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Yesterday afternoon, I was in a severe anti-social mode. I wasn't surprised, as it typically happens for this work-at-home freelance writer after an action-packed trip away. Ever since I returned on Sunday, I've retreated further and further into my home office, not wanting to talk to anyone. The only time I did venture out into public this week, to the grocery store, I felt like throttling completely innocent strangers for doing nothing except having the nerve to be in my vicinity.

Times like these, I decided, called for renting the third season of Dexter. "I'm in the perfect Dexter mood, because I feel like throttling complete strangers!" I happily announced to the move-rental guy. We agreed that it's best to let Dexter (a serial killer) do said strangling, and were pondering whether he takes special requests via list form (I kid, I kid), when my phone blooped, telling me I had a text. I sighed, because I really didn't want to talk to anyone.

It was my buddy Josh. "Want to get a drink tonight?"

"Sure, what time?" I typed back before I was even out of the movie store.

Wait, wasn't I just saying that I was in an anti-social mode? And what about that pesky issue of "throttling complete strangers" I kept alluding to? Yes, I still had those thoughts, but somehow the thought of hanging with a guy friend didn't feel taxing to me. Let me explain.

In publicity for the P.S. book, I often talk about the 5 Friends Every Woman Needs. From a cheerleader to the brutally honest one, from the wise one to the one whom you've known since you were a kid in fuzzy pajamas with feet, it takes a village of friends. But one of the essential 5 Types, I believe, is a guy pal. I've always been a big believer in guy pals, ever since I was growing up in Bowling Green, Ohio. My pal Pete lived across the street from me, and we hung out with the same crowd in high school, and since guys usually travel in packs of ten, this meant my high-school BFFs Andy and Heather and I typically traveled with a crew of dudes. Same deal for college, where the fraternity members my sorority regularly had parties with are like brothers to me to this day, Brett and Randy and Steve and Manny and Dave. Here in Portland, some of my favorite friends, like Pete and Josh, are of the male persuasion. What is it about platonic guy pals that are so essential? I guess the best way to explain it is that I feel like I can let my hair down (and not worry about what my hair looks like either, or what I'm wearing for that matter). I don't feel like I have to be "on" all the time (and if I do feel like throttling strangers, I can bring up this fun fact and he won't judge me for it). I can tell him, "Dude, your glasses are dorky!" and he won't take it personally, but will appreciate the honesty. He takes things for what they are, and doesn't over-think my tone of voice or my mood of the day. In a word, I can just chill.

For example, I used to marvel whenever I'd hang out with my pal Steve in NYC, where we'd go to dinner and discuss the most random things that popped up (such as shiny objects, always a popular topic with a dude pal!). I felt like it was more of a shared experience versus a "So, what have you been up to since the last time we hung out" phenomenon that I mentioned in my previous post. In fact, it wasn't until the end of the night that Steve would say, "By the way, are things going well for you?" "Yep!" I'd answer. "Cool!" he'd say, and we'd hug and go our separate ways. The same thing happened the other night, when my college buddy Steve called. We ended up talking for 2-1/2 hours — about the ins and outs of jury duty (he's a lawyer), the mysteries and marvels of Amtrak travel, a hilarious restaurant manager we both worked for in college, and how A Walk in the Woods was one of the best books on earth (and how, if I do get a train-travel writing assignment, he needs to come along to be my bumbling Katz character that Bill Bryson so eloquently describes). At the end of the conversation, he asked, "So, is everything going well for you?" I love it.

It's not that guys don't care what's going on with you, but it's just a slightly different way of conversing that's refreshing to me. That's why, when Josh texted me, I readily agreed. Because I knew that instead of "So, what's going on?" it would be a more natural, off-the-cuff discussion and I could say, "Dude, I feel like strangling strangers!" and he wouldn't go home wondering about my anger issues. Sure enough, when I met up with Josh, we spent most of night spontaneously brainstorming a TV show we want to do together (attention, producers — call us!).

What's up with this phenomenon? I'm not a psychologist, but I have heard experts discuss how guys typically develop friendships in a side-by-side way (playing sports, for example), whereas females interact face-to-face. Could that be why simple conversations with guys feel more like shared experiences and creating inside jokes? Whatever the mechanism at work, all I know is that my friendship world wouldn't be complete without my dude buds (whom I can still call "dude" and they won't judge me about my state of arrested development, as they're right there with me). So, while I've spent so much time examining and appreciating female friendships for P.S. this year, I thought I'd spend my last post on this important part of my friendship life. And with that, I again thank Powells for having me as their guest blogger — it's been an honor! — and thank you for reading. Keep in touch!

P.S.: A hearty shout-out to my other pals in my life, those who have fur: my yellow-lab mix Luey and my brown-tabby cat Lily... after all, without my love of animals I would never have started down this anthology path in the first place! Take a gander at their photo, with cuties like these following me around all day, it's a wonder I get any work done.

P.S.S.: A hearty thank-you to my mellow-yellow boyfriend Eric, who fully understands and appreciates that this girl wouldn't be complete without her guy

The recent announcement of the word unfriend winning "word of the year" by the New Oxford American Dictionary (by the way, isn't it called de-friending?) made me think about some of the ways Facebook has changed my friendships for the better…

* I've found long-lost friends. I fully realize this is quite obvious, but stick with me. While reuniting with high school and college pals was the reason I joined the Facebook craze in the first place, what I didn't expect is for new friendships to blossom out of it. To wit: I've discovered that a couple of high-school acquaintances now live in Portland and I've met — and become buddies — with a couple of them in person, like Zach and Thane, neither of whom I knew well while growing up, and now I'm glad to have these two fascinating fellows in my life. And then there is Manny, whom I knew in college and NYC but always as more of a friend-of-a-friend. Through joking around with each other on Facebook, we've become better buddies than we ever were in person, which then translated into a real-life bond when he graciously opened his home to me while I was in Denver (that's him in the picture below, with our other college pal Meghan, after my bookstore event — don't mind my shiny face, a girl really needs a professional hair and makeup handler, I've decided!).

* You know how people really think about you. One of my favorite side benefits of Facebook is that it's like a grand sociological experiment. Speaking of de-friending, I've been the recipient of that phenomenon quite a few times, and each time (when I figure out who did it, that is, and which, thanks to my near-photographic memory, I always do) it only confirms what I originally suspected about that person. Whether it's writer "friends" whom you've always deduced are secretly hating on you for whatever reason, or in one case a friend who takes himself waaaay too seriously and is a little too sensitive for my taste, it's refreshing to me to have people show themselves for who they are. The murky waters of friendship become clear, as in the case of other friends who are remarkably silent about certain exciting events in my life. Of course, it's not all bad — those who are truly my buddies show their true colors too. In the end, it's simply become a handy gauge for telling me to trust my gut instincts about people. And what girl doesn't need that?

* You bridge the mom gap. One of the biggest wedges that can come between two female friends is when one becomes a mother and one doesn't. Your lives are just suddenly completely different, and while I've tried to maintain certain friendships with kiddos in tow, sometimes it just naturally falls by the wayside (although some of my very best pals are moms too). While I'm probably not going to pore over the latest mommy blogs anytime soon, and while I still scroll past descriptions of potty-training (which classify a little as TMI in my book, although I know that other moms are fascinated by the topic so I don't hold it against anyone), I have found this strange comfort in hearing about others' kids. It's like I can be a cyber-auntie to the world (does that sound creepy? Not as creepy as cyber-uncle, though, does it?), with the healthy distance of the computer between me and said tyke. Through Facebook, I've developed crushes on my friends' kids (my pal Sarah's son John is currently one of my favorites), and I look forward to news about kids I've met in person (like Brett and Jodi's two adorable mini-thems). What can I say, this non-mom is secretly a softie for her friends' kiddos, who knew?

* You cut out the small talk. This is one of my favorite side bonuses of Facebook. You see, I detest small talk. When someone asks, "So, what's going on in your life?" I cringe. I know, I know, I'm taking myself too seriously, and they really don't want a full bullet-pointed list or anything, but there's something about constantly updating people that used to drive me crazy. Maybe it's a byproduct of my years in New York City, where it seemed every social gathering had been scheduled weeks in advance and therefore every outing was filled more with catching up on our lives than actually creating new memories. Because of that, I cherish Portland's more laid-back vibe with spontaneous adventures mixed in with planned-ahead outings. Facebook has helped me eliminate the "So, what's going on with you?" question, and cut directly to the chase. Now, for example, when I went to an annual party this summer — where I typically see people whom I only see at that party every year — we had in-depth (and hilarious!) conversations about trips to Europe, master's degrees, books, and blogs, all because Facebook had already answered the "what are you up to?" question, and we could instead delve into "Hey, I saw you went to Italy, where did you go?" Love it.

One year after joining Facebook, I can say that I feel my life is more friend-filled because of it. But try explaining that to a Facebook hold-out, like my sister. "If I want to get in touch with someone, I'll e-mail them!" she likes to say. And that's true (after all, some of my best buddies aren't even on Facebook). I try to explain that it's not necessarily about those you'd keep in touch with anyway, but about those you didn't realize were in the same city, or those you wouldn't have gotten to know otherwise. In the end, though, there's really no explaining the full Facebook spectrum to a hold-out. Sometimes, you just have to be

So now I've blabbed about how the P.S. book has brought contributors and their friends together (including my own reunions). Now what do I have up my sleeve, you wonder? For my third blog post, I wanted to address a question people often ask me about the book: Why letters? Why are they unsent? Okay, that's two questions (hey, people are nosy, what can I say?).

Before I begin, might we pause for a moment of silence to commemorate the lost art of letter writing? I mean, think about it... what's the last letter you wrote? With texts and tweets and tootz (what, you don't know what a tootz is? Okay, I made that up), the craft of putting pen to paper is dying. And might I say, I'm ever-so-glad that I'm not a "digital native," because I actually remember passing notes and scribbling W/B/S (write back soon, don't you know) and cramming ten-page missives into sticker-filled envelopes. I'm also thankful that I've kept all these letters, which are currently sitting happily in a big garbage bag in my storage closet. Maybe I'll turn them into a "real letter" collection one of these days for a book, what do you think?

Last week, while visiting my dad in Chicago, he showed me a letter he'd recently unearthed from his grandpa. I too have saved letters from my grandpa, shown here, in which he tells me how to stay on that balance beam (his advice: glue). I mean, how cool is that, to have keepsakes from past generations? Remember this the next time you feel tempted to jot down a quick e-mail to your friends and family, and maybe pick up a pen instead. Okay, the lecture is over, now on to the burning questions of the day:

Q. Why letters?

The first time I was asked this question was a week ago exactly to the minute. I was in the green room (and yes, it's actually green — a nice minty color to be specific!) at WGN studios in Chicago, ready to go on TV to discuss P.S. The producer had just shot me some questions the host might ask, and the first one was, "Why letters?" As soon as he left me alone, I started pacing and trying to think of a decent answer. The thing is, I simply thought it would be juicier if they were in a letter format but I didn't really know how to articulate why. And then it came to me: When you're reading an essay, you the reader are the one being addressed, but when you're reading a letter, it's like you're eavesdropping on someone. And who doesn't like a good eavesdrop now and again?

When asking writers to contribute to the collection, I found that most of us have some kind of letter already formulated in our heads that we're dying to press "send" on. Sound like you? If so, you can actually write your own letter on our book website, don't be shy now!

Q. What's up with the "unsent" letter aspect?

This question was a surprise to me. It seems that some people literally think that I happened upon these letters while walking down the street or something, or that I asked writers to send in actual letters they'd written and then creased and put into their desk drawer never to see the light of day. But I can see how it can be confusing, given the book's title, so let me clear 'er up. All 36 of the letters were written for the purpose of the book. That is to say, whether I found a contributor through word of mouth and assigned her a particular letter topic after talking to her, or whether she found me through my spreading the word about the project and sent in a full letter for me to consider (and from about 200 submissions, I chose 10 this way), these were all letters crafted for the book.

It's been super-cool to hear about contributors who have actually gone on to send their letters. Now, sometimes this just isn't possible, because the friend has died, or is estranged, or in one case is imaginary, and well, in another case, is Sarah Palin! (And, on the other hand, there are those who have been hoping their friend did not see the letter because there are some not-so-nice missives in there as well!) But from Jill to Tracy to Alice to even myself — I wrote to my childhood pal Diane, whom I literally met on the kindergarten bus — it's been a bonding adventure for those who stuck to the sweet "tribute to my friend" side of the fence.

Q. Who are you and what are you doing here?

Okay, so I just threw that one in there, because it's one that people don't necessarily ask in such a way, but may be secretly wondering. In fact, I don't even know whether some of my own friends get what my role is in this whole anthology madness. The best way I can explain my role is to compare it to being a producer/director. I'm behind the scenes, asking contributors to write, working with them on their letter theme, going back and forth with them through the editing process, coming up with letter titles, getting them paid, being their advocate against overzealous copy editors, and figuring out the order for the letters (which is great fun, kinda like making a mix tape back in the day when I used to do such things... let's see, "Wanna Be Startin' Something" goes first... ). I also wrote the introduction to tie everything together, and I served as a contributor too. My name is on the cover, yes, so in effect it's "my" anthology, but just like the director of a movie, my anthology would be nothing without all 36 contributors. A mhwa to all of them for a marvelous job!

Please let me know if you have any more burning questions and I'll be happy to

When I tell people that I was in a sorority in college (which is admittedly pretty rare), they assume I'm the type of person who refers to 100 people as my "sisters."

Instead, I was the one who would fall asleep during initiation ceremonies, roll my eyes when we'd recite our little chants (or whatever you call them) at our weekly meetings, and would declare "uh, actually, I only have one sister" on a regular basis.

I proudly called myself the black sheep. "I joined a sorority so that I can talk from experience about what I hate," I'd tell others. "You know, kinda like visiting Texas."

Behind my laugh was something a little deeper, though. To explain, I have to walk you through the notoriously brutal sorority rush at Indiana University. The year was 1989. I was a small-town Ohio girl, 18 and naïve and totally in over my head. While other girls around me were preparing recommendation letters (!), buying special rush outfits that screamed "I have money" and scoring invites to sorority house lunches before rush, I figured I'd sail through unscathed. I didn't realize until later that only one-third of us parading through the mansions lined up on Greek Row would get into a house.

The first round was a whirlwind. I distinctly remember sitting inside one of the fancier houses on campus, where the sorority member who was "rushing" me gave me my coat after a painful conversation where I knew I wouldn't fit in with the all-blonde, all-rich members. When she handed me my red coat, I looked at my medium blue dress and made a lame joke about how much I clashed, saying something about how I could teach kids about primary colors with my outfit (all I needed was yellow!). Her look of disdain said it all.

When I was cut from that house, I had a healthy chuckle over it. But I lost my sense of humor after the next round, when I steadily began being cut from house after house. "I feel like such a loser!" I remember sobbing to my mom. I wasn't alone — lots of collective tears were shed to moms on the other side of phone lines, and some girls on our floor even transferred schools after rush was over.

When the dust had settled, I decided to join a house that hadn't been on my radar at the outset of the madness, but where I loved how laid-back everyone was. (I make it sound like my choice, but in reality out of 21 I only had four to choose from in the end.) It was one of three newer houses that were still housed in dorm buildings, a far cry from the gorgeous mansions of other houses.

Once I joined, I never had an easy time of it. It could simply be that the sorority rituals would have seemed silly to me no matter what house I'd joined. After all, growing up without religion made it hard for this girl to extract any meaning out of ceremonies. But if I'm being totally honest, there was something a little deeper. At the risk of sounding completely snobby, I'll just admit it: I thought I was too cool for my own house. Not necessarily the people within the house, who were filled to capacity with amazing women, but just the house reputation itself. (And if it sounds like I need to get over myself, you're probably right. However, you also have probably never gone through IU rush!) I envied those girls in my pledge class who were able to embrace our house like I wished I could, but I just wasn't feeling it. I made some great pals, don't get me wrong, but let's just say I wasn't proudly parading my letters around campus.

They say a sorority is a lifelong bond, but that was just another thing for me to guffaw at — until recently. Thanks to the Facebook explosion, I've reconnected with some of my favorite people in the house, and I got to see them while on my book tour in Denver and Chicago last week. As I chatted with Meghan, Bonnie, Jan, Debbie, Julie, and Paula — all of whom I hadn't seen in years — I was in awe of how we were able to just pick up as if no time had passed. In a way, I wasn't surprised — they are some of the warmest, funniest, and coolest girls I've known — but there was a distinct difference than just re-connecting with someone from high school or from my freshman-year dorm floor. After all, we'd lived through a particular shared experience together, and, imagine this black sheep's surprise when I learned it did in fact create this lifelong bond. It was a fitting realization to have during a book tour for a female-friendship book, that's for sure.

As I was flying home, I realized one thing we've always had in common, one thing that made me favor the house during rush over others in the first place: we definitely don't take ourselves too seriously. And to this day, I guarantee that if I made a lame joke about how my blue dress clashed with my red coat, they would get it (and maybe even offer me a yellow scarf to complete the image!). It may have taken me 20 years to understand what this whole sorority thing was really about, but better late than

First things first... thank you to Powell's for letting me blab for five days about female friendships. It's an honor to be here!

The timing for my guest blog couldn't have been better, actually. You see, I just returned last night from a bookstore tour, what I like to call the West/Midwest leg, which included wonderful independent bookstores in Denver and Chicago.

Since an anthology is a group effort, and the stars are the 36 contributors, my role in these events is to act as the M.C./host/bringer-together-er for the writers. While I was excited to hang out with these seven contributors, what I didn't expect was that there was going to be a whole lot of bonding going on in the audience too. Some female-friendship highlights:

DENVER

* Jill Rothenberg, pictured below with me (Jill was my editor for my first two anthologies, Woman's Best Friend and Cat Women), wrote to her friend Melissa in the book. Her letter is about how the one thing that brought them together (their uber-athleticism) turned out to come between them. The reading actually served as a rekindling of their friendship, which had been faltering lately, and it was amazing to see Jill read the letter as Melissa sat front and center listening.

* Dimity McDowell wrote a hysterical letter to her childhood imaginary friend, apologizing for dissing her for the cool crowd in middle school. Since she wrote a lot about her childhood, it was fitting that her two sisters were in the audience and were moved by her honesty (Dimity also got lots of laughs with her self-deprecating humor).

* Bevin Wallace, who wrote a "rock on, sister" tribute to her childhood BFF that she lost touch with, made her reading a bonding family affair, complete with her husband and two children in attendance — and last but not least, her sister Heather, the events maven at the Tattered Cover bookstore where we read.

CHICAGO

* Shannon Hyland-Tassava traveled from Minnesota for just one night in Chicago. While her letter was addressed to her frenemy whose belittling comments on her mothering choices meant the death of their friendship, she also clearly has great friends in her life. Case in point: Her BFF V., who flew from Texas just for one night to support Shannon for the reading. Wow!

* Judy Sutton Taylor didn't leave a dry eye (including both of mine) when she read to her friend who died in the Lockerbie bombing. When the audience saw her sniffling and eyes tearing up, they followed suit — little did we all realize that she was just suffering an allergy attack! Still, her moving story made the entire audience bond and pass the Kleenex, and I noticed many introducing themselves to her afterwards.

* Margaret Littman, who wrote a letter to her ex-boyfriend's wife to explain why she's not a threat, actually had moved from Chicago to Nashville since the last time I had seen her. Therefore, the reading for Margaret was a reunion of sorts with her Chicago buddies, including Judy, her great pal. It was cool to witness Margaret's reunion, all coming together because of the book!

* Anna Cox also had a reunion in Chicago, as she also used to live in the Windy City (she now lives in Virginia). Anna's letter is about her Best Toxic-Shock Thinking Friend, a witty shout-out to her "bad news" buddy. During the reading, I found myself noticing a woman who was nodding and smiling a lot (I always appreciate those audience members!). Turns out, she was Anna's friend, Susan, who had come up from Bloomington IL just for the reading. Afterwards, Anna invited me to dinner with her friends, and I ended up sitting across from this mysterious smiling audience member. She had me in tears with her hysterical personality and I gained a new buddy that night.

So there you have it. Sisterly bonding, friendships rekindling, new friendships forming, buddies going to extra lengths to support their friends, and plenty of tears shed (many of them mine!).

And I haven't even begun to discuss my own reunions thanks to the book and to... wait for it... Facebook. More on that tomorrow... thanks for