traveling solo is good for the soul-o.

Last weekend, I flew from Atlanta to Los Angeles to be in a wedding. The wedding was for one of my best friends, who has lived in LA for a decade now. This was my first time visiting her, since I’m usually too lazy, broke, or pregnant to travel. But, this was a special occasion, and I didn’t want to miss it. Plus, I knew I’d get some good facebook photos out of it, and that’s one of my main goals at the moment. I traveled solo and came home with a renewed best friendship, a healthy perspective on my creative life, a broken shoe, and a handful of new friendships with some incredibly talented west coasties.

I know what you’re thinking: flying sucks, the dress is probably tacky or impossible to wear again, oh, and paying for a gift on top of the plane ticket and the dress! What a pain in the asscheek, you say. But no! My plane ticket was a birthday gift. I got an adorable black dress from TJ Maxx for $30 and a gold rose accessory for $3. Because the dress is very low cut in the front and back, I cut up an old bra and sewed in much-needed padding. The shoes were dark red, strappy heels that I wore to my brother’s wedding last year. Now, the strap was cut in half by my son, but I was confident the bride would have some craft glue. Buko’s one of the craftiest gals I know.

Buko Pan Guerra is a musician, singer, and songwriter based out of LA. She played with Lily and the Ladies, but now dedicates her creative juices to Swords of Fatima, an electrifying duo made up of Buko and drummer Nickei Scott. But before Swords of Fatima and Lily and the Ladies, she was my best friend, Michelle. I know, not as catchy as Buko. It means young coconut in Tagalog, giving a nod to her Filipino heritage and her apparent love of tropical fruit. Seriously, she is very protective of her fruit trees. Guests were given tickets, DMV style, and were told to wait in line for their choice of sweet lemons or blood oranges to take home.

Michelle and I met in the back of a station wagon after a beauty pageant. The beauty was my cousin, Corrie. Michelle and I were the beasts wearing shorts and tee shirts, wondering how those girls could stand to wear so much lip gloss. We are now both huge fans of lip gloss and makeup in general. We also like wigs, cowboy boots, and tiaras. Sometimes all three at once.

If my life were truly a sit-com, as I often pretend it is, here’s what the scene would look like circa 1984.

Girl # 1 Caucasian. Short brown hair. Freckles.
Girl # 2 Filipino. Short black hair. Big, brown eyes.

Scene title: Astro Twins, Unite!

Cut to station wagon scene.

Girl #1: “How old are you?”
Girl #2: “Nine.”
Girl #1: “Me too! When’s your birthday?”
Girl #2: “December 26th.”
Girl #1: “That’s my birthday!”
Girls #1 and #2 in unison: “Holy shit! That’s fucking incredible!”

Cut. End scene.

I’m joking about that last line. We did not curse like that at nine years old. At 12, yes, but not nine. What followed were a few details about time of birth and who was older, which we never figured out because Michelle was born in the Philippines, and that kind of math was way to complicated for us. It still is.

From the age of nine, Buko, Corrie, and I bonded over typical tween stuff: the color purple (not the play, the actual color purple); roller skating; sleepovers; and who was the hottest member of Duran Duran. When we hit the teen years, we bonded over music, boys, and drugs (oh, come on, you tried some stuff, too). The summer of 1988, we turned punk-ish. We didn’t call ourselves punk because that would be super lame. We weren’t Goth, exactly. We weren’t hippies. Hippies, after all, don’t like the Dead Kennedys. So, to quote my teenage self from a heated argument with my mom over what she called my vampire-hooker makeup, “I’M JUST MYSELF, MOM!!!” It was a theme, yes, and it lasted up until, well, now.

The amazing trio that we were started a bedroom band. This was way before Riot Grrrls or Courtney Love. We had few female musicians to look up to. Kim Gordon from Sonic Youth and Kim Deal from The Pixies pretty much topped the list. Corrie and Michelle took guitar lessons out in the country town where they grew up and passed down to me whatever they learned in class. Our favorite covers were “Michelle” and “Yesterday,” by The Beatles, “Just like Heaven,” by The Cure, and “Driver 8,” by R.E.M. Michelle usually played bass, and Corrie and I played guitar, but we switched instruments plenty. We all attempted to sing, which produced much laughter mostly because we can’t seem to do anything without laughing at ourselves or each other. Note to aspiring singers: you must take your self seriously enough to belt it out. I’ve never been able to do this. Michelle got over it, though, which is why she’s the one playing on stage these days, while Corrie and I still giggle through “Yesterday.” Of course, we also have a choreographed routine we do to the song where we pretend to be swans. That could have something to do with the laughter.

When we weren’t practicing our instruments, we were at the mall meeting boys. Skater boys were the main target, but runaway punks with bad shampooing habits were also popular. Our sympathetic moms would take in our runaway friends, feed them, tell them to clean up their cigarette butts from our porches, and pray they wouldn’t hit on their impressionable daughters. I’m sure they were tempted many times to call social services or the juvenile detention centers the boys called home. Dear God, please give my children better sense. Amen.

Our incredibly close friendship lasted through high school and into the college years, but then our grown-up relationships got in the way. Michelle went off to art school and married her college boyfriend. They moved to Ohio for grad school, then to LA, where they split. Michelle became Buko and we started seeing her only on infrequent visits home around the holidays. Years passed when we didn’t even wish each other a happy birthday. Corrie found herself in a serious relationship, too. She became a mom before I was even considering marriage. She finished her degree in Interior Design with a baby in tow, got out of that relationship, and eventually married a great guy and had two more kids. Now, she’s working towards her Masters in Architecture with three kids in tow, which is why she couldn’t go with me to the Buko-Scorcho wedding.

Ah, yes, Buko and Scorcho: the perfect Los Angeles couple. I mean this in a heartfelt way. They aren’t a Hollywood couple, comparing salaries, Botox, or box office stats. They are both musicians, really good ones, who support themselves through day jobs. They live in a beautiful home outside of LA. It’s open, airy, and full of sunshine and love and all the off-color knick-knacks a home could possibly need: Filipino dolls, naked ladies, faux fur blankets, and Chinese art. It’s fucking fantastic and SO BUKO. I’m so happy for her that I could not stop smiling the entire visit.

The Buko crew includes her hubby, Scorcho, and his bandmates, and an eclectic slew of artists, writers, photographers, and performing artists. Some of them have babies, and some of them probably have orgies, but all of them support my Astro twin. They are a motley crew with tattoos and clothing that may have been purchased off the sets of horror films, but they are full of love, creativity, and goodness. The folks that wear their creativity on their sleeves are my favorite kind of friends. I’m guessing it’s easier to live the artistic life in a city that is economically dependent on creativity. Compared to say my home state of Virginia, which is economically dependent on tobacco and firearms. It’s not that you can’t be an artist in Virginia, you just might want to stick to landscape paintings of the beach and seagulls. Now, that’s purty.

Buko and I filled the gap of our friendship in one weekend. Corrie and I aren’t there to look out for our best friend in an everyday way, but I’m confident she is well-taken care of on the left coast. I will definitely be back to visit soon, where I will bask in the California sun, eat lemons from her backyard (if she lets me), and maybe even bust out some Cure covers.

Download Swords of Fatima at iTunes. You know you wanna.