Day 15: El Cinco Grande.

They say that when you make major changes in your life, a support network is crucial. If that's true, then I'll be kicking this experiment's ass, because I have the greatest friends on Earth (and I'm not even counting my dogs).

I know, I know - everyone thinks they have the best friends in the world. The difference is, I'm right.

A few years ago, I realized there were five people in particular who formed my foundation. I count on them regularly, and they're stuck with me for life. I nicknamed them The Big Five, but when a friend of mine started calling them "El Cinco Grande," that was that. And so, without further ado ...

Numero Uno - Mom: My mother is my best friend, and not in that annoying way that makes people puke. We weren't best friends when I was younger, we never braided each other's hair, we never wore each other's clothes. It was quite the opposite: Without being overly strict, she had me believing that she knew everything and I could get away with nothing. She wasn't a friend - she was just Mom.

It wasn't until after college that I realized she was also a person, and a very interesting person at that. Our adult bond solidified when we both worked at the daily newspaper; she was the editor of the editorial page and I was the music critic. It was a rare and special few years.

Here's one of my favorite stories about my mother. When I was a junior in high school, I had a serious crush on a boy named Peter. Peter was a freshman at St. Lawrence University - a seven-hour bus ride away - and I was desperate to visit him. I slyly asked Mom if I could go visit Linda (the one who'd introduced me to God, now a freshman at Cortland), but I instead went to Peter's. The only thing Mom had demanded was that I call when I get there and give her a phone number. Even though this was before cell phones and caller I.D., Cortland and St. Lawrence have different area codes, and I didn't want to get busted. So, when she asked for Linda's number, I told her there was just the hall phone, and that the number had been rubbed off. She asked if anyone in the dorm knew, and I said no one did. (The only phone on the dorm floor and no one knew the number? Oy. What was I thinking?) She let it go. The weekend went well, and Mom seemed fine when I got home.

Cut to a few months later, when, for the 34th time, I lost the key to my house and had to clamber up a tree and break in through my bedroom screen window. We'd already been through several screens (even though I made tiny incisions, I always got caught), and I'd been warned not to cut the new one. When Mom found out, she grounded me for a month. "A whole month??," I protested. "Just for breaking in through my window?" Mom looked me in the eye and said, without missing a beat: "Yes. For that ... and for going to visit Karl instead of Laurie." Maybe because I can't, I love the way Mom can sit on information. She would have made a great lawyer.

Numero Dos - Samantha: I couldn't stand her at first. She was too beautiful and too popular, and her laugh was so robust you could hear it clear across the room (hell, you could - and can - hear it across a crowded stadium. Now it's my favorite laugh of all time). She was the homecoming queen four years running, and her boyfriend (now husband) was not only the quarterback, he spent half the year at some ski academy prepping for an Olympic run (he of course succeeded).

My first real exposure to Samantha was when she and I were in the same math class. I sat in the back row and doodled, and she sat in the front row and asked complicated questions like, 12 seconds before the bell rang. She drove me nuts. And then, one day, we wound up talking, and a friendship began despite the fact that we were very different and had no friends in common (hers thought I was weird and I had none). A rarity in the cliquish world of high school.

One of my favorite Samantha stories? When I was a senior and she was a junior, I was in love with a boy named Mark. Mark was an absolutely gorgeous star hockey player and had no romantic interest in me whatsoever. At some point that year I had to get an operation to remove two benign tumors, and while I was in the hospital, Mark (coincidentally) asked her out. I think Samantha and Bill (quarterback ski boy) were broken up at the time, but she still said no without hesitation. She said she'd never do that to me; our friendship meant far more to her than a date with some guy. (Okay, so she wasn't all that interested. Still ... she never would have anyway.) Twenty-seven years after I met her, Samantha's intelligence, loyalty, sense of humor and insight continue to amaze me. She's one of the most unusual people I've ever met.

Numero Tres - George: I met George on the first day of film school (a graduate program) in 1992. He was wearing Vuarnets that looked like Ray Bans and had a striking white smile - seeing him for the first time, I remember thinking of a blonde Tom Cruise circa "Risky Business" (he will so not enjoy that comment). We hit it off immediately, and he's been my best friend in Los Angeles (not to mention my on-and-off screenwriting partner) ever since. George is wicked smart, bitingly funny, sentimental in a way few people realize, intimidatingly well-read and musically voracious. We've probably smoked 2,000 times together, but he laid off the pot years ago. He gets the discipline thing way better than I do.

Here's a favorite George story: A few days after I got my dog, Sydney (this was eight years ago), I took her over to George's to hang out and play with Hawk (his dog). We decided to go to a movie and leave the dogs, and since George has a fenced-in yard, it seemed like a decent plan. When we got back, Sydney - who was extremely skittish at the time - had jumped the fence and gotten out. She was lurking nearby, but when she saw us, she bolted. George chased her on foot ... for like, two miles. George is tall and lean and always has been, but at the time, he was also quite the slacker. I'd never seen him run two feet. The fact that he would do that touches me to this day. George never lacks heart - never.

Numero Quatro - Bambi: I met Bambi when her band came through upstate NY in 1990; her girlfriend at the time, also a musician, was an acquaintance who'd called me and asked me to look after Bambi because she was sick. Bambi was the first cool lesbian I'd ever known. Before meeting her, I'd always thought lesbians were either butchy, lipsticky, sports preppy or militant (none of which I identified with). Bambi's the kind of person who makes you feel grounded just being in her presence - she's incredibly bright and curious but also low-key and spiritual. If it wasn't for Bambi, I might still be languishing in a closet somewhere. Her example opened my eyes to possibilities beyond the cliches.

My Bambi story is as follows. On a later tour that brought her band back to town, I was all hopped up for her to see this unknown 19-year-old musician I was excited about - a fiery little waif from nearby Buffalo named Ani DiFranco. I'd arranged for Ani to open for Bambi's band, partly because Ani drew a decent local crowd, and I wanted as many people as possible to hear Bambi's band. As Ani began her set, I looked around and realized Bambi and the band were MIA. Someone said they were probably sleeping at the hotel, and I immediately began to seethe. I couldn't believe it. The nerve! Not only was Bambi blowing off the act that was gifting her band an audience, I'd been hoping she and her girlfriend (who was well known) would help Ani out. Over the next hour, I grew increasingly furious, and after Ani's set, when I saw Bambi and realized she'd arrived, I went over and took her head off. I'm serious - I really let her have it. She let me finish, remained calm, and pointed to a chair in the corner (a corner I couldn't see from where I'd been standing). "I've been here the whole time," she said quietly. "That's my drink."

Oh. I felt like a total loser, but all Bambi said was that she admired the way I stuck up for my friend (well, my friend's career). She let it go just like that.

I learn from her to this day. Not just sometimes ... but every time I talk to her.

Numero Cinco - Grace: I was infatuated with Grace from the moment we met (in 1997), and she was equally smitten. There's a whole lot more to our beginnings (another day, another entry), but because we're way too much alike - as in, we're both stubbornly opinionated and prefer to be the center of attention - it wasn't long before we became the just-friends we were always destined to be. We wound up living together for a year, had a blast, and then took a break from each other when she moved (I loathed her choice of a girlfriend). We reconnected when she and the loathsome girlfriend finally broke up, and I doubt anything (or anyone) could separate us like that again. Grace is one of my rocks - during the Heather Debacle, for instance, she listened to my crap non-stop and never complained. I mean, yeah, everyone had to hear the basics, but Grace had to hear every last detail. Her advice is always sound, her love and support unwavering.

My Grace story? Early on, when we were crushy with each other but still refusing to act on it (again, a story for another day), I thought we should go on an adventure, so I took her to the Santa Anita racetrack. I made a big deal out of it, talking it up for days and days ... but when we got there, not a single horse was in sight. Just a few drunk diehards watching races on TV and placing bets. It never occurred to me that the horses traveled to other tracks, and that I needed to check before I drove out there. Grace thought this was hysterical, and pretty soon we were both laughing so hard I may have even pe... well, you get the idea. To this day, Grace loves to torture me by telling people about the day I took her to the races, but I don't really mind. When Grace and I hang out, we have fun no matter what we do.

SO ... there you have it: an unfortunately long introduction to El Cinco Grande. If they have anything to say about it, I'll thin down and remain pot-free for at least the next 350 days ...

And believe me, they definitely have something to say about it.