Best. Weekend. Ever.

I should get fired more often.

I cannot even remember when I have had such a good time. While Friday was a bit tumultuous, it all melted away once I got to Abby's house. It was really good to be in the 'safe place'; my home away from home. Abby and I have been friends since we were 5 years old. Now, here we are, two 40 year old women, about to celebrate her birthday. Our husbands are there and they get along so well. We love that. She has got people coming in from New York who I haven't seen in 20 years or more. It truly was like going home.

Nothing more beautiful than seeing Abby's mom, Gin. The last time I saw her, I was a 14 year old girl, sobbing in her arms, begging her not to make me leave with my parents. I had ran away from our new home in Long Island, directly back to Queens. I couldn't bear to leave Queens...or Abby. I cried and cried. Of course, Gin eventually had to call Esther and tell her where I was. I stayed the weekend with Gin, Abby and her sister, Marci. Then, Esther showed up on Sunday and stole me back from the only family I really ever loved.

I never saw Abby again.

20 years later, she finds me on Classmates.com and we are reunited back in the year 2001. We haven't spent too much time apart since then. We spend every New Years Eve together with our husbands and children. But, I had never seen Mama Gin before this time. I hugged her so tightly and cried, again. She was absolutely as beautiful as I remembered her to be. It was home. I was safe here.

Until Friday night.

Fast forward to Pleasure Island. We all met at an Irish Pub. We drank. And drank. And drank. And drank. It was an open bar...and um, I was going to drink like a Survivor contestant. Blitzed. It was great fun, especially since I rarely, if ever, get drunk. We went to a comedy club. Some punk assed little fucker came up to me and told me I would have to be quiet, because...and I quote:

THIS IS NOT A DANCE CLUB!!!!

Um, okay. I am quite aware that this is not a dance club, as there is no music playing, thank you very much. Why would you be telling me this, I ask.

"You are a very loud group. You cannot be this noisy!"

"Sir, with all due respect," I giggle, completely drunk, "this is a comedy club. Aren't we supposed to be laughing? The show hasn't even started yet!"

"All I am saying, Miss, is one more outburst and I will have to escort you out of here."

"Son," I say, my words slurring, "do you SEE the size of me? I don't think you will be escorting me anywhere. I can eat you."

I was in hysterics. So was everyone else.

The boy/man/jackass reminded the group, once again, that this was not a dance club.

"Oh yeah," I said, "this is a library."

I snort with laughter. I think I am the funniest bitch alive. I might be mistaken.

We watch the comedy. It is sooooooo not funny. Everyone is in agreement that I am far funnier. We decide to ignore the show and listen to me instead. I love this. I am a total attention whore.

We go to a club called "8-TRAX". All 80's music. We were in our glory.

We are dancing to Wham, Rick James, Michael Jackson, Prince and Madonna, before she got all English and shit.

Best.
Time.
Ever.

We head over to another club called "Mannequins" for the techno music. We don't like it nearly as much, but we do like the revolving dancefloor and watching the hotband walk backwards on it, pretending to Moon Walk. It was so fucking funny. Our friend Lynn got cut off from drinking by the bartender. She claims it was because her hair was too frizzy from the humidity. She is delusional. She is also loud and obnoxious. I like that about her. Abby decides to tell the bartender that she is moving her entire party of 20 people OUT of their establishment. Of course, she didn't say it coherently, so it sound more like:

"Slats sit. Wurr oudda herr. En I em tlaking muh parddy wif me."

We go eat some personal pan pizzas. I find myself sitting on a bench, next to a statue of an old man. I am sitting on his lap, calling him the "strong silent type" and caressing his cheek. People are watching me and taking pictures. Some people are even posing NEXT to me and taking pictures. I am positive these will eventually show up on the internet somewhere under "Psycho Crazy Bitch With Rose Talking to Statue". We get on the party bus to leave the park. (Never drink and drive, children. Always hire a party bus.) Someone gets the wonderful idea to stop for food, despite the fact that we all just ate personal pan pizzas. The bus driver, in his infinite wisdom, rides us up to McDonalds. The huge party bus cannot fit into the drive thru, so my husband and Abby's husband, Andrew, get the charming idea to WALK through the drive thru, along with Lynn's husband, Greg. The three of them are trying to persuade the manager of McDonalds to make us 50 Big Macs to go. The manager wasn't having it. Greg busts out some spanish and asks the same thing in another language. Now rejected in two languages, Andrew assures the manager he won't reach into the window and beat his ass. The manager thanks him for that courtesy and still denies their request. Shot down, my husband decides to leave Greg and Andrew and walk over to Taco Bell. He finds himself defeated once more, but not before standing in line between two cars for nearly 15 minutes, like he had an invisible car.

He's a moron, but he's MY moron. He didn't get to cross the border.

Back to the hotel, we order some Dominos pizza, drink more and then fall into various stages of sleep, stupor and vomitus.

My hotband and I go back to our room. I start stroking the ol' Israeli Uzi, hoping to get some punch drunk lovin' going on.

Hotband snores. I yank. He turns over.

I give up. I go vomit. I feel better.

We wake up and don't budge til late checkout at 2pm. The hotband is up, complaining of a headache and feeling hungover. I don't care. I'm in a hotel room and I'll be damned if I don't get some sex. I grab the Uzi, full force, and make it shoot me. Now I am happy, thank you very much. Then, back to Abby's house for yet another round of all night binge drinking. This is more fun than I can handle, and not entirely smart considering I just started my new medication last Monday. Yet, I am feeling like I am in need of some fun...and um, I was getting it, regardless.

We party til 4am. I don't recall a lot of what was said, but I assure you, all of it was fucking hysterical. Trust.

We came home, back to our beautiful new house.

I have this weekend completely in perspective. It was so therapeutic, fun and much needed. Tomorrow, I have to go back to being a responsible parent. What I don't have to do is go to work in the morning and for some reason, I feel happy about that. NO dread in my life right now.

I did have a psychic reading over the weekend. It was AMAZING...and I have to write a very detailed post about it cause it will freak you all out.

Hope you all had a great weekend. Life starts again tomorrow, so be there!