Girl's night out.....

Some of my girlfriends organized a pub crawl this past Saturday in Chelsea and I joined in the fun. Hell, I love to party and the girl talk is usually amusing, so I figured what the hey. Now, you can probably guess that I have put in plenty of time in this arena--and was outstanding at it back in the day. The glory days of disco found us chickies dressed to the nines, drinkin' and dancin' our butts off. Seein' and being seen. Not to mention flirtin' and hookin' up--it seemed so easy and natural back then. The music was invigorating and the dudes were mostly polite partners that were not afraid to spring for a few cocktails in exchange for convo and dances. In a small town, as known party girls, we were minor celebs. (I told you it was a small town!) Preparations for Saturday night would begin on Monday after the fog from the previous weekend lifted. Matters of dress were of paramount importance. We would shop the sale racks at the very limited shopping venues and cull out treasures that could work for our next appearance. Swapping clothes with each other was necessary and we would never be seen in the same thing twice. Starting on Thursday you would start whatever "diet" was goin' on at the time. Usually just jello, or maybe hard boiled eggs. This would let you drop five pounds or so, so that the old bod would be optimum by Saturday at 10:00 p.m. Highlights and perms were carefully timed to be just right. Upon entrance to the bar (there was only one disco) we parted the crowd much like old Moses and the Red Sea. Our regular table was ready and waiting. The disco dudes circled the table like sharks jockeying for posititon. We again had to remind them that we just got there and many bevies would be required to loosen up up. Sloe gin fizzes and lime vodka collins rounds would mysteriously show up and we didn't ever have to get out our wallets. Ah, yes. Soon the "good" tunes would have us all out on the lighted floor under the big ball. There we would pretty much stay until the end of the night stopping only to get another drink and change partners. At cockroach light time, invariably we would be invited to a house party. It was more prudent of us to hold out for the guys who would spring for breakfast. All that starvation followed by drinking strong cocktails and dancin' had left us quite weak. So after breakfast decisions, (usually cottage cheese) we would head home to bed. It was usually noted that although we found top shelf in the bar, we were actually cheap dates in the restaurant. Hey, we do what we can. Promises were made to "see ya next weekend!", where we would do it all over again. Definitely, those we the good times... Fast forward to last Saturday. Pubs were crowded and everyone looked about 12 years old. No one cared about 15 girls out and about and ready to rip it up. We pushed together our own tables. No one send over a round. The karaoke sounded miserable. No one made a move on us. Just ogling and a few winks. Comments about MILF's and cougars were whispered. Not one offer for breakfast--thank heavens, it was 2:30 a.m.! We drove our old asses home and ate snacks without a care of fat, carbs and bloating. Next weekend? Maybe some fall closet organizing, reading, a good movie, or possibly making chili. The crawl is set to be an annual thing, so I have a whole year to get ready for it. Thank God and Mary. Hope its doesn't fall on the night I have to make chili. xoxoxo