The last huge party with my high school friends before freshman year of college was quite possibly the biggest debacle of my high school career. Drama between our girlfriends and guy friends imploded in our faces, and I had not slept the entire night. I had left the house the next morning in laughter which turned to crying from exhaustion in a matter of seconds. I went to my best friend’s house and told her everything that had happened and fell asleep in her bed for an hour.

However, I made a commitment to my parents to meet them for an event with their friends. I was weary and shocked that I was still functioning. One of my friends was leaving the next day for college, so all my friends were meeting for one last hurrah. It was most likely illegal that I was operating a motor vehicle, due to my level of exhaustion; but you win some, you lose some.

The time of night had come, it was time to say goodbye. I was legitimately delirious at this point. I was bawling my eyes out and would not let her get into her car. I had slept one hour in over 36 hours. It was so surreal – partly because I felt drunk due to my exhaustion, but also because I knew I would not see her until Thanksgiving break. In my exhaustion and hysterics, I cried to my friends, “you are my bridesmaids and I’m not even f***ing with you right now.”

And so it was born.

Although, throughout my freshman and sophomore year of college I have lost high school friends; there are a select few people that I truly believe will be my bridesmaids. We will all live in houses next to each other and our kids will be best friends. Our husbands will have to deal with being exiled from their homes so we can have pizza, wings, and sleepovers. We will be old grandmas together, reminiscing about our glory days: the nights we got too drunk, the nights we cried to each other about our lives, the phone calls at 3 a.m. because there was no one else we would rather talk to, the boys we wasted too much time on (the bad boys we never changed to good), our car rides where we all sucked at driving, the hookah bar where we killed our lungs and made weird friends, pizza and wings (where we order a gargantuan amount of food because some people really, really like their wings), and so much more.

My group of friends is the epitome of dysfunctional. Every single time we hang out, without fail, we fail at functioning as normal human beings.

And we royally screwed up.

We attended college all over the country. People are all along the east coast, meanwhile, I am in Texas. We cannot plan accordingly to save our lives. We can barely make a functional plan to meet up and be on time. Everyone knows that when two of us say we will be at a meeting point at 6, don’t expect us until at least 6:30. Ergo, I think we have too high expectations for ourselves to actually formulate a plan at this level of importance. I do not think I can properly articulate how we function as a unit.

So, as I sit here in 70 degree Texas weather in November, giving anything to feel the Northeastern fall, I think about my dysfunctional bridesmaids. I would give anything for one of their hugs right now. I would give anything to cuddle in a bed that is too small, laughing about nothing, talking about everything and eating (probably something pumpkin). I would give anything to drive freely down 202 with my best friends to the diner in the pursuit of cheese fries, corn-chipped beef, and an insanely large handful of complimentary mints. I would give anything to live close to them again.

But at the same time, I don’t.

Because nothing is better than seeing each other for the first time during Thanksgiving break. Nothing is better than the excitement of hugging them and crying for far too long. Nothing is better than having amazing life-long friends pick you up at the airport for summer break after not seeing them for four months. Nothing is better than thinking of seeing their faces almost every day again and making memories doing the same, old stupid routines.

Yes, nothing is worse than leaving them again. However, that is when you know for sure that you will be old people laughing about your glory days and probably existing as even more dysfunctional humans that you possibly could have ever imagined. You know it’s real, you know they are always there, and you know nothing you do could ever change your friendship. They are just as much your family as your real family. My friends and I will hang out at one of our friend’s houses even when she is not there. Her family welcomes us in as if it is our home too.

So, yes, we done f***ed up, friends, and now we are all over the freaking country.

But you’re still my bridesmaids and I’m not even f***ing with you.