To preface this story there’s something you need to know. I drink alcohol.
Bwaahahahhahahahaha! Yeah (hiccup) I know you knew that. No, actually there’s something you need to know, for real.
I drink lots of alcohol.
Stop it! I’m gonna pee!!!!
Ok, ok, so me and about 23 of my closest friends (half of whom are seven and younger) have this thing we do nearly every Friday night. We’ve been getting together for awhile now, like about 4 years or something. Only it used to be during the day. It was... um, ok well, it was playgroup actually. The kids (first six and gradually their numbers increased to 12) played during the day. Our playgroup was supposed to be a little 2 hour ditty during the day, drink coffee, chat... be all down with the stay-at-home mom thing and shit. But the length of playgroup kept expanding, until it lasted nearly all day and we did lunch. (By all day, I mean until naptime, the start of which is when a mommy’s day actually begins.)
Then, lo, the children grew, as children will. And they commenced with preschool and ballet lessons and tumbling and soccer and basketball and then (gulp) real school, and lo we were unable to find a time to meet during the day. So we became beholden to meet upon the eve, and it was Friday eve, and the eve was good. And the husbands came. And the husbands drank beer and the wives drank beer and the children played and all ate pizza and all was good.
And one Friday some wives didn’t want to meet, but the husbands whined and moaned, and so we met. And we still get together, at least two couples, likely more in the neighborhood of at least four couples, and so far no one’s been caught driving home drunk though Lord knows we do. But we all live within a ½ mile of each other, so it works.
Some excluded people are jealous, apparently. But we’re really just the losers who have nothing better to do (god knows if I did, I’d shake this crowd like a bad regift) so we get together and drink and have the same conversations over and over. We don’t generally invite anyone else because 8-12 kids are plenty and they get along so well that we don’t have to do much. The kids know that if they bug us, especially after about the fourth beer, somebody had better be bleeding. It’s not happened yet, but we joke about having to find the soberest adult and sending the injured kid to the emergency room with him, or more likely her. (Editor's note: the author neglected to include that she herself would never be included in the soberest adult, or-even-vaguely-able-to-hold-a-coherent-conversation, category.)
It’s been going on for about 2 years now and we still meet most Fridays. Because we’re all still losers with nothing else to do. Tomorrow night is our Christmas Party, no kids; and, when kidless, things tend to get really wild. We’re going out in Boulder in cabs. If we take cabs, that generally means that is the only wise decision we make all night. Should be a blast, but those kidless nights are another story entirely.
So that’s the background.
One time it was at my house and Fire Faerie came over. We hadn’t talked all week, which is pretty common, and I said, “Hey, how was your week?” And she said, “Pretty wild, actually. I had jury duty at a rape case.” She looked worn so I plied alcohol upon us and sat down to listen.
Well, the people involved were eerily like us, sans kids for them and drugs for us. A group, about our age, that gets together every weekend (I think it was Saturday for them, if I recall.) The case gets down to a wife, who got drunk and went to bed, her best friend, who got drunk and passed out on the bed next to her, (fairly regular occurrence, apparently) and the husband, who came in and proceeded to do the sloppy nasty to the best friend while laying on the same frickin' bed as the wife. I say “to” because he actually was convicted.
And FF couldn’t talk to anyone about it all week because there was a gag order. So she talked and talked and talked and everyone else came in and she told us all the gory details and we all decided that yeah, the jury was right in convicting and FF was glad we weren’t that wild, like “sleeping” together and shit. We did have a lot of fun with the whole drug and “stash” thing. Because much of the trial was caught up in where this guy stashed his “stash” and you of course recall the old SNL skit where the guy is trying to sell stuff in a shop, and some customer would be saying, “That is the most beautiful little inlaid box from India,” and John Belushi or whoever it was would go, “Yeah, and you can keep your stash in it.”
We all went through a round of self-congratulating for retaining at least a measure of morality (as if it isn’t the presence of children who keep us on the straight and narrow – reference above mention of going out without kids) when I said, “On that note, you all have got to come up to the bedroom and watch this Simpson’s episode that I recorded up there. It’s hilarious.”
My bedroom tv is quite another post entirely; I couldn’t begin to do justice to its vast glory here, but suffice it to say, it’s a 30 inch Sony LCD mounted on the wall and it’s better than sex or art and I’ve got Tivo on it so that’s where the “Shit” episode of the Simpsons was recorded.
Anyway, we all trooped upstairs, at least eight of us, and lay down on the bed together and watched the Simpsons. And we all tried to feel up FF, but she wasn’t having any of that and she keep one foot on the floor at all times. Poor thing. She probably doesn’t remember any of the episode, and so next time it comes on I’ll record it again and send her up there by herself - well, with a Cosmo and a giant two-headed dildo. After all, there is a bed and she never lets one of those go to waste. Fire Faerie plays all innocent and shit, but the chick is wild, let me tell you, and that is Truth.