It's Valentine's Day and I am sad. Not because I don't have a Valentine, after all, I would assume Rich is a de facto Valentine being the Official Man Unit and all. And I'm not sad because we agreed on No Gifts this year (my idea, and if he shows up with a gift and a card I will be uber pissed). I am sad because back in the day my Valentine's Days were spent getting rowdy with a bunch of gals in a bar, drinking, smoking, and listening to Patsy Cline on the juke box. This tradition began in 1992, when I was 21 and legal, and ended in 1995 when I moved down here to NC.
This started of course when none of us had boyfriends, and it continued even with boyfriends. They were not invited of course. It was wonderful to sit in a smoky bar with pitchers of draft beer and hot wings or pizza, pumping dollar bills into the box to hear "Crazy" or "Walking after Midnight," which of course guaranteed that no man would approach us. Sometimes we threw k.d. Lang into the mix, which was a SUREFIRE way to avoid the male animal. We drank and laughed and had such fun that we needed to walk home. Luckily the bar (The Manor Bar, to be exact) didn't seem to mind cars being left in the parking lot overnight. And it was absolutely lovely to have a bar within walking distance of home.
I'm not reminiscing because I'm married and have a kid. I have missed these days since Valentine's Day of 1996 when I was down here with the Ex and he bought me a garlic press as a gift. Granted, I had mentioned I wanted one, and it WAS red, but something lacked that year. Is it called Sisterhood these days?
I miss girlfriends. I have one in my area these days, but our lives are utterly different now and she is busy and of course so am I. There's something about a pack of women descending upon a pile of fun that just can't be substituted by any Instant messaging, any chat room, and any message board. I know many women these days that I would give ANYTHING to get rowdy with, but they're many miles away. If I won the lottery I'd fly each and every one of them to Oaklyn, NJ, and we'd hit The Manor Bar for lousy pizza and good beer. We'd take up the entire booth in front of the projection TV, and we'd have a stack of dollar bills to shove into that juke box. We'd leer at men and then snub them if they even attempted to make contact. And we'd have a ball.
Maybe my mom could even drive us home. Or maybe we could talk her into joining the pack.
Happy Valentine's Day everyone.