maureen, a girl I lived with my senior year at the University of Dayton.

That's when Facebook stopped being quite so much fun.

Maureen and I didn't have much in common except for Patty -- and a shared living space, of course. She was a year behind me, and we got along fine. We just didn't click, and so didn't keep in touch after I graduated.

But Maureen was always there for you with an offer of help. She told jokes all the time, and she was always happy-go-lucky when you needed a laugh.

While responding to Patty's message last week, I followed a link to something called Mission4Maureen.

I found out that Maureen died about four years ago after a long battle with brain cancer.

She was only 34. She left behind a husband, three children, and family and friends who still grieve over her loss.

Mission4Maureen is the charity her family started to help others diagnosed with brain cancer pay for medical treatment. It was one of her wishes, fitting for someone who cared so much about others.

Farewell, Maureen. I regret I had to learn about your battle this way.

A card, to say you care

I have friends I haven't talked to in months. You know what it's like -- you mean to send an e-mail. You mean to call. But time slips away, and before you know it, the end of the year draws near. And if you're like me, when December rolls around you find yourself driving to the post office with a stack of holiday cards sliding around on the passenger seat.

I'm not one to get too excited about holidays -- you work enough of them, the magic fades -- but this is the time of year when I look forward to checking my mail. There's just something about spotting a bright green or red envelope mixed in with the bills and magazines. No matter how bad my day has been, it's hard to stay grumpy when you open a goofy card from a person you haven't heard from in ages, or you view a friend's family portrait with cute kids growing up impossibly fast.

The holiday card is the great equalizer. It says, "I know we haven't talked, but that doesn't mean I don't care." It says, "In the midst of all the shopping-eating-family drama frenzy, I took a moment to think of you, and wanted to let you know." It says, "We're family."

It's sort of the renewal of a vow: you stay in my life, and I'll stay in yours.

High school, 20 years later

When I walked into my 20-year high school reunion over the weekend, I almost immediately saw one of my best friends from the era. He's rail thin and (maybe) comes up to my shoulder. He ignored my delighted hello and took my purse away from me and tossed it on a nearby table. While I was asking about my purse, he snatched me into his arms, whipped my protesting body down into a dramatic dip, aaaaand ... he slipped and dropped me on the floor.

Deirdre McGruder, welcome to your reunion!!

The accident happened early enough in the evening that not many people saw it, and even so, I wasn't really upset. In a perverse sort of way, it wouldn't have been my reunion if something potentially horrific hadn't occurred.

The rest of the night went well, big crowd. (True confession time: I had hoped that one guy in particular would show up, but he didn't. It was probably for the best.) My class turned out interestingly enough -- we had a pro football player who played in a Super Bowl, a Navy deep-sea diver, a guy who moved to New Orleans to help with Katrina recovery, at least one recovering drug addict, a former stripper, and one dude who came out after college and brought his partner with him. (They wore matching shirts and by the end of the evening I was doing the bump with the partner out on the dance floor.) The women aged remarkably well; the men, not so much. People milled about, high school cliques for the most part ignored.

Here's the weird thing: I was at the bar when the guy voted "still the class clown" that night came up with the guy who was voted "cutest" back in high school (he held up fabulously, BTW -- still cute). Turns out I was standing next to the cute guy's wife. They both joked about how the wife had to be careful with me, because I was mean -- I was painfully shy in high school and cold indifference was my defense mechanism, but I was still surprised that's how they remembered me. We were all laughing when the cutie leaned in to his wife.

"Here's the weird thing," he said as put he put a hand on my shoulder. "We never spoke in high school. I knew her name, I knew who she was, but we never said a word to each other."

"That was your fault!" I protested, still laughing.

His smile faded as he straightened and looked into my eyes. "It was both our faults."

I opened my mouth for a smart-aleck retort, and closed it just as quickly. "You're right," I finally said, because it was true. A simple "hi" from either of us back then and we might've been friends.

Later, I was talking to the chick voted "best looking" 20 years ago. We weren't in the same social circle then, but we chatted easily now. When I mentioned her class title, she shook her head and said, "I don't know what people saw back then." She was beautiful then and is just as beautiful now, but didn't seem to believe it. Isn't it amazing that we sometimes see ourselves so differently than others see us?

When the reunion went more than an hour past its scheduled time, I decided to skip the after-parties and opted for late-night eats back in my hotel room. While I enjoyed seeing everyone, I'd had my fill. I also knew nothing good would come of more alcohol and memories.

Turns out I was correct. My friend -- the one who dropped me at the beginning of the evening -- called me in the morning to fill me in. The party crowd moved on to a bar, closed it down, then transferred to a dance club. As the night wore on, people grew maudlin and wistful. The girl voted most likely to succeed in high school had repeatedly (and unsuccessfully) hit on the guy voted "most changed" that night; he was a former geek who'd morphed into a laid-back, good looking man comfortable in his own skin. She was later seen crying on a street corner, reluctant to say goodbye to old friends. The (ex) stripper, surgically altered, deeply tanned and obviously high, kept referring to a former band nerd as her "reunion boyfriend." The ex-band nerd was married, but didn't bring his wife. They were walked to their respective cars to make sure they didn't leave together. As my friend put it: "maybe you don't want to throw away 10 years of a marriage for a shot at the girl you couldn't have in high school."

Or maybe you do and need to be saved from yourself.

People at the reunion were at different stages in their lives, and some needed it more than others. Many were curious and just wanted to see how we'd all turned out. I count myself in that group. It was nice to visit the past for an evening ... but even nicer to return to the life I have now!

Friendship has no age limit

I was dozing, enjoying a lazy Sunday, when I got an unexpected call. It was my friend Deirdre (yep, same spelling), phoning from her San Francisco home.

Deirdre and I met years ago at a party thrown by a mutual friend. Even though we seemingly had nothing in common but our name -- or maybe because of it -- we instantly clicked. She and her husband, Chris, are both more than 20 years older than me, but they have the look and energy and bohemian lifestyle of a couple much younger.

When I talk to Deirdre, it's as if I'm a student sitting at the feet of a master, and the subject she is schooling me on is Life. I always come away from our conversations feeling invigorated and enlightened. Yesterday, we talked for more than two hours about politics, religion, osteopathy, the business side of art (she's a poet; Chris is a painter) and more. Every topic was spiced with Deirdre's stories -- she's tells the most amazing stories, usually from her own life. A highlight of yesterday's chat: when we talked about early childhood memories, Deirdre recalled a World War II experience. Every family in the neighborhood except hers had blackout curtains (so interior light wouldn't show outside), and one night she opened the refrigerator. A policeman came to the door, Deirdre said, and exclaimed, "you're the only light in San Francisco. Are you trying to get us bombed?!" You don't learn stuff like that in high school history class.

I had another friend like Deirdre when I lived in California, a man who wrote columns for the newspaper I worked for. When Les stopped writing for the paper I would go visit him and Jessie Lou, his beloved wife of more than 40 years. They lived in a chichi retirement community on a golf course, but were close enough to the area's u-pick farms and produce stands that we'd have breakfast or lunch, then go get baskets of fresh fruit and veggies. All the while Les and Jessie Lou would regale me with funny stories of their travels and early years together in New York and Les's stint, decades ago, as a door-to-door salesman in the rural South.

When Les became gravely ill and was admitted to the hospital, one of his sons contacted me. I was there with his family during one of his brief periods of consciousness. Les's gaze flowed over the people gathered around his bed, then his eyes settled on me. I smiled and said hello, and his eyes softened. His son nudged me. "He recognized you," he said with a sweet smile. I never saw Les alive again, but I'll never forget the wealth of stories and advice he and Jessie Lou shared with me.

What I cherish about Deirdre and Les, and other friends who are much older, is that they don't discount "young whippersnappers," but instead embrace people no matter their age and learn from them just as much as they teach. It's the way I want to live as I age, and I think it may be the true secret to staying young at heart.

A smile for single ladies

I received this e-mail forward from a (married!) friend today. What I like about it is it flips the fairy tale of marriage to a "prince" providing women's happily-ever-after. Yes, it relies on stereotypes, but it still made me smile, OK? And a smile is worth passing on.

My friend's note: "Read this. Go have a cocktail. Then come back and read it again. Put feet up. Smile serenely."

Once upon a time, a guy asked a girl "Will you marry me?" The girl said: "NO!" And the girl lived happily ever after and went shopping, dancing, camping, drank martinis, ate chocolate, always had a clean house, never had to cook, did whatever the hell she wanted, never argued, didn't have to worry about her weight, traveled more, had many lovers, didn't save money, and had all the hot water to herself. She went to the theater, never watched sports, never wore friggin' lacy lingerie that went up her butt, had high self-esteem, never cried or yelled, felt and looked fabulous in sweat pants and was pleasant all the time. The End.

I'm psyched for my reunion -- go figure

My 20-year class reunion is this year, and one of my best friends from high school got roped into tracking down members of our senior class. I called him to get the rundown.

Since I was hazy on the names he mentioned, we both went and got our yearbooks. We flipped through them as we talked.

"I feel like I should be drinking while doing this," he joked. No kidding. I was tempted to pour a glass of wine myself. The walk down memory lane dredged up memories good and bad.

I recall what I used to say in my early 20s about attending a class reunion. No way I would go back unless I was really skinny, and had an awesome job and a gorgeous man on my arm. I'd been a super-shy band geek in high school, and I thought I had something to prove. I skipped my 10-year reunion because I didn't want to shell out for the flight from California to Alabama -- plus I told myself I was still in touch with everyone I cared about from those days.

Now I'm within easy driving distance of a reunion, and my long talk with my friend made me excited about going. As I flipped through the color pictures of us smiling seniors, with bad haircuts, ugly glasses and goofy smiles, I found myself curious about how we all turned out. The guys I had crushes on -- would I still feel the same way, or wonder what drugs I was on? The people I thought were so cool and interesting, but I was afraid to talk to them -- would they be as interesting now?

And what would my former classmates think of me? I can't say I'm as concerned as I used to be. I'm not going to go on some crazy diet to lose 60 pounds by summer. I'm not going to lie about my job -- so what if I'm not a doctor/lawyer/media superstar -- and I'm totally comfortable going alone, and telling people I've never married.

I'm just going to be Deirdre ... because I like her just fine.

How about you guys? Did you go to your class reunions, or did you avoid them like Brussels sprouts? And why?

Everyone needs a 'friend sponsor'

Hello, my name is Alisha, and I’m a friend sponsor.

Perhaps you don’t know what the definition of a “friend sponsor” is? That’s OK. I’m sure most of you qualify, and you just aren’t plugged in – yet! It's similar to having an Alcoholics Anonymous sponsor; you depend on someone to help you avoid tempting situations, or in this case, prevent you from returning to bad ex-significant others, especially just for sex (which could be another blog topic entirely).

Take five minutes to read the conversation below. It’s a quick test to see if you are a member of this elite club, and I promise it’s easier than filling out a 1040EZ form. When reading the conversation, if you can immediately see yourself in this situation, guess what, kiddo? You are a “friend sponsor.”

Begin test:

Your cell phone rings. It’s 11 on a Friday night. You hear heavy breathing on the line. You look again at your caller ID, and you know it’s your good buddy Thomas. You slowly answer with an inquisitive hello.

Thomas: I need your help.
You: What’s up? You OK? Please don’t tell me you’re in jail or you’re stuck in uptown Charlotte without a cab again?
Thomas: Nah, girl. That’s not it. She’s calling me again.
You: Oh. No. That’s not good.
Thomas: Yeah, and I’m thinking about going over to her place tonight. It’s been a long time and just maybe …
You (cutting him off): And just maybe this time she’ll use you for one thing and one thing only, then she’ll spit you out – AGAIN – and where does that leave you?
Thomas: I know … I know you’re right but the sex is so good with her. It’s just so tempting.
You: Look, there’s a reason why your relationship with her didn’t work out. You were miserable and you don’t deserve to go through that again just for one night of satisfaction, right? Riiiigghhht?
Thomas: Ahhhh! Yeah. I tend to forget about all those names she called me. It’s just so easy to remember how good she did that …
You (cutting him off, again): Ignore her text messages. Turn off your phone. Don’t think about her whatsoever.
Thomas: Thanks. That’s why I called. I knew you’d look out for me. You know what, you’re the coolest “friend sponsor” a guy could have. If you need me, I'll be out with the guys. See ya!

* Names have been changed to protect the innocent, and well, er, the sexually-charged.

A friendship rediscovered

Over the past few weeks I've been getting to know someone who used to be very important to me: My best friend from high school.

It began on a whim. I was on the phone with a friend who has kind of served as the historian of our group (he got a master's in library science, along with a law degree -- yes, he's very handy). He's kept up with the marriages, kids, surgeries and job changes of our loose gang of band nerds. I asked if he'd come across information about my best friend, and he said he had. He even had a phone number for her, and he e-mailed it to me the next day.

When I saw the number I picked up the phone and dialed. I didn't even think about what I would say. She answered on the third or fourth ring.

Instead of a hello, I heard an exclaimed "Deirdre?" in a voice I remembered well. She always sounded as if she was on the verge of a giggle, and it was wonderful to hear that hadn't changed.

"Yeah, hi!" I responded as soon as I got over the shock. Caller ID, I reminded myself. We chatted for a few minutes, and it was as if a long weekend had passed, not almost 20 years.

We've been catching up on each other's lives via e-mail. In her first note to me she attached some photos she'd found in a high school yearbook. There was a school portrait we'd taken together, both of us wearing overalls and red-and-white striped T-shirts. There was a photo of us in a chorus line of friends doing a Rockettes-style kick -- well, all except for me, the brown string bean in the middle with huge glasses and an unmistakable expression: "No. I will NOT kick." Meanwhile, she was on the end, grinning huge and captured mid-kick -- the short white girl with the mop of unruly black hair that earned her the nickname "Frizz." While we were alike in many ways, physically, we were different as could be.

My friend wrote that she married the guy she brought to meet me during freshman year, before the distance of attending different colleges drew us apart. She and her husband run an animal rescue operation. She still lives in Alabama and sometimes sees people we went to high school with. She's still got that tart sense of humor that revealed itself as she mentioned former friends who still live with parents, and those who married for status, or money or both. She says she's happy, and that makes me very happy.

My friend talks about us getting together. The mutual pal who gave me her phone number has been saying the same thing. Next year is our (gulp!) 20-year high school class reunion, which would be a perfect time to gather the old gang. Or maybe I'll just drive down to my friend's corner of Alabama and spend time with her and her husband, play with their rescued animals and see if this feeling of suspended time lasts.

Either way, I'm glad I made that phone call.

Trying to set up friends? Beware.

We all have those special friends in our lives who are single for one reason or another.

And every time you go out with them, you, as the happily-married person who wants your friend to experience the joy a relationship can provide, scan the room hunting for people who look like they have jobs, don't live at home with mom and aren't wearing a wedding band.

And then it hits you that you have other single friends who have similar interests to this particular single friend, and Oh My Gosh! ... why not set them up? It's perfect. Both enjoy playing outdoor sports, reading Pat Conroy and listening to Rush, so they would naturally have to fall for each other. Right? Not necessarily.

Have you ever really tried setting up two of your single friends on a date? I have once and it bombed. I thought I had matched them up perfectly based on their personalities, looks requirements and hobbies.

Um ... where's that "Gong Show" bong when I need it?

After the date was over, the not-so-happy couple called -- individually, of course -- to tell me: Alisha, it's the highest compliment to set up your friends because that shows you care and you know me well enough to try to find a suitable mate. So I appreciate you and your valiant effort. I do, I really do. But, Alisha, don't ever try setting me up again because that was the worst date I've ever been on.

Maybe you've got a success story of setting up your friends?

I sure hope so ... because I give up.

Married couples, single folks can be friends

Scene: Two women are shopping at Carolina Place Mall on a Saturday afternoon. Both are in their late 20s and have been friends since college. One is getting married in a couple months to her high school sweetheart. The other is hopelessly single, but has received two winks on Match.com in the past week! We listen in on their conversation as the iced lattes are finished off and Macy’s is the next stop.

Woman 1: Once you get married, won’t you drop all of your single friends because they won’t understand and you’ll run out of things, like, to talk about?
Woman 2: Um, no. It’s not like that at all. Why would I stop hanging out with you?
Woman 1: Maybe because being a third wheel is not my idea of a good time?!
Woman 2: You know how John and I are, we love our friends, and there’s always room in our friendship for the single as well as married ones.
Woman 1: I don’t know … just seems like we won’t be able to go to BAR Charlotte anymore or go cruising down Ocean Boulevard in Myrtle Beach. Instead, we’ll resort to talking about ya’ll buying a house, planning for a family and going to brunches instead of bars. All that married stuff.
Woman 2: Girlfriend, hold off on the kid talk – you’re moving a little fast. Just because my priority is my soon-to-be husband and you might not fully understand the fact he doesn’t ever replace the empty toilet roll with a new roll -- it must be a guy thing -- does not mean we cannot hang out.
Woman 1: I guess you’re right. I just hope it won't be awkward.
Woman 2: Seems silly for married people to say "I do" to your spouse and "sayonara" to your friends just because they’re single.
Woman 1: If you say so. We’ll see.
Woman 2: We will … Whoa! Check it out; Macy’s has a sale on diamonds. Maybe John can upgrade my diamond for our fifth wedding anniversary?
Woman 1: You just got your engagement ring! Aren't you moving a little fast?
______

Note: The conversation and women are fictional, the problem being discussed is not.

My friend's a mom now. Wow.

This is a special Mother's Day for me, because I got to send a present to one of my friends.

Sure, I know people who have kids, but this is the first year one of my close girlfriends, one of my "Sex and the City"-type girlfriends, has become a mother. And she -- I'll call her Madre -- has taken on a challenge that I think is scary, yet awesome: She's in the final stages of adopting a foster child.

Many of my friends want to have kids, but they're waiting until they're in a committed relationship or married to do so. And Madre, who's a couple years older than me, used to feel the same way. But she really wanted a child, and although she dated energetically and with purpose, she just wasn't meeting the right guy. After much consideration, she started the process of adopting a child through the California foster care system. Almost two years later, she now has an adorable 9-month-old girl.

Madre called me recently while she and her daughter were out for a walk. I could hear the baby cooing in the background. The joy in Madre's voice brought tears to my eyes ... and pain to my heart, because I'm not there to be one of the baby's many doting "aunts." I also want to be there for Madre because what she has undertaken won't be easy. The baby was born to drug addicts, so she had cocaine and pot in her system. Madre said when she first put her daughter on the floor, the baby didn't know what to do; Madre suspects that the previous foster parents, with four other kids in their care, never let her crawl around. Add to that the extra stress of being a busy professional who is also a single mom.

But if anyone can handle it all with good sense, patience and humor, it's Madre. I admire her for starting parenthood when she was ready, and for not letting the prospect of raising a child alone stop her. That baby girl is going to have one of the most fun, most loving, most well-rounded upbringings a kid could have.

As one of the doting aunts I've started doing my part. My Mother's Day gift to Madre? The CD "Rockabye Baby! Lullaby Renditions of Metallica." Like me, Madre's got a little headbanger in her. Might as well start the kid off right!

To the best friends I've never met

The first step toward recovery is admitting you have a problem.

Ladies and gentleman, I have a problem.

I, Alisha, am an Internet junkie. I crave breaking news alerts. I drool over wi-fi hot spots. I have over 10 e-mail addresses. The World Wide Web has been my little escape since 1995, back when America Online dialup was the only Internet.

In this day of constant connectivity, I’m fascinated by the interpersonal relationships formed through tiny cable wires and global satellites.

I have people who I’ve been chatting with via instant messenger for more than 10 years, and I've never met them or talked to them over the phone. I consider some of them to be my closest friends. Gosh, just typing that makes me feel funny. It’s like “friends” are supposed to be people you go shopping with, or who you call to say you’re gonna be late to the bar that night; they’re not supposed to be the people who send you birthday cards via e-mail or who make you smile by finding and posting the craziest YouTube links.

The proliferation of social unity sites and numerous e-mail hosts have made keeping up with family and friends easier than driving to the post office to buy a stamp (psssst, you can print off stamps at home now).

It might sound cheesy, but I’m thankful for the Internet and for my web addiction. Without it, I wouldn’t have received e-mails from my Grandmother in Michigan or Snapfish links to my friend’s vacation photos or IMs from my own husband while we’re working.

My time with Trouble

We've been discussing friendships here lately, so it really shouldn't have surprised me when this thought strayed across my mind:

I wonder whatever happened to Trouble?

Trouble is the nickname I've given a particular friend for blog purposes, since that's what she seemed born to cause.

Trouble was the night clerk at my first newspaper job right out of college. At 19, she was what you'd call a "wild child." Trouble was big all over: Tall and big-boned, with a big bust, a big mane of dyed blonde hair, big brown eyes, a big, beautiful smile and she was big on charm. We were a study in opposites, not only physically -- light and dark -- but personality-wise: She was an extrovert to my introvert, she was promiscuous where I was chaste; she was a rebel while I always followed the rules. Opposites really do attract. We became inseparable.

The characteristic Trouble and I did share was a love of partying. Thursday (and sometimes Wednesday) through Sunday we hit the clubs and bars. We lived 90 miles from New Orleans and were there often. When we went out, Trouble usually wore what I called her "club uniform": black micro-miniskirt, black blazer with no shirt underneath (the better to show off the black or red lace bras she preferred), and black you-know-what pumps. In my jeans and more conservative miniskirts, I looked like a nun.

In some ways, Trouble was good for me. I was 21 and old before my time. With Trouble, I became more adventurous and spontaneous. I slowly stopped worrying about what other people thought and got over my hangups about dancing in public. Who would look at me when Trouble was doing her thing right beside me? I became more comfortable with chatting up guys and flirting. We got tattoos together (this was before everyone and their grandmother had them) and I have great stories I could tell you: Trouble and me, front row at a Tina Turner concert. Trouble and me and male strippers (we became connoisseurs). Trouble and me in Panama City, Fla., during spring break.

But in more ways, Trouble was bad for me. We went on shopping sprees that put me in debt, mainly because I never even bothered to open the credit card bills. My work started to suffer; I would stumble into the office hungover, and once I wrote a story at 3 a.m., drunk. The partying we were doing every weekend? That's now called "binge drinking." We were often reckless; the end of a usual night for us was that the girl least drunk drove home. Thank goodness no one was ever hurt when we were on the road.

And Trouble? She was floating through life with no real ambition. Her night clerk job was part-time so she could attend school (she never went) and she lived with her doting grandmother, who existed in a cloud of denial. I would defend Trouble to my other friends, who were legitimately worried about me.

The truth? We were both messes.

After two years of skating around trouble with Trouble, my sense of self-preservation kicked in. I had repeatedly tried to reason with her about her destructive ways -- procrastinating about her education, foolhardy when it came to men, rarely sleeping, eating crap -- to no avail. I worried about my career and I was drinking too much. I changed jobs and moved away.

Trouble and I stayed in touch for years after. During one of her visits when I lived in Wilmington, she met her future husband while we were partying with Marines from nearby Camp Lejuene. Last I heard, they were still together and had two kids. When I left Wilmington for California, we grew apart and lost touch.

I'm not a particularly religious person, but whenever I look back on my time with Trouble, I literally thank God for keeping us alive and out of jail. We were young and foolish.

Some people are meant to be in our lives forever. And others are just ... Trouble.

Sometimes, a friendship is really over

Deirdre: I have a quandary. I used to be close friends with a woman I'd known since childhood. A few years ago, we had a falling out and stopped speaking to each other. Now my grandmother, who lives in the same town as this woman, is telling me I need to rekindle the friendship. She sees my ex-friend and thinks she doesn't look happy. She thinks I should take the first step.
Alisha: And, you're not wanting to heed your grandmother's advice, huh?
Deirdre: No. First of all, she doesn't know the whole story between us. Second, it's like I'd be trying to make up because I felt sorry for my ex-friend, and I think that's an insulting thing to do. Third, sometimes, friendships just ... end.
Alisha: Your final point is right on the money. Sometimes friendships just end -- especially if this friendship you're talking about concluded in a never-talk-again argument. So what if this woman called you up and wanted to be friends again? Would your thoughts change?
Deirdre: Actually, I think she kinda did. Out of the blue, she sent me an e-mail. It was one of those jokes or "beware, this might happen to you!!" things that people forward. She included me on a list of people she forwarded it to. Does that count as a first move?
Alisha: Mmmm. Maybe for some people but I don't think so. If it was, it was more so her opening the door, yet wanting you to take action. Can you sleep at night knowing she's no longer in your life? I say if you can, then you should leave things as they are.
Deirdre: I sleep just fine. When our friendship ended, we were to the point where we were toxic to each other. Why would I want to subject myself to that again? But all my grandma sees is a person who seems miserable and she wants me to make it better. But she's not thinking about what it would do to ME.
Alisha: Would you be open to calling up your friend one time to ask how things are going and then end it there? That way you've reached out to this woman but haven't really tried to rekindle the friendship, and you make your grandma happy at the same time?
Deirdre: I don't think it's possible, or fair, to do something like that. Have you done it before?
Alisha: Well, not to please my grandmother! ... Yes, I no longer talk with my best friend from my childhood because our lives just took two very different paths. I would call her up just to chat. She would do the same thing. We both realized we're just two very different people now. And we never had a BIG blowup, and that's where your situation differs.
Deirdre: I've changed even more since the friendship ended, which is why I think calling this woman would be a mistake. My grandmother thinks friends then, friends now, friends forever. I hope I can make her understand it can't always be that way. We can talk about this, my grandma and I -- she's very cool. And gets way more dates than I do!
Alisha: I say you stand your ground, tell your grandma how you feel and leave it at that. It's not her who has to face your friend. Sometimes, we do all we can do and there just isn't anything left.
Deirdre: Or maybe, sometimes the best thing to do is to do nothing.

Balancing act: Friends and lovers

So you call up your best friend, and you ask him to go to the bar with you. Hey, it’s been awhile since you guys have hung out – just the boys, drinking, laughing, playing trivia – and you’re dying to get out of the house and leave the stresses of bills, work and family alone for a couple of hours.

When you get your buddy on the phone, he tells you he and his girlfriend are going to dinner and then are going to the movies. That’s fine – no problem. OK, how about tomorrow night, you ask. Nope, won’t work – the lovebirds have concert tickets already. So, getting desperate yet at the same time understanding that your friend is totally gaga over his new chick, you ask if next Saturday is doable. His reply? Her parents are in town. Geez!

Bottom line: Your buddy and his girlfriend won’t spend any time apart because they’re glued at the hip. Your role as the friend (or third wheel) just isn’t that important now that they have each other.

I’ve always wondered how often friendships are derailed because of a relationship. Can the friendship ever be truly repaired when it’s been put on an indefinite hold?

The worst is the lovey-dovey stage when a couple first meet and they ache to be around the other 24-7. But once the relationship grows more serious and breaks out of the spend-every-waking-moment with the significant other, then where does the best friend come in?

Some people can handle having best friends while at the same time having a serious relationship. Others, not so much.

I think the key to balancing it all is to be honest with your intentions and with yourself, and to make those parties aware of your own feelings. At least do your friend a favor and let him know your girl comes first rather than keep him guessing.

I've got love on my mind

A friend recently shared her frustration with me about dating. She's tried everything the books, magazines and Oprah experts recommend -- going to church, joining clubs based on her hobbies, volunteer work, Internet dating -- and she still hasn't met a man she'd consider pursuing a relationship with. She's like me: a thirtysomething who doesn't really want to date for dating's sake, but is looking for more than just someone for drinking and casual sex. (Not that there's anything wrong with either.)

I admit I've been floating on a sea of sighs since returning from my friend's wedding a few days ago. There wasn't a single available man there (well, maybe the DJ, but I didn't ask), so most chicks would have found the event a total bust. Not me. I was heartened by seeing all the happy, obviously still-enamored couples of all ages enjoying themselves as they giggled over drinks and boogied on the dance floor -- sometimes with their kids as adorable partners. I'm aware I have no idea what's going on in their relationships; for all I know, they fought in the parking lot as they approached the door. But for those few hours, everyone was caught up in the joy of a new marriage, and the thrill of being on hand as a man and woman, misty-eyed, pledged themselves to each other.

That wedding day, juxtaposed with my friend's frustrations, gave me pause. It reminded me of something I think most of us tend to forget: We can't take love for granted.

There's no guarantee each and every one of us will have a healthy, loving relationship. Look at all the single people out there. Look at the high divorce rate. And how many folks do you know in unhappy relationships?

Life is such a crapshoot. Folks who find love experience fate, or destiny, or sheer, stupid luck -- whatever you want to call it. I wonder, do people in love realize what a gift they've been given? There's nothing set in stone that says every human will have a mate.

As a single person, does that knowledge depress or scare me? Both, a little. Am I less inclined to date? Of course not. The need to share, to connect, to love is innate in us. I've told my friend to keep searching. Maybe she (and I) will be among the fortunate ones.