Flashback Friday!

Gee, I've been on a hell of a morose kick around here lately! So, I've decided to try something a little more lighthearted. Sorry I'm running so late today. I hope it's worth it.

I was doing a little blogsurfing recently and ran across a mom-blog wherein the author was describing a recent Girls Night Out gone bad. It reminded me of one I had about almost two years ago. In fact, it could technically, be the last one I've been on.

My ex and I had recently split. He had a camping trip with his family planned and wanted to take the kids. He'd actually invited me to go along, but I really didn't relish the thought of sleeping with him in a tent and playing at "we're not really getting divorced" (I totally stink at manufacturing emotions or playing games like that), so I opted out and told him to have a great time with his girls. At first, he threatened not to go, if I didn't. Taking their camping weekend away as well. In the old days, that would have probably worked. I would have felt guilty enough for both of us. And, I realize that while he is much more the camper than I will ever be, at that point, he'd had little or no experience managing three kids for days by himself. And the setting was only going to complicate it that much more. So, after tense days of negotiations, he and his daughters headed off to enjoy some quality time together, leaving me to my own devices.

A couple of girlfriends, knowing that I was dealing with alot at the time, decided to get together with me for a Girls Night Out. And, honestly, as I'd done so very few of these during my long marriage, I was kinda pumped about it. Both Laura and Bev are younger than me. Laura maybe 3 years, Bev is, I think, 5 years younger. Very different girls, but both very sweet in their own right.

Laura is married and has two daughters (19 and 14). One by her first husband and the second by her current. She's a highly competent accountant, with incredible savvy in all things business. Her hubby is a sanitation engineer. First one I'd ever really known. He's very kind and easy going and is obviously crazy in love with his wife. They have a great house that is not very far from the house I shared with my ex.

Bev is a divorced mom of one who works as a legal secretary. Her son is currently stationed in Iraq, but was in boot camp at the time of this particular evening of debauchery. Bev makes the term flamboyant seem somehow bland. She is always very vibrant and bold and she can be fun to be around. You just have to pick your dosage. Bev has a history of some very bad luck. She tends to turn every adventure into an injury-fest and has, at last count, totalled 13 cars. And that is no exaggeration. The rule of thumb is, if you're going out as a group, someone else should drive. But you should also be aware that the chances of having emergency medical personnel or police show up at some point in your evening are better than 50/50.

Bev and Laura had decided that Friday night, after work, we'd get together and go to a little bar in the neighborhood and have a few drinks, maybe shoot some pool, and hang out. I'm not much of a drinker anymore, having done my lifetime's worth in my early twenties, but I do have a few in certain social situations. And this would certainly qualify. So, yes, sure, it sounded like a good time.

This happened at a time when I had been doing a great bit of working out and I was looking pretty good. I threw on a pair of tight jeans and a very low-cut black shirt, grabbed a pair of sandals and I was on my way. Except not. The plan was that Bev was gonna swing by and get me when she got done at work and we would go the two miles to Laura's from there. So, I got ready and while I was waiting, I put some music on and found myself dancing around the living room. I was really looking forward to an evening to cut loose. But Bev was late. Not terribly unusual for Bev, so I gave it another 15 minutes, or so, before I began to get antsy.

I get off work at 11:30 on Fridays, so I'd been sitting around waiting for her for some time. Finally, my impatience (hey, I was feeling a little...anxious...) had me dialing her cellphone. No answer. I try her home phone, thinking she may have run by there before coming to get me. No answer. I wait a few minutes and try the cellphone again. This time she answers.

"HEY, Tammy!!," she bellows in obvious drunken English, "what's up?" So, I reminded her that we were going out and asked if we still were. Now, honestly, at this VERY early part, I'm already questioning whether the odds are favorable for me to head out with Bev. She was clearly already drinking. And her accident ratio would be going WAY up. But, I really wanted to go out, so I'm trying to gauge the situation.

"We won this big case and everybody in the office is celebrating down at [this trendy bar down the street from her office]. I've already had a couple beers and seven Bushmills." ::sigh:: I look at the clock. It's nearly 8. She's still at the bar downtown. It's looking more and more like I'm screwed. Seven Bushmills. Seven. She's gonna finish the drink she has and head straight to my house. She's fine. She's sure of it. Uh huh. In the meantime, I call Laura and let her know that we're running late and what's going on. You, on the other hand, should start keeping a scorecard. Here. I made one you can use.


It's about a 20 minute ride from the bar to my house, so when 8:30 comes and goes, I try her cellphone again. She's decided to run by her house first and change clothes and she's trying to figure out the best route to get from her house to my house. I give her directions and think to myself that I should go outside and shoot off a flare gun. So, I'm digging through boxes in the basement, looking for flares, when the phone rings. She's gotten herself lost and stopped in the parking lot of one of the two karaoke bars nearby.

I instruct her to NOT, under any circumstances, go into the karaoke bar (fearing that she'd get another drink before heading my way). Though, at this point, I'm thinking I should just walk up to the karaoke bar and have a few and go home. It's been a trying night already and I haven't even left the damned house! But I get her routed to my place and she shows up just after 9. Not bad. Only an hour and a half late. But, well, I'm thinking, we'll see how the evening goes. It's been a while. Maybe I'm just out of practice on this stuff.

Now, I had intentionally dressed like a Hoochie Mama, because I was looking for some attention of the male variety. Bev, when she went home to change, found a top in her wardrobe that made mine, comparatively, look like a turtleneck sweater. Great. She's got more of a rack than I do anyway. There goes that plan. I'm thinking, at this point, that I'm not sure how many signs I need that this evening is gonna be bad, but I'm going with it anyway.

We call Laura and let her know we're on the way (and that she should have the crash squad and medics on stand-by). And I let her know that she was DEFINITELY driving, as Bev was already pretty plastered. When we got to Laura's, which was, surprisingly, a rather uneventful journey, Laura wasn't ready. So, Bev and I are hanging around with her hubby and drinking a couple beers. He decides he wants to tag along.

Could be that he was worried about his wife going out on the town with two women who were obviously dressed for...um...well, you know. I'm not sure what his reasoning was. But, he later regretted his decision. He never specifically said that. But, I'm pretty sure it's accurate.

Now, it's coming up on 10PM, Laura is finally ready to go and Bev has had (are you keeping track here?) a total of 7 Bushmills and 4 beers. And she's feeling little or no pain. And we haven't even officially started on our Girls Night Out yet. Right. Laura, her hubby, and I have each had 1 beer. Seriously underclassed. We are no match for Bev. No match at all. Worse, we are just leaving to go "out for the night" and I'm so old that I'm ready to go home.

But I perservere. After all, they are doing this for me. Sorta. I guess. And I do need it. So the four of us head off, in Laura's SUV, to a little bar in the neighborhood. I suppose it's, in actuality, more of a beer joint. It's not like they have mixed drinks. A couple pool tables, a few video games, darts. That's about it. Oh, except for the 10-12 guys sitting at the bar in various states of foggery. That's a word.

We walk in and, because Laura and her hubby come here fairly often, the regulars do their meet and greet thing, and Bev and I are introduced around. We find a little table and sit down. Laura's hubby buys a round of beers for us. And we chit chat a little about the day. Mostly, laughing at how drunk Bev already is and wondering if we will survive the evening. It's not long before we decide to shoot a little pool.

I would never consider myself a good player, but I'll say that when I was growing up, my dad had a table, and I played a lot. In college, I hung out at a little place that had one. I shot there with some regularity. My hubby inherited one (Boy, that's definitely fodder for another Flashback Friday. I'll have to keep that in mind.) about 3-4 years ago, and we played a great deal as well. So, I kinda know my way around.

So, we shoot a few games of pool. A few of the regulars (Norm, Cliff, like that) join in. Bev is flirting with them mercilessly. One guy makes a pass at me. Until he sees the bazooms on Bev, at which point, I am resigned to being Mackenzie Phillips in AMERICAN GRAFFITI (you know,the flat-chested little sister). We each have a couple more beers, and decide (now that it's midnight) to head to another little bar not far from there, as we're wanting something other than beer. During the two hours we have been there, I've had two more beers, Laura and her hubby have each had three, and Bev has had five.

Bev is now having difficulty with spatial relationships and speech. She is becoming the "sloppy drunk". We all walk out to the SUV, which is parked just outside the front door. Laura is driving and I climb in the back behind her. Bev is having a great deal of difficulty stepping up into the backseat of the SUV. Laura's hubby is helping her, but Bev isn't exactly a small woman and she's staggering like a professional. He gets behind her and they count to three, Bev rocking up into the backseat each time, and then she fell straight back onto the pavement and was laughing so hard she was holding her crotch to keep from peeing herself.

Of course, we were all laughing at her. Laura's husband was giving Laura a look that said, "Can't we just leave her here, sprawled out in this parking lot, and drive off?" And I was backing him up. Big time. We were shortening our odds the more time we spent with her.

After about 15 minutes, she was able to compose herself, to make another attempt to get into the car. We've been in the parking lot, trying to leave, for 20-25 minutes now, and the humor is wearing pretty thin. I get out and go around to the other side and we are able to get Bev in the car, with only a small bump to her head and a very slight wet spot in her jeans. Hooray! Small victories count too, right?

And so we away. Bev lolling around, still holding her crotch and laughing at herself. We get to bar #2 and park around back. The place is PACKED!! They have an actual full-service bar, a few pool tables and a dance floor and karaoke. Now, I'm not a karaoke kinda girl. And I don't normally frequent those places. But, I was along for the ride and still trying (to virtually no avail) to show any interested parties my assets. Bev, with minor assistance, gets out of the SUV and stumbles into the bar, where she heads straight for the ladies room. Laura and I head to the bar and order a couple drinks. Amaretto sours for me. Ummmmmmmm. It's like koolaid. But they make you feel warm. So I have one...and then another. And here comes Bev...finally.

She announces that she has signed up to do a little karaoke, which causes Laura and I to erupt into fits of laughter. Drunk Bev doing karaoke. This could be interesting. Unfortunately, the wait list is pretty long. So, while the other amateurs are taking their shots, she starts flirting up this guy at the end of the bar. Laura and I are talking. Her hubby is shooting pool. And before I know it a fight breaks out at the end of the bar where, guess who, is located.

The dude who had been the object of Bev's advances is married. And his wife, who was elsewhere in the bar, is back and isn't terribly happy that Bev is touching her husband. Now, the husband, as clearly as I can tell, wasn't running her off, but it appeared more an effort to keep from being rude to her. He seemed, mostly, to be ignoring her. But Bev, driven by her drunken bravado, is picking a fight with the woman. She saw him first, basically.

Laura and I go get her out of trouble and bring her back to where we were hanging out. She orders ::sigh:: another beer. We try to discourage her, but there's none of that. And then the three of us head to the end of the building to hang out with Laura's hubby and shoot a little pool. Bev is unable to shoot pool. Unable to sit on the stools near the pool tables. Unable to stand against the wall.

We are here, ladies and gentlemen. We hope you've enjoyed your trip. Please return your trays to the upright position before exiting. Bev is wasted. I mean totally, completely wasted.

She says she needs some air. Laura walks her outside. I take Laura's place at the table and finish the game she was shooting. It was about this time, that Bev's name is called for her turn at karaoke. Alas, we completely missed that opportunity, as she was in no shape, whatsoever, to strut her stuff.

Shortly Laura returns...but without Bev. She announces that she's left Bev in the car because she was feeling sick. Okay, I wouldn't have left her in my car if she was feeling like she needed to throw up and had as much liquor in her as Bev did. That's a pretty safe bet. But, Laura is nicer than me. So, I look at the clock and notice that we're coming up on 2AM and tell them that maybe we should call it a night. They agree and as soon as Laura's husband finishes the game he has going, we head outside.

Are you surprised to know that Bev was not in the car? Well, let me back up and say I was amazed that Laura got her in the SUV without the same kind of incident we had at the last place, but that's a different matter, I guess. I look at Laura. She looks at her husband. He looks at me. And we all shake our heads. We begin calling out for Bev. No answer. Laura looks in the car to see if she's fallen down into the floor board or if there is any evidence that she got sick or something. Nope. Her husband walks back into the bar to see if she may have doubled back on us while Laura and I wander around the parking lot looking for traces of drunk legal secretaries.

Laura finally calls me over. She's found her. Bev is sitting up on a concrete parking bumper that overlooks a grassy hill and, beyond that, a wooden plank fence. Bev is talking to her when I get over to them. Telling her that she felt sick and that's why she got out of the car. She didn't want to throw up in Laura's car. How considerate. That's the kind of drunk you want to hang out with, folks. We tell her we're gonna head home and each of us takes an arm and tries to help her stand. Oh, no. She will have none of that. She's capable of standing on her own. One thing that is pretty universal when it comes to drunks. They have their pride.

What she does, you see, is to shift from a seated position to being on her hands and knees on the grass just in front of the parking bumper. Laura and I are standing there, not sure what the hell she is doing, but she seems to be doing it with purpose, so we let her continue. She starts kind of rocking back and forth, sort of like a baby just before they start crawling on their own. We thought she was trying to get her balance. But then, abruptly, she dropped to her stomach, flattening out, and then proceeded to log roll down the grassy knoll. At the base of the grassy knoll is a drainage ditch that is full of beer bottles. It's clear that the cream of society comes out here to finish their beer while they relieve themselves. Classy place, I know. On the other side of the drainage ditch is the 7' wooden fence. Before Laura and I really know what is going on, or could possible get to her, Bev has done an Olympic quality (I mean that. It couldn't have been more perfect.) logroll down the entire length of the hill across the drainage ditch and then hit the fence with a solid thud. The impact kinda rolled her back into the drainage ditch and she was sprawled out there, amidst the bottles (and dna), when we got to her.

Laura and I were incredulous. We're running down this hill going "Have you EVER seen anything like that?" "I mean, did you see that?" "She hit that fence pretty hard. She's gonna have a mark." But we're laughing our asses off, just the same. And, honestly, if I'd had one of those signs, I'd have totally thrust it up giving her a perfect "1.0". I've never seen a more perfect execution. And in her condition! Truly impressive. But I gotta admit, I kept thinking about how nasty that drainage ditch was and wondering if she'd need a shot of penicillin or something before this was over.

She was pretty well passed out when we got to her, and Laura's hubby showed back up about this time (he totally missed the whole performance). The three of us got her back into the SUV and headed back to Laura's place. On the way, I persuaded them to drop me off. Laura was bitching (but not too much) about me leaving Bev for her to deal with. I reminded her that I was just splitting up with my husband and needed her sympathy. Hey, I can work it when I have to.

I was pretty happy to be home. Even though it was almost 3AM. I was even more happy that the rest of the weekend was spent in quiet solitude. Well, except for the next afternoon, when Bev called me and said she woke up stinking (I don't even want to imagine of what) and had a HUGE bruise on her arm. She wanted to know if I had any idea what happened to her. Heh. My kingdom for a video camera. That one would have won a good bit of cash on "America's Funniest Home Videos". I'm sure of it.

As for me, let's just say that I haven't been out drinking with her since. Not that I wouldn't again. Just that small doses of Bev work better for me.