Friends go to Charleston.

Let me tell you a little something about Friends—it was a nineties sitcom featuring a group of six besties living out their post-post college years in Manhattan.  Now, let me tell you a little something about my friends.

Sure, you probably won’t find them hopping in and out of Central Perk on a Friday night, because that’s honestly probably because more likely than not, they were too busy hopping on and off planes to get their nonexistent little Asian butts down to Durham.  Friends don’t got nothing on my friends.  Ok, I’ll stop pretending that I’m anything but Asian now—but in complete and total honesty my friends are great.  Actually, rephrase.  My friends are fire-trucking fantastic—haven’t you heard?  Modesty was so 2014.

When Forrest sat on that bench and told you that life was like a box of chocolates, I’m sure it was because he had Valentine’s Day on his mind.  Nothing can invoke images of sugar plum fairies like Christmas, and trust me, the same could be said about boxes of chocolates around Valentine’s.  It’s a true phenomenon, really.  Regardless, my point is, had you been sitting with Mr. Gump on that bench on the 15^th of February, he would have told you that life is, in actuality, like a loaf of bread, and true friends are like beautiful slabs of Bordier Butter, in a sense that without them, life is still great.  Life is bread, for goodness sake, but with them, life is an absolute experience.  It’s a sensual journey full of indulgence, gluttony, and pleasure.   It’s full of contrasting textures, ups and downs—it’s rough, rugged, silky, and smooth all in one bite.  It’s essentially the new black, and you know what they say about going back once you go black—let me clue you in, you don’t.  

Good friends leave sunny and 75 to join you in frigid and 40.  They see the comfort in silences that are more often than not, mistaken for awkwardness.  They encourage and embrace with wide arms and wider mouths, ice cream before dinner, and second entrées for dessert.  They tell you all the things you don’t want to hear, mixed in with all the things you do.  They laugh at you when you cry, and with you when you laugh.  They pound mussels like gluttons, but savor each and every bite like scrooges.  They humor you, following you on detours to abandoned shores and deserted beach towns. They like your flaws, and even when they don't, they tell you that they do, then admit that they were lying because they're fun, funny and fire-trucking fantastic--I already told you, modesty was so yesterday.

With that being said, good friends, like Bordier Butter in the states, are hard to come by.  So take my words of advice and stick them in your pocket beside the sunshine: when you do happen to find them, offer them cookies to spark their interest, love to gain their trust, and your hand to hold theirs, and once you’ve got a hold, never let go.  Stick your nails (that are in desperate need of a trimming) into them, make your mark, and brand them like steers so they’ll stay forever yours, because trust me, good friends will make you redefine friendship.  Like butter, good friends make you better, and ultimately make life a game worth playing, bread, a food worth eating, and Charleston, an adventure worth taking.  So, yeah.  Let me tell you a little something about Friends—let me tell you a little something about my friends.

P.S. Family?  Don’t think I forgot about you—you’re like friends on steroids.

Kimmy