Sistas over mistas… never.

Despite my numerous SMH moments with Adriana, I was still in Irene fashion willing to give out friendship a “second” chance, given that we did, after all, get along fairly well, when she wasn’t pulling bullroar that made me want to choke the living Chanel out of her highness’s high horse and chuck her into a pit of vipers, and I was hoping against hope that there was still something left of our camaraderie to salvage.

There wasn’t.

The, err, second straw to break the camel’s back came one night when Adriana texted me while I was out eating Japanese with my mom and uncle in the City (ahem, San Francisco). I read the incoming message just as I was carefully placing a piece of yellowtail in my mouth.

hey girl, what’re you doing tonight?

i’m actually out to dinner with mom and uncle. wsup?

awwwww let’s go ouuuutt!!!

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The Adriana Chronicles: A crashing halt

One thing girls will do to prove to the world that they’re badass chicks with cool-cat attitudes — but deny that they’re attention mongering while doing so — is to don designer sunglasses, roll down the windows, and bump that hyphy. That’s exactly what Adriana and her BFF Penny were doing when driving up from San Jose one Sunday afternoon, coursing their way through traffic on 680N to get back to Walnut Creek.

Sure enough somewhere between Pleasanton and Dublin, they heard the honk of a car horn. Trying to act surprised, they took brief respite from navigating the road to glance over at the source of the sound.

From the car adjacent, a greasy looking mid-30 with donning greased back hair tapped his golden stunnas and flashed his most Fonz-worthy smile at them. Then Mr. Cheese beckoned them to pull over.

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The first of the Adriana Chronicles

"Walnut Creek Barbie: This princess Barbie is sold only at the Broadway Plaza Mall. She comes with an assortment of Kate Spade handbags, a Lexus SUV, a long-haired foreign dog named Honey and a cookie-cutter house. Available with or without tummy tuck and face lift. Workaholic Ken sold only in conjunction with the augmented version."

Sometimes, I feel that girls can be even worse than boys when it comes to relationships. Or friendships, that is.

In my day, I’ve had the misfortune of a number of so-called close friends who showed their selfish, bitch natures in no significant length of time. Without fail, one girl always comes to mind, and that’s Adriana.

Adriana was a regular diva. She was Daddy’s Little Girl, she had the token Pomeranian as a pet, and of course she was a contrived Gucci/Dior nut. With her makeup plastered on inches deep and baubles the size of elephants constantly adorning her ears, neck, arms, or all, Adriana fancied herself to be the center of all male attention, flashing her Jersey Shore-esque ghetto fab personality every chance she got.

At first, I didn’t mind. After all, Adriana was one of those people who, when you met her, acted like you were the center of the her universe, showering you in her smiles and her easy praises, busting out the “I love you, bitch!” not two steps into the relationship. And, like all divas, she was fun: She was down to drink, she was down to flirt, and she was down to party. Continue reading