I met Charlotte when I was fourteen years old, going through an awkward phase that lasted about five years. (Or maybe it's still going on.) She was seventeen, and intimidating as hell. We've been friends for twelve years, almost to the day.

I have no idea how I ended up joining the same Girl Scout troop that she was in. For one thing, I find it difficult to picture Charlotte as a Girl Scout. She was the rebel girl, the girl who tromped around in Doc Martens before they were cool-- so how did that happen? For another thing, it was a Burbank troop, and I didn't even live in Burbank. How did it happen? Pure chance. Or luck. Or fate.

It was a mariner troop. We learned things like semaphore (well, Charlotte learned semaphore, it baffles me to this day) and sailing (that was me) and Morse Code (I once deciphered "GOOD LUCK" as "MOOD FLAP" if that gives you any concept of my skill) and code flags and all kinds of fun stuff. I know I was an 18-year-old Girl Scout, but it was fun, not as dippy as it may sound.

I didn't like Charlotte when I first met her. She didn't like me. The first year we knew each other, she was the experienced older scout, one of the troop leaders, with very little patience for stupid people. I was good at standardized tests, not at putting tents together. I would rather giggle with my new friends (which I had never really had before) than pull my weight around the troop. (Okay, I was lazy. I know. You're falling over with shock.) We clashed.

We spent that year doing teenager-type-things with our respective friends, eyeing each other with vague suspicion. She seemed far older than me. Much cooler. She had a temper which I tended to set off-- and she knew her way around a propane tank. I'm somewhat surprised she never set me on fire.

If you thought Girl Scouts was a dorky way to meet your best friend, wait until you hear how we went from antagonists to best friends. This is going to embarrass both of us, but it's part of our legacy, so here you have it. It was the first troop meeting of the year (in December) and I was talking to somebody about how Jordan was definitely the cutest. From across the room, Charlotte chimed in that no, Donnie was the cutest. "Jordan!" "Donnie!" "JORDAN!" "DONNIE!"

Aah, that age-old debate. (Of course I went for the gay guy, while she picked the one who is now cool and on Boomtown. Good call.)

We ended up talking intently for the rest of the meeting about, yes, the New Kids. We were both hormonal, obsessed teenagers. A couple of days later, she called me on the phone. Her mom had gotten her concert tickets for her birthday. Her friend couldn't go. Did I want to go? Boy, did I!

The rest of our friends were tossed by the wayside within probably a week. We may have been fickle about them, but not about each other. After that concert, we were inseparable for years.

We obsessed over boy bands, had an unfortunate Slaughter/Tyketto/Nelson phase and then began hanging out with real boys in real bands. We started dating our first boyfriends during the same summer. (Again, me with the gay guy.) We traded notes when we lost our virginity. We kissed the same boys. We experimented with pot. We tried to talk this hot guy into a threesome. He tried to talk us into having sex with each other. Her parents divorced. My grandmother's lecherous old friend pinched her ass at a party. We grew up.

Of course, we had our problems. In looking back, all I can remember is the ways in which I was maybe not the best friend-- and she continually forgave me. The bad thing about that is that I tend to feel guilty about things for years and years. The good thing is, I have absolutely nothing bad to say about her-- and it's been at least a couple of years since I've done anything particularly sucky. So maybe I've learned, finally. Hmm?

I wish I could give her something really spectacular for her thirtieth birthday. Diamonds, perhaps. A new car. An embroidered tapestry depicting the evolution of our friendship. Alas, I don't have any money and I can't embroider. She's getting a bit of wonderfulness and this journal entry.

Charlotte, you are my friend and my sister. Be well, be happy, be healthy. May all your wishes come true. . Have babies and name them after me. Have a wonderful birthday.

And come visit me, goddamn you.