Yet again I am so behind. Behind. That reminds me. A few weeks ago the DB’s reunited once again. We chose Atlanta this time for convenience purposes which ultimately ended up not really being convenient at all. Schell (the adventurous DB) has recently moved back to fabulous Atlanta and we all agreed that 1. Atlanta is a kick-ass city to visit and 2. Now we have free board. What we did not count on was Schell actually moving apartments four days before our visit and subsequently not having gas. Gas is no big deal as it was warm enough but four women without access to hot showers is another deal altogether. So that led to our staying at the fabulous Westin on the Perimeter. Well, I say it was fabulous but there were jizz* stains on the throw pillows in the lounge and we had a wonky shower that required a very old repairman to visit our suite at a very early** morning hour.
Now they did have a helluva a good breakfast, I’ll say that. Also, one of the highlights of the trip was Jane getting a verbal smackdown from a lippy waitress. Jane and I were at the table the final morning helping ourselves to the wonderful breakfast buffet and when our server came over to get our drink order I suggested to Jane that she went ahead and ordered hot chocolate for Stacy, as that’s what she always gets and we were in a hurry to make our flights. (run on sentence warning!) I overheard Jane ask the waitress if they indeed had hot chocolate and therefore I thought it was a done deal. Notsomuch. The waitress came over with our coffees and juices on a lovely silver tray.
Waitress: Here are your drinks, ladies.
Me: Thank you!
Waitress: You’re very welcome.
Me: *noticing that Stacy’s hot chocolate is missing* Jane, I thought you ordered hot chocolate?
Jane: I DID.
Waitress: No ma’am, you did NOT. You asked me if we HAVE it. You did not, in fact, order it.
And with that, she spun on her skid-resistant shoe and left the table.
Me: Wow. That waitress totally made you her bitch.
Jane: Well, I obviously didn’t know I had to be so goddamn specific.
Me: *collapsing under table in gales of early morning uncontrollable laughter*
Delightful! We had an awesome trip and more than three times a day we laughed
until 1. we cried, 2. snot came out of our nose and 3. we pooped a little in our pants.***
The beauty of our friendship is that even though we are technically grown adult women, we tend to regress into 14 year old giggly pre-pubescent teenagers within minutes of seeing each other. Seriously, between the “that’s what she saids” and the double entendres and my showing my butt, it seemingly never ends.
Now we start out with the best intentions, truly, but often the conversation veers off course.
A classic example.
Schell: So, what do you guys think about these “Occupy Wall Street” demonstrations?
Jane:I think it’s a good thing. They’re bringing together people of all sorts of political position.
Stacy: I think all positions in politics are occupied with assholes.
Me: You know what’s new in assholes? Anal bleaching!****
And so it went.
Over the last twenty (!) years I have infamously bent over with my pants pulled to just below my butt and then pretended to “look” for something while simultaneously asking the girls if they’ve seen said item, with of course my back and bare butt turned towards them.
For instance, I’ll be in the hotel room with all three of them and pretend to bend over and look in my purse for my lipstick. I’ll keep muttering to myself about where could it be, what did I do with it, etc until one of them looks over and WHAM! bare ass! It gets them EVERY TIME. You’d think they’d be onto me by now but it’s hilarious each and every time. Then I get a barage of “OH JEN” or “GROW UP!” “GROSS!” or whatever. It doesn’t stop me.
Anyway, I was bent over the tv “looking” for the remote last weekend when Jane finally piped up (after the initial bare ass assault) and said, “Damn Jen…you have the longest crack”. I told her that I respectfully disagree, that when bent over your crack naturally elongates. This led to two GROWN ASS WOMEN (with a bottle of Chardonnay in their bellies) racing into the hotel bathroom and backing up to the mirror (over the sink) on their tippy toes in order to have other two (somewhat mortified) friends indeed measure their respective cracks.
Sadly, this is a typical scene from one of our vacations. I may grow old folks, but I totally refuse to grow up. Luckily, I’m in very good company.
* okay, they probably weren’t jizz stains but still I like saying “jizz”. But really? Cloudy white stains on a bar pillow? Ew. I don’t care if it’s creme de Menthe, it might as well be the cream of some young guy.
** it wasn’t that early really but with four women one has to start showering at 6:00am and then in alternative half hour increments with thoughts and planning into hair drying, make-up applying and shit-taking.
*** It was totally me that *may* have pooped a little in my pants. You’re not surprised.
**** I was duly informed (by Jane) that anal bleaching is not only NOT new it’s quite old hat in the porn star world. How embarrassed am I?