Girls' Weekend 2012

I don't even know where to begin; how do I capture the magic of this weekend? How do I adequately describe the freedom associated with spending forty-eight hours with people who know me inside and out? How to explain the rare gift of being with people who share so much of my history and with whom I want to share the remainder of my life? I mean, that sounds so...gay (not that there is anything wrong with that), and, also; not completely accurate.

Of course I want these women in my life for the duration, I mean, how could I not? How many friends do you have who will-upon discovering a stranger's giant pair of panties in the bed you just shared-tease you without mercy simply because the undies were on your side and you weigh like a buck-o-five so; they couldn't possibly be yours? Not very many, I'm guessing.

And, how many friends do you have who-upon being teased with a stranger's giant pair of panties (that she just unwittingly slept with)-will joke right back, even going so far as to agree to wear the panties as a romper, providing someone sew on a pair of straps; preferably sequined? I bet that list is even shorter than the first list.

How many friends do you have that will nod their heads in sympathy when incontinence threatens to strike during bouts of belly laughter? Ok, probably more than a few, but; how many of them will still insist on making you laugh until you almost pee your pants just because laughter is awesome and, eh; what's a little pee between friends?

Hopefully, you have at least a couple. And, maybe some adult diapers.( I'm just sayin').

How many friends do you have who can-in the space of an hour-long walk-manage to provide better therapy than you might get from a professional? And, how many of them can do it while swigging strawberry margaritas and laughing like a pack of wild hyennas while trying, desperately, not to pee?

God, I hope you have a ton, because; therapy is expensive, alcohol is cheap and friends like that are priceless.

I know.

I know because, I got to spend forty-eight hours with four of the best friends that I will ever have and, today, almost twenty-four hours after I said my last goodbye; I still feel lightened by their presence.

It's like the best kind of hangover, imaginable and; I can't wait to do it again. And, again. And, again. And, again. Because, if loving them is wrong; then I don't want to be right. Well, you know what I mean. At least, I hope you do.

Let the Right One In

My second year in college was a sad and lonely time for me. I was living in a studio apartment, off campus, with only my cat to keep me company. Despite the fact that I had an on again/off again boyfriend, the majority of my social activities revolved around entertaining the local constabulary during their frequent visits to my building, courtesy of my very loud and physically abusive (to each other) upstairs neighbors.

Several months earlier, my best friend, at the time, had abandoned her boyfriend to sail across the pond with an English Jaguar salesman that she had met at the local bar; leaving me to deal with the aftermath of a broken-hearted jock, who, just wanted to know "WHYYYY?!" (at 2:00 a.m. every Saturday), a slew of used furniture, and, instructions not to let her sister, an aerobics instructor with thighs and biceps larger than those of the jock, claim any of her possessions while she was gone.

It was pretty clear that I was missing out on the things that make college memorable.

Cut to a cold and wintry night, shortly after Christmas break, when; there was a knock at my door.

I hesitated to open it, fully expecting to find a cop wielding a noise complaint, a drunken, weepy football player, or, an irate aerobics instructor, hopped up on steroids and demanding the return of her family's antique coffee table.

I found, instead; four girls wielding a gallon of ice cream, a can of whipped cream, and, a bottle of Kahlua.

"Hi. Do you have a blender?"

 I did.

That was twenty-four years ago.

We are having Kahlua shakes again this weekend.

I am so glad I opened that door.

A Serendipitous Turn of Events

I was joined by ten lovely ladies on the porch, last night. We spent several hours catching up on each other's hectic lives, snacking on yummy treats (raspberry/whipped cream brownie bites to die for), sipping drinks, and enjoying the early summer evening.

I personally polished off the better part of a bottle of pinot grigio during the evening and must assume that my math was somehow faulty when figuring my snack-to-alcohol ratio, because; when the president of the baseball association called toward the end of the evening and asked me to run the concession stand at tonight's baseball game, I happily agreed despite how much we all know I dislike working with neon-orange "cheese" and stale tortilla chips.

Alcohol was clearly to blame for the brilliancy in that decision.

It's all good, though, because we got a text from the coach this morning and the game has been cancelled due to the other team not having enough players; a phenomenon that we are noticing a lot this season. As an aside, what is up with people who sign their kids up for activities they know they will not be able to participate in 100%? Do they not understand that this affects other people's children? I mean, seriously, people; get your shit together.

Also, coming soon: Pet Peeves Part II!

Damn, way to get distracted, Chelle; back to happy thoughts...

...Oooh, here's one!

Earlier in the day, while waiting in the drive-through lane at the bank in Hooterville, I spied something interesting outside of a junk (excuse me; Junque) shop across the street; it appeared to be a tea cart, which; was something that I had been wanting for the porch for quite some time. Once I finished my banking, I parked at the shop and hopped out for a closer look. What I discovered was an antique (I'm pretty sure) tea cart with a price tag that clearly indicated that the owner of the junk (excuse me; Junque) shop had no idea how to price antiques. I got it for a steal, is what I'm saying. And, it looks great on the porch.

Although I'm no expert, I am convinced that the cart is at least a hundred years old. The glass has probably been replaced but everything else appears to be original, including the wheels and casters. The detail on the cart is amazing and there is no damage; save for a slight bend in one of the top rails, which, I think, gives it character.

I am beyond happy with the purchase. Hugh was almost as delighted, as I'm sure you can imagine. In his defense, however; Hugh has no idea of the concept of serendipity, for; it was surely serendipity that took me to the bank drive-through lane at the precise moment that the tea cart was wheeled out of the junk (excuse me; Junque) shop for display on the street.

It was meant to be, is what I'm saying.

Also, you have no idea just how many wine glasses I can fit on this thing; it's almost scandalous. Which, fits right in with the Porch Night theme.

See? Serendipity.

Holy Cramping Uterus, Batman!

Dear Ms.Uterus,

Hi! It’s me, your host body! I’m just checking in with you about a few things and, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way but, what the hell is wrong with you? What is up with the horrendous cramping this month? Can I not have a decent night’s sleep, free from grinding, blinding, tooth-gnashing pain?

What the hell, Uterus? Have I not been good to you? Do I not shine the spotlight on you on an annual basis? And, ok, being swabbed with a giant Q-Tip may not be your idea of heaven, but, honestly, do you really think that I enjoy it? I do NOT! But, I do it! I do it for YOU! To ensure your health and well-being. What. Is. With. The Hate?

Ok, sure, asking you to stretch to fifty times your regular size while incubating a human was a lot to ask (um…twice), but, honestly, don’t you think that Ms. Vagina had it far worse? And, do you hear her complaining? I didn’t think so. And, look! The Twin Peaks didn’t exactly come out of that ordeal unscathed, either, yet, they continue about their daily chores with nary a sigh. And, ok, so they are starting to fall down on the job a little, but; that is a problem for another day and we are talking about you right now.

So! Here’s the deal, I am willing to concede to one day of cramping each month. In exchange, I will continue my annual pilgrimage to the lady doctor for your checkup. I am confident that you will see reason and will, therefore, agree to these terms. However, on the odd chance that you disagree; I will have no choice but to serve you with a notice of eviction and, the next time you see the Lady Doctor will be, well, the LAST time you see the Lady Doctor. I don’t want to do it, really, I don’t but, I think you need to seriously assess the motivation behind your campaign of torment against me.

Sincerely,
Chelle
aka: Your Host body.

Anticipation....It's Makin' Me Wait

Remember when you were a kid and Christmas was like, The. Most. Exciting. Thing. Ever? And, how you counted down the days until the 25th of December, possibly marking large x's on a calendar or adding loops to a paper chain or something fun like that? And, how, on the 24th, you had trouble sleeping because you were so anxious for Christmas day to just arrive, already?

Yeah.

I'm having that kind of week, except, instead of anxiously awaiting the arrival of Santa, I am anxiously awaiting the arrival of The Girls. Specifically, the arrival of Reese, whom I will be picking up at the airport on Thursday. Then, Friday morning, she and I are driving several hours south to meet up with the rest of The Girls for a weekend that will be more fun than ten Christmases rolled up in one, and; we don't even need Santa.

No offense to the Big Guy.

This will be the first time in a number of years that we will (almost) all be together under one roof (James is unable to make the trip) and we have a lot of catching up to do as well as a lot of new memories to create.

Since we are staying at a secluded cabin in the woods; conversations will no doubt feature references to bear attacks, serial killers, rabid squirrels, and the Donner Party and; will increase in hilarity in correlation to the amount of alcohol consumed (A lot.) (Of alcohol; I mean) (Like, obviously.) Those new conversations will then be added to our existing Vault of Awesome Conversations, to be trotted out for review numerous times over the next fifty years (God willing) along with such classics as the "Reese Has a Hitler Mustache" conversation, the "What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas" conversation and the on-going debate over whether or not I should have just caved in and slept with Danny Gallagher back in college and, whoa! How awesome (or not) would that have been.

In addition to the talking (and talking and talking and talking), rumor has it that a popular actor will be in the general area, filming his latest movie, so; star-stalking is definitely on the agenda. Unfortunately, none of us are particularly well-versed in the art of The Stalk, so, jail time is a real possibility, but! Not to worry; we have one of the husbands on call in the event that we require bail money. Or, more alcohol; the shortage of alcohol being the larger threat, me thinks.

Of course, in order to soak up all that alcohol, one needs food, so; I have already prepared and frozen two large pans of chicken enchiladas and a pan of cheesy bean dip for dinner on Saturday night. Jules is making her famous lasagna for Friday night's dinner and Phoebe and Tee are hauling lunch and breakfast items up with them. Reese and I will make a quick stop at Sam's Club for enough snacks to feed a small nation and, it goes without saying that we are all contributing something to the bar.

The plans, as you see, are well under way. Which, when you think about it; is really just our grown-up way of adding links to our paper chain.

I can't speak for the other girls, but; I'm also marking large x's on the calendar.

Four days to go...

And I. Am. So. EXCITED.

Take Me Out to the Ball Game

The Man-Cub's first baseball game of the season took place last night. Although the boys lost by several runs, they appeared to be having fun and they played together really well, two things that I consider impressive simply because this is the first year that the Cub has played at this age level; he and one other teammate are the only two 13 year olds amongst a team of 14 and 15 year olds.

The difference between 13 and 14, by the way? HUGE. Like, HUGE. See exhibit A:

The Cub and his friend, Clay, are teeny in comparison to the majority of the team, but, that didn't hinder their ability to play the game, in fact; the Cub hit three base hits, made a play at second that caused the crowd to cheer, and, he stole from first, sliding into second in such a dramatic fashion as to bring the crowd to its' feet. Well, it brought me to my feet but mainly because his feet actually touched the back of his head-scorpion style-and; I was a bit concerned about a spinal injury (Spoiler alert: He's fine!).

Clay, for his part, did an awesome job in his capacity of catcher, a position that he has absolutely no experience with. His mom and I had a few occasions to clasp hands in the time honored reaction of worried moms the world over but; he never got hurt.

So, the game was a success despite the score.

I do, however, need to remember to bring Cracker Jacks to the next game because, two and a half hours in the broiling sun without sustenance was just brutal.

I know; First World problems, right?

I don't know a lot about baseball but I'm pretty sure you are supposed to use the glove, son.

Pet Peeves

I'm a pretty mellow person by nature. I balance positive and negative emotions and always try to look for the bright side of any situation. That said, there are a few things that just righteously Piss. Me. Off. They are, in no particular order:

-Ordering a side of cheese curds in the drive-thru lane of the local A&W/Long John Silvers and getting practically home before realizing that my cheese curds are actually deep fried popcorn shrimp. If gas didn't cost almost four bucks a gallon, I would have driven right back and dumped those fucking shrimps right over the head of the moron working the drive-thru window.*

-Mouth breathers. Loud eaters. Loogie hawkers. Gross. Just, gross.

-People who are chronically late.

-People who are rude to waiters and waitresses.

-People who say one thing and then do the exact opposite. This kind of goes hand-in-hand with people who make promises and then break them as well as with people who tell me things that they obviously think I am too stupid to recognize as total bullshit. My bullshit detector, for the record? Fully functional and finely tuned, and; if I haven't called you on your shit it's probably because I am quietly plotting my revenge.

-Being underestimated, condescended to, patronized or dismissed.

-Men who stare at my breasts. Yes, they are a thing of beauty, but, so are my eyes, asshole.

-People who don't automatically understand the many references that I make to Zombieland. Double tap, people? No? Oh, come on!


*This would actually never happen, see above; rudeness to wait staff, distaste of.