I have excellent friends. You know this – you are one of them.

Zooey was my first “adult” friend. As in the first friend I made as a post college grad, on my own terms, friend.

Zooey was married (still is) to probably my polar opposite.

The first I knew of him was a hyena cackle coming from the kitchen at work after he put a burrito in the microwave that was wrapped in foil. Oops.

I call Zooey on his shit.

He calls me on mine. Well, ever since he let me go get married when he knew it was a really horrifying idea.

There is a . . . tension between us. His wife knows it. Stupid she ain’t. (okay so there is one thing we have in common.)

But that’s it – a tension. An untapped potential that we’ve never touched because we acknowledge it’s existence and respect that it would fuck up the friendship and the other relationships we have.

We have, on occasion, looked at the other one and said, “I’m getting the fuck out of here before I do something stupid.”

I love him in a way I don’t anyone else. Probably because his shoes have never parked under my bed.

He called and we talked about him for a change. Cuz things have been pretty all about me here lates.

I beat him around a little with my words – after all, that was why he had called.

We talked about the blog. He said he’s been reading – even though every time he sees the link he rolls his eyes about the goddam self help shit yet again – and then he reads it and feels better.

He reminded me that ten years ago I wanted to pull an etch-a-sketch on my life, pour bleach in my brain to get myself clean – and that I never had done that – so here I was, finally getting it done.

Which is yet another reason why I need him in my life – I’d forgotten about that exact example – but oh how accurate.

So today I am thankful for my Zooey.

Zo – I still intend to kiss you on the forehead while standing knee deep in the ocean – someday – but until then, remember – the best thing about the beach is who you let yourself be when your toes are in the sand. xoxo – Fran.