Not Your Mother’s Girls Night Out….uh, Wait, maybe it is….

Posted: March 13, 2013 in Body Image, It's a Girl Thing, Motherhood
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

Some eCards I'm 30

Ah, Girls Night Out. Who doesn’t love a good one of those? From the time we are little girls doing each others hair at slumber parties, we grow up truly appreciating the value of Girl Time.

The funny thing about Girls Nights is that they tend to change, the older you get. 20 was over a decade ago for me, but I still remember it, somewhat. Let’s dust the cobwebs off of those memories for a moment. When you’re 20, before marriage and kids and mortgage payments, life is like one big old carnival. You may have to pay to get in and stand in line for tickets, but chances are if you’re 20, you have nice boobs, a young face and a carefree attitude and that will probably get you a free sno cone and escorted to the front of the line. Being 20 is great. You can eat cotton candy, caramel apples AND mini donuts and your metabolism will burn that shit up like 10 year old kindling. Your bank account might be a little low but your spirits are high and a lack of funds isn’t going to stop you. You’re gonna get your ass on that Ring of Fire and scream until your lungs burn. And even if you barf afterwards, who cares? You’re young! By the time you get to the next ride, you’re ready to go again. You throw caution to the wind and buy the ride-all-day bracelet because you know you’re capable of riding all day. And all night. Who cares? You probably don’t have a job to go to the next day, but if you do, you’ll just call in sick. Or skip your 9:20 a.m. Music Appreciation class.

Youth. Gravity and Common Sense need not apply.

Well nothing bitch slaps you back into reality like going out to a dance club on a Saturday Night with the girls, shall we say….later in life. Now I’m not gonna say we’re old, because we’re not! But we are older than 92% of the women who were in the bar last Saturday night. I should start at the beginning.

Every once in a while, I need a break with the girls. We all do. It’s soooo fun and sooo necessary! There is no better way to Pause the world of Responsibility and Kids and Relationships and Stress like a good old fashioned Girls Night. Why? Because when girls go out together, we let it allllll hang out, ok? Girls are gross. Picture a bunch of guys in a locker room and multiply that by 10. Or 5 at least. Vulgarity, with pretty pink lip gloss. When you’re with the girls, not only do you not have to suck in your gut, but you also don’t have to worry that your swearing is a tad too manly or that a fart will kill the mood. You can talk freely about periods and IUD’s and one night stands and nobody gets offended. There is no imaginary line you can not cross. Or maybe that’s just my friends, but if that’s the case, I have the best damn friends you can get.

So I organized a little girls trip to the city. Just one night! Don’t wanna push our luck with the men at home doing all the babysitting oops I mean parenting. Hotel Room? Check. Wheels? Check. Better make that 2 hotel rooms. 6 girls trying to shower and poop in one room might be a bit much. OK! All set! So bright and early Saturday morning, we all pile in and get the hell outta town. WOOOHOOO!!!!! Let’s get this party started!?!?! Who wants to do a shot?

Just kidding. It’s 9 am. we’re not 20 anymore. We stop at Tim Hortons and get a coffee and a bagel. So far, nobody has said a swear word. I reach in my pocket for change and find a Ziploc bag of Cheerios. Oh, yeah. I’m Badass. Sigh. And because we’re old and we all have kids and we’ve just had a coffee, we need to stop 45 minutes later for a pee break. A couple swears and poop jokes surface. Someone mentions something about a penis. Buckle up ladies, things are getting crazy!

Finally, we make it to our destination. Time to hit the mall! Can’t wait to find a sexy new outfit to wear to the bar! It’s been awhile since I’ve been shopping for clothes! To my delight, I can suddenly buy shirts in size small or medium instead of large. This puts me on cloud 9 until I realize that it’s only because my boobs have shrunken to their former 8th Grade cup size. Double Sigh. Better go drown my sorrows in a TacoTime Beef Burrito Supreme. Supersized. Thanks. So much for the diet. Who cares? It’s Girls weekend! No calorie counting allowed!!!

Following an afternoon of shopping, we compare notes and realize that for the most part, we have failed to complete our new outfit scavenger hunt but have all managed to buy something for each of our kids whom we have left at home and came here to forget about for a day. And you can be damn sure each kid got an equal dollar amount of stuff, because we all know that it’s easier to calculate fairness by price and avoid the “She got more than me!!!” fight at home. By this time, it’s closing in on suppertime and we are getting thirsty. We make a stop at the liquor store. Swearing and laughing is getting louder and more frequent. We are getting excited! Someone turns the music up a little louder and we all sing along to Taylor Swift. hahahaha I’m not even kidding.

So back at the hotel, it’s time to order some supper, pour some drinks, and start getting primped for the evening. We are getting loud. Somebody is walking around bare boobed. I’m not going to say it was me but I can’t say it wasn’t. There is a lot of penis talk. More swearing. We are soooo coool. Our room is starting to smell like farts and a good time. If there are any guys out there with the idea that girls like to get together in hotel rooms and have naked pillow fights, I’m pretty sure I just ruined that fantasy. Sorry! Now it’s time for shots, for real. The hard stuff, bring it on!!!! heee heee my ears are red and my cheeks are burning from laughing so hard. I don’t know what is so damn funny but those brownies sure tasted good! How thoughtful of her to bring dessert!

ANYWAYS! Off to the bar. There was a brief and disappointing stint at a super lame Karaoke bar, and we knew it was time to leave when the 75 year old crowd started filing in. I’m not even kidding. We needed to get the eff outta there, but to where? This is the dilemma. No matter what city you are in, there is always a bar that is known for, shall we say, Cougars. Women of a certain age. Which, nowadays, means anyone over the age of 25. We did NOT want to go to that bar. We are not old! We are not Cougars! We are good lookin hot chicks in the prime of our lives!! Take us to the cool place! We are still young and we want to dance!!!

So, we show up at the cool place. Early enough to avoid the lines, because as my sister said “I’m 30, I don’t stand in lines.” She was right, we avoided the line and walked in. This is how we thought we looked before we went in:

imagesCAHNGOOQ

This is how we felt, when we went in and looked around:

dancing_533

My mother warned me about this. She told me once that there comes a point in your life as a woman when you suddenly realize you are not part of the young and cool crowd anymore. You will always feel like you are, but that’s just an illusion God gives you to keep getting yourself out of bed in the morning. We’re at the teetering point, where you’re not quite sure if people are staring at you because they think you look good, or because they’re wondering what the hell you are doing there. You go to the bathroom for a pee break, and listen to conversations like “OhMyGod!!!! You look ssseeoooooo cute!!! I totally think Dylan is totally into you tonight!! Do you think I look cute? Is my hair totally cute or what?” Then you come out and wash your hands and make awkward eye contact with them in the mirror and you’re pretty sure if they had a thought bubble above their heads it would say, “Go Home, You’re Old.”

So what’s a girl to do in this situation. Loosen up with drinks, and dance. Dance like you’re 20. Dance like you’re cool. Dance like your boobs aren’t chafing your bellybutton. Dance like you don’t give a shit! You know why? Because when you’re 30, you pretty much don’t, anymore. You don’t care what the tight bodied 20 year old in the hoochie dress dancing on the speaker thinks of you. You came to have a good time, and you’re damn well gonna. And that’s just what we did. We danced until the sweat forced us outside to cool off. We may have danced with each other all night, but let’s be honest, we were the best dancers there anyway so it was a win-win. And we all went home happy. Drrunkety drunk drunk, but happy. When we get back to the hotel, we fill our faces full of food as we bitch about the 20 year old hoochies. We take a dose of Tylenol and guzzle water. This ain’t our first rodeo. We pass out and hope for the best.

The next morning, it’s a slow moving crew. The hangovers last a little longer when you’re 30. Like 3 days longer. We enjoyed a nice quiet lunch, making sure to pack in as many calories as possible because as usual, we all have a diet that starts again on Monday. We slept all the way home. It’s Tuesday and I’m still tired. And yet, oddly refreshed. Because that’s what girl time does. It recharges your batteries. It reminds you that it’s ok every once in a while to only be responsible for yourself, and not have to worry about your pets and your kids and your man. It reminds you that you can be fun and immature, even if it’s only once a year! And, most importantly, it reminds you that your pets and your kids and your man aren’t that bad after all, and you go home to them appreciative, and ready to take on tomorrow.

When you’re 30, the carnival isn’t as fun. You definitely are not buying the ride-all-day bracelet. If you escape to the carnival without your kids, you’re constantly scanning the crowd every time you hear someone yell “Mommy!”. You make sure to show up at a nice sensible time when you know the lineups are the shortest and you’ll be home at a reasonable time so that your babysitter doesn’t have to walk home in the dark. You probably pack your own lunch because everybody knows that carnival food prices are insanely inflated and totally loaded with trans fats and sodium. At 30, the carnival is all about being as efficient as possible. Get in, have as much fun as you can for the least amount of money as possible, and get the hell back to your cage where the lights aren’t so bright and the noises aren’t as loud. And start planning the next Girls Night Out.

AAA

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Comments
  1. MYNDFUQ says:

    God, this post was hilarious. You know, I’ve always enjoyed the mom crowds at the car, they are heaps of fun! Love the honesty you portray in this post, appreciate you sharing this story, it was thoroughly entertaining to read. I think ‘girls night out’ or whatever you want to call it, is like medicine to our life. It helps maintain sanity.

  2. Momma says:

    love it! And no matter how old you get…there is always time for girls night out!

  3. Amanda says:

    ‘Dance like your boobs aren’t chafing your bellybutton’. God, I love you.

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