My plans for this past weekend were supposed to be something like this: Friday – spend time with Porter doing wedding stuff, making good food, and crocheting while watching the first season of Arrested Development. On Saturday, I was supposed to drive out to see Winemonkey and spend the rest of the weekend with him, returning on Monday to go wedding dress shopping. Instead, Winemonkey asked if he could go on a road trip with his brother to Reno. How could I refuse? So Porter, my sister and I had an inpromptu girl’s night out. My sister, who is recently single, was our main focus. We planned on flirting until we fell over – or got some numbers for her. Turns out, when I am on, I am an excellent flirt (Sorry winemonkey…. but I wouldn’t even dream of getting phone numbers these days).
First we went to this place that serves a damn fine martini (Pearl Vodka with some Parfait Amore….) but there were no places to sit and Porter and I were both wearing the most uncomfortable shoes in our closets. There were a few attractive men, but no circulation of people in the room so after one drink a piece and a half dozen raw oysters, we moved on to the next bar. Now, I hate to say it, but I would estimate that approximately 20 minutes after we arrived, I started not remembering everything that was going on. Bombay and tonics were on special for $5.00 each – Gin…. my weakness. Porter was enjoying Washington Apples (yummy martini that tastes just like the name) and Lisa was throwing back the Cream Sodas (which isn’t anything like a cream soda, but more like a drink that potentially will knock you on your butt). I called the big A because we wanted to know where his favorite bar was, but I got his voice mail. This is the one and ONLY phone call I remember making that night. Some girl eavesdropped, knew where the bar was, and gave me directions to get there. When I came out, the two girls were wrapped in conversation with three brothers. So we invited them to come along to the next bar… or we at least gave them directions.
We started walking. It was only 4 blocks from the last bar. In between the bars I took my shoes off approximately three times, Porter peed in a planter (I was reminded of this at a later date), and I think that we made some phone calls. I don’t remember my sister doing anything silly, disorderly, or otherwise unsavory, but you can never be too sure with her.
At the last bar of the night, the three of us didn’t talk to each other very much because we were all very busy talking to other people. Porter gave her telephone number to this old guy (who really was probably in his 40’s… maybe 50’s… which isn’t old if you aren’t lecherous)… who has called her twice since he left the bar. I think that he kissed all three of us on the cheek goodbye. He kept offering Porter and me jobs as book keepers. My sister gave her number to some random guy that none of us (including her) really remembers talking to. We called the big A about 8 times from his favorite bar. Or at least this is what I was told in hind sight. (Apologetic phone calls were made the next day after brunch with Porter – the comment, “This is how your 20′s are supposed to be” was repeated a few times during our meal.)
The ride home was a complete trip. Porter’s fiancé picked us up. I think I was the one that called him to tell him that we were ready to go. I don’t remember getting from the bar to the car, I don’t remember taking my pants off and changing into my pj’s at their house. I don’t remember why my sister drove her and I back to her house and I think that I slept on her couch, but even now the whole thing is a little hazy.
The memories of the night are still coming back to me in waves, like nausea. God love an impromptu girl’s night out!
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