Alternate title: Moms Gone Wild
Alternate alternate title: Leaving on a Jet Plane
When you’re socially inept, like myself, it is often challenging to find friends, especially good ones. I am ridiculously fortunate to have some amazing friends. The kind of friends that make you feel as if you’ve known them forever from the moment you first meet.
Two of them are leaving for Holland very soon (the country, they are moving to Europe, not kidding). The divine Ms. SheNayNay is permanently returning to her mother
ship land and the sensational Ms. Libby is staying for 18 months. *sigh* I’m going to miss them terribly. And my kids will miss their kids. And I will miss Mr. SheNayNay’s Oscar the Grouch pajamas. And I will miss Coffee Talk with Mr. Libby…. well, maybe not the last bit.
So what’s a gal to do when two of her friends are
HAVE THE MOTHER OF ALL LADIES’ NIGHTS, THAT’S WHAT!
Begin at the beginning, shall we?
The limo arrives at my house around 5:45PM. Libby, SheNayNay, and….. (Here’s the part where I wish everyone involved had chosen their own pseudonyms, but since they didn’t, I’m forced to either create my own or leave them nameless. Apologies in advance. I remember every one of your beautiful faces and I am glad that you were there, but I won’t name anyone without permission.) 101 Ways to Wear a Scarf were already on board, wine glasses in hand. 2 other friends and I jump in and open the second bottle. We pick up 2 more friends, so now we are 8. It took almost no time at all to drain the 2 bottles of wine that we started with, so we ask the driver to stop for more. A total of 4 bottles of
wine were consumed in just over an hour between home and the restaurant, so many (all?) of us were a bit buzzy by the time we sat down for dinner. We were having such fun in the limo that I was a little disappointed that we were at the restaurant so soon. A word of advice: if you ever have occasion to text the word “limo”, please be aware that auto-correct may change it to “limp”. Awkward. (I’ve included a blurry picture of the limo interior for your enjoyment. I didn’t occur to me to wait for the vehicle to stop moving before trying to photograph it.)
Another friend met us at the restaurant for dinner, and so now we are nine at a table for ten with a single sad solitary chair at the end of the table. I reserved a table for 10 knowing there would only be nine, but my brain can’t process an odd number reservation. How lucky.
As it turns out, yet another friend was surprising us for dinner. It was, I believe, a surprise for our guests of honor, but one among us spilled the secret to me in advance. Hooray for the Hail Mary babysitter that made it possible! It wouldn’t have been the same without her.
Full table, full bellies and empty bottles. Dinner was wonderful. I do not remember what I ate, but I think it was good. Someone, during dinner, may have drunk dialed Mr. Libby. I can’t remember clearly who that might have been (Why are you looking at me? I would never…) or even why the call was placed. I… ummm, I mean, whoever it was, may have tried to procure a ride in a police cruiser, just for fun, from a friend’s hubby who was with Mr. Libby for the evening. Truthfully, the details of dinner are sketchy at best for me. Someone else might be better able to recount them. Feel free to fill in the blanks in comments, ladies.
I do recall being chastised for excessive phone handling, but as my phone is my camera, if any pictures were to be taken, phone handling was required. At some point in the evening Libby declared that my phone needed a name since I spend so much time with it. Allow me to introduce you to Libby’s phone: Mary Anne is a trusty steam-powered cell-phone, who will have to finally be retired upon leaving the country because her cell phone company will not support that phone any longer upon her return to the states. Mary Anne’s final fate is unknown at this time. I vote for a shadow box to permanently display her in Libby’s home. Or she could become the furnace of the new town hall in Popperville. (What you cannot see about Mary Anne, is that she is actually taped together at the back. Can you believe that phone can make a phone call and actually text?) I thought that naming my phone seemed like a good idea and suggested Tangerine or Clementine to reflect her fabulous orange case. Libby seemed in agreement, but a few hours later referred to it as “Mandarin”, and that’s what stuck.
After dinner, the ten of us walked to a nearby club. We chose this club specifically because it promised fun 90’s music for our inebriated enjoyment. It was dark. It was a little seedy. It was nearly uninhabited except for the DJ, the bartender, and a handful of random characters. The music was decidedly mediocre in spite of our efforts to guide the DJ by way of repeated requests. (Hey, did he ever play Regulators like I asked at least twice as a tribute to the late Nate Dogg?) Libby was especially vocal about demanding that he play the whole song. I do not understand why he kept lopping off the last 30 seconds or more of every tune.
Back to the point.
When we first arrived a young man offered (or was coaxed? I wasn’t party to this, so I have no idea) to buy shots… except that there were 10 of us and he only had $12. The bar tender was handing out some delightful (ick) shots in plastic tubes with foil seals (faux test tubes, I suppose) that came in a variety of colors, none of which are found in nature. Yet another friend joined us, and now we were 11.
Mostly there was a great deal of dancing and merry making. I am certain of this because my right knee was suffering mightily the next day. Somewhere around midnight, with my buzz waning and sleepiness descending, and the failure again of the DJ to play Regulators, I heard that the Secret was heading home and opted to hitch a lift with a sober human instead of calling a cab. 3 of us jumped ship with the Secret, leaving 7 behind to continue the dancing and DJ abuse. I’m told that they rolled in around 4am…. I think I would have been asleep by then.
It was a memorable night for all, at least I hope so, because a wonderful memory is what we hope Lib and SNN will take with them across the world to start a new chapter with their families. Damn it. I’m getting all weepy, again. Your absence will be felt, ladies.
And, yes, I’ll consider getting a passport if Scarves, and Lashes (and anyone else who wants to go) think they can tolerate the excessive hand-holding that will be required to get me there.