Celebrating the Life of My Single-Girl Friendships

I am fairly obsessed with this one chick-site called The Frisky. It’s kind of like Cosmo only written by girls I can totally relate to about things that seem like they could have been taken straight from my head. It’s on my blogroll and everyone should go look at it (but after you read this first).

Today, in the Weekly Romp email I get, an article was featured with the tagline “Mourning the Death of My Single-Girl Friendships.” The author/blogger, Wendy Atterberry, is getting married in a couple months and just relocated from Chicago to New York to be with her fiancé. From what she tells us, it appears her main motivation for moving was to be with him; her best friends are all in Chicago and so her social life in NYC is drastically different. It’s an interesting glimpse into the challenges and joys of being in a new city with your fiancé – but without your girlfriends. Wendy draws an insightful parallel between romantic relationships and girlfriend-relationships, which is a daring comparison but also entirely valid.

Most of the commenters on Wendy’s article come off as either bitter single girls upset that Wendy is condoning coupled girls’ tendency to ditch their single girlfriends in favor of their significant others or coupled-up girls nodding their heads in pleased agreement. I can see both points of view and Wendy replies to a couple overly-defensive girls to point out that she moved 2,000 miles away and isn’t choosing her guy over her girls.

Initially, I was irritated by Wendy’s attitude about her new girlfriend to fiancé ratio. My gut reaction after the first few lines of the article was slightly reminiscent of the bitter single girl comments. It was when she pointed out that, “[having single girlfriends is] a romance, really, that only fully blooms in the absence of a romantic relationship,” that I felt the connection to the article.

I’m way on the other side of the fence here. My girlfriends are my life – that “romance” is in full bloom right now! On one hand, it makes not having any kind of boyfriend almost unnoticeable. On the other, does it decrease my potential to cultivating a more real “romance” in the traditional sense of the word?

Bex and I have spoken about how girlfriends sort of replace the need for a boyfriend (in all areas but one, obviously…). But really, where Wendy (of course) places her fiancé and soon-to-be-marriage first in her life, I totally place my friends first. It makes sense, given that clearly we are at two very different points in our lives. It’s fascinating to me, though, to read about how as she “romances” and cultivates her new, life-long relationship, I continue to “romance” and cultivate relationships with my girls.

When I read the article and began thinking through this all, I guess I gained a new understanding about general life phases. The initial irritability or whatever mild bitterness I felt at first disappeared. I want the other people commenting there (both single and coupled) to realize it, too. As cheesy as it might sound (I’m kicking myself for even considering to write this – but it’s true!), as long as there’s some kind of romance in your life – some relationship, someone you can rely on, something stable – then you’re pretty damn lucky.

Level 3 Guac and a Rogue Mariachi Band

I had to finish the HBG storyline before moving on to present-day, but Tuesday’s events make for a nice segue into what will be this coming weekend.

Tuesday was Cinco de Mayo. I should probably tell the story of Cinco de Mayo ’08 at some point (It involves five of my best friends, Myrtle Beach, lots of alcohol, a few one-night stands, and a suitor-turned-psycho-stalker.) but for now I’ll stick with this past Tuesday.

Originally, Twin and I had plans to go out with our co-workers for happy hour (which always turns into an entire night out). Unfortunately, the 90-degree April weather we enjoyed for about a week has disintegrated into rainy, mid-40’s clouds. (I really don’t think I should have to see my breath in May.) So Tuesday afternoon rolls around and everyone is basically tired and grumpy and coming down with the swine flu and the work outing gets rescheduled. I’m still all about celebrating, though, and apparently so is Twin and so is R1 (which is great news because she just got back from China after more than two weeks away!).

So the three of us make plans to meet at Caliente Cab in the West Village after work for some giant margaritas and guacamole. Apparently, arriving at Caliente Cab at 7pm on Cinco de Mayo isn’t the best time to go…the line was over an hour long. So I called R1, she did some quick research at her hell-hole of an office, and Twin and I set off to check out a cute little Mexican place with “margarita” in its name. It had good reviews! And 4 stars! And then…it didn’t exist! When we arrived to the correct address, this “restaurant” turned out to be an abandoned apartment building. Um, what?

Anyway, we ended up walking all the way back to Caliente Cab in the hopes that the line would either be shorter or moving faster. It was neither, but as it turns out – we didn’t care! We finally got seated outside (it was approximately 50 degrees at this point) and immediately ordered gigantic margaritas and what we named Level 3 Guac (it came in this giant vat and we devoured it all within minutes).

Level 3 Guac Devoured

Just as the Level 3 Guac arrived at our table, a large white party bus with tinted windows rolled up on the street. Our curiosity turned to pure delight as a Mariachi band disembarked – decked out in Mariachi Band Clothes!

A few select members of the Rogue Mariachi Band

They proceeded to yell “Ole!” and play their instruments and sing and dance around and at one point they were standing next to our table yelling at R1, “Happy! Happy! Happy!”

Then R2 appeared, we all had quesadillas, finished our margaritas, R1 left and the remaining three of us went inside (since it had dropped to maybe 40 degrees and was torrentially downpouring).

Inside, we ordered additional (smaller) margaritas and were immediately harassed by two drunk men with cameras. Some classic lines included:

“You would look good in my hat. I need a picture of you in my hat.”

and

“This is a real sombrero. I got it last month in Cancun. It probably has Swine Flu.”

Twin and I finally escaped and went to meet one of our coworkers at the ever-classy Off the Wagon, where we drank an entire pitcher of beer and peaced out so we could listen to country music out of shared headphones and prepare for Hickfest ’09 (which begins at 1pm tomorrow afternoon).

Baseball, Beer, and Bad Movies

Saturday started off with Mama Bird and I rolling around in her oh-so-comfy bed, possibly still drunk, eyes closed and cracking up about the previous night. Talk about a productive three hours…it’d be tough to beat, but we were definitely up for the challenge.

The day’s plans included the following: food, HBO, food, alcohol, horses, more alcohol, sports, beer, bars.

The food part went well: We walked across the bridge and visited Mama Bird’s office (because she has a real one with a door and a window!) and then picked up her car and drove back across the bridge to what I can only refer to as Hot Wing Heaven. This place has 1/3 of it’s entire menu devoted to wings and the various ways they will serve them. It was incredibly overwhelming, but eventually I chose some kind of blue-cheese-hot-sauce combination while Mama Bird went with a spicier version (I’m a wimp, I will admit it.) Then I ordered coffee. (Go ahead and judge. I have a caffeine addiction that apparently is so bad even the presence of buffalo wings cannot deter it. I will confirm, though, as if there was any doubt: Wings + Coffee = Bad Life Decision.)

After wings (and coffee) and gallons of Diet Coke, Mama Bird and I waddled into her apartment, collapsed on the couch, and watched 27 Dresses. At precisely 5pm, we began our preparations for the evening: strong drinks and a two-person fashion show. We watched the Kentucky Derby, didn’t win any money, made road sodas, and set off down the road for the Senators game (minor league baseball). At the game, Mama Bird and I sat in front row seats right next to first base and got to ogle the not-so-great ass of the probably 19-year-old first baseman. We also had the worst hotdogs ever made in the history of hotdogs (with no ketchup because the stadium ran out) and drank a giant cup of Bud Light with the best saying ever printed on it:

Best Cup Ever

Then we met up with our friend L, did car bombs, and went on our way to the same Irish bar as Friday night. The 2-block-long journey there, however, was interrupted by a quick stop at an outdoor bar, where we judged girls in slutty outfits and got hit on by some guy with that weird little patch of hair on his bottom lip. When we made it to the Irish bar, the following events occurred:

11:45 – Red Headed Slut shots are consumed

11:47 – Miller Lite bottles are in hand

11:48 – Dancing around like the hotties idiots we are in front of the live band

11:57 – Some other kind of shot is consumed

11:57:48 – Mama Bird blacks out

12:00 – L and I push Mama Bird into a hottie Meat Head

12:02 – Mama Bird gives her card to Meat Head

12:02:07 – Mama Bird declares it is time to leave

Then we went back home with a giant cheese pizza, ate the entire thing between the three of us, and immediately passed out.

The next morning Mama Bird and Meat Head actually exchanged a few texts, during which he asked her out on a date, requested her facebook, friended her, and immediately ceased all communication (he was probably ugly anyway). Then we had giant omelets and watched Lifetime and I miraculously made it back to NYC in one piece.

“If you’re going to talk about someone, you might want to try not looking at them.”

So I went to Harrisburg, PA this weekend to visit Mama Bird and it was an absolute blast. So much happened in the 48 hours I was down there that I am anticipating a minimum of two posts. Possibly even three, which I’m sure would just make Mama Bird beyond excited and giddy. Not to mention, she’ll have tons to read about in her office – which I got to see!

I’m going to start chronologically and try to work my way through the weekend that way, so to start off: Friday!

My train arrived in HBG at 10:00 sharp and Mama Bird was outside the station waiting. We sped back to her (awesome!) apartment where she immediately poured strong drinks and I immediately dumped the entire contents of my duffel bag in the middle of her bedroom floor. We both got ready and sucked down drinks in record time. Our friend M came over with cranberry juice and we made more drinks and danced around to music for approximately 12 minutes. Then we took shots, called a cab, and hit up downtown.

First we met up briefly with a friend from college who I cannot possibly begin to nickname. She has not exactly changed since graduation two years ago…I guess you could say certain traits have just blossomed. (Case in point: After buying us shots, she suggested we go to a club to dance on the bar. After suggesting this, she demonstrated how she would like to dance on the bar by nearly taking off her shirt.). I’m not saying I’m above dancing on bars (or even making out with bartenders while on said bars), but I like to limit such debaucherous behavior for, say, my birthday parties. Hell, we all know I cause enough debauchery on the floor of the bar on any other night.

Anyway, we left and headed to this great two-floor Irish pub-type place. Downstairs is the DJ, playing top 40 hits like Akon and Britney and facilitating a great dance party. Upstairs is the live band, playing classic hits like Journey and Bon Jovi and facilitating an equally great dance party … But I jumped ahead. On the way to this bar, Mama Bird spotted her friend TooFast (so named because of the time he drank too fast and tried to grope B). TooFast was out with his roommate (we’ll call him Glasses) and some friends. One guy – I’m naming him HBGS because he is currently in my phone as HBG S[rest-of-his-name] – zeroed in on me and said, “Are you trying to steal my boys here?” I just looked back, somewhat confused, mostly amused, and said, “Um…are you feeling a bit possessive?” He looked at me, looked at the ground, turned around, came back, and said, “Yeah, sorry. That was probably the gayest thing I could have said.” Uh yeah. I really have nothing to say to you right now.

The entire group of us moved on to the Irish-pub-type place and HBGS proceeded to follow me around all night like a little puppy. He just couldn’t get enough of my witty-but-sometimes-bitchy retorts to literally everything he said to me. For example, I made some comment about this guy in mostly plaid trying to chat up Mama Bird. HBGS took this as a chance to ask me what I thought about other guys’ clothes in the bar, eventually leading to his. He was wearing a black t-shirt. So when he asked me what I thought of guys in black t-shirts, obviously the only thing to say was, “Well, it’s hot if you’re trying to look like a ninja.”

Um, first: that doesn’t even make sense. I could have done way better had I not already consumed countless shots and Miller Lites. Second: he loved it. Like, dude – I’m not being nice to you and I’m also making no sense. This is not attractive. But it was! He was hooked, which Mama Bird and I both found to be hilarious, leading us to lean in and talk about him while he was sitting next to me. At one point (or maybe all of the points), he became aware of the fact that he was the topic of our conversation and informed Mama Bird that, perhaps, if she was “going to talk about someone, maybe you shouldn’t look at them.” Oops.

HBGS and I continued our bantering flirtation while Glasses continued his pursuit of Mama Bird. Talk about hooked – this kid was enamoredwith her. And she was so not feeling it. And HBGS even picked up on it and announced to me that it would never happen with them. I pushed him for a reason, which he gave simply as “Guys like him don’t get girls who look like her.” HBGS, I couldn’t have said it better myself.

(HBGS was so full of great quotes that night I almost made an entire post about them. But I think you’ve gotten the point.)

Since bars everywhere but NYC close at 2am, the night came to an end at about 1:45 or so. Mama Bird avoided Glasses by instructing HBGS to take my phone number if he ever wanted to see me again. He obeyed (because who doesn’t want to see me again?) and I told him if he texted me Saturday night, he might be lucky enough to meet up with me (read: make out with me). He replied that he would started texting me right then.

The rest of the night is a blur, mostly because Mama Bird and I went back and made ourselves more drinks(why?) and had a two-person dance party and sing-along (to such classics as Carrie Underwood and old school Britney Spears). I mean we’re talking ballads and serenading here, people. The period of 2am to 4am also included a photoshoot of me on Mama Bird’s stairwell (in which I am sopping wet, which suggests it was pouring rain when we got home, although neither of us remember that being the case), the discovery of my incredibly long torso and short legs (demonstrated when I attempted to wear Mama Bird’s pajamas and discovered the top left the majority of my stomach exposed), many, many drunk texts between HBGS and me – including these winners:

[HBGS Question: What are you doing?]

Sara’s Text: Drinking and a dance party. It is unclear why you are not here.

[HBGS Question:Hopefully I'll be around tmw night. If not I'd liked to take you out next week.]

Sara’s Text:Nope. Tmw night. Come meet me. :) Otherwise, I live in nyc.

With that, Friday night ends. But Saturday night comes with visuals.