and other things I wasn’t expecting over the girls weekend in Black Butte Ranch.
I took Friday off work to prep and pack and then drive the almost three hours with Calamity Jane (CJ) and Slim Whiskey and Jane’s dog Bailey.
Aside: we took aliases to protect us from…from really nothing, it’s just fun to pick aliases. Bailey is actually the dog’s name, she couldn’t decide what she wanted for an alias and we eventually got tired of quibbling about it with her.
I picked CJ up at her house and then we went downtown to pick up Slim. CJ informed me that Slim worked in the building “across from the food carts.” Sweet feathery Jesus! We’re in Portland, please see map below and pick out that one building across from the food carts.
So CJ texted Slim, “Cross street?” We received the reply, “sure”. It’s no small miracle we ever left the city limits. Eventually, we had a great drive full of fun conversation about our past selves in high school and college; our parents; jobs….nothing heavy just good conversation.
CJ and I have only known each other since 2005 but have become very close friends in that time. Seeing as how we are in our late-ish 40s and we both are big talkers, sharers, story-tellers; I wasn’t expecting to be surprised by anything she said but that’s what surprises are, the unexpected. During the drive, I didn’t expect CJ to tell us that a couple of weeks ago while standing in the kitchen, watching her coffee go round and round in the microwave, counting down the seconds to hot coffee “25, 24, 23…. ” nodding hello to the dog, just about out the door for an appointment…Calamity Jane without warning of any sort, shit her pants.
Typing that made me laugh out loud and every time she told the story this weekend. I laughed till I cried.
Welcome to the 40 Something Edition of Girls’ Weekend. Topics may include:
- Hysterectomy, if so Do You Still Have Your Ovaries?
- Waxing…yes? no? where? did you let it grow back once you had kids?
- Colonoscopies… Yes but noooo!
- If you could, would you have sex with the pan of salted caramel butter bars?
- Would you harvest your eggs to pay for college?
- Are we too old to harvest our eggs now?
- What do you mean Ryan Gosling doesn’t do anything for you? are you dead? (this conversation was had Saturday night while the six of us sat in our jammies and fleeces eating burritos and watching “Crazy Stupid Love”. I win Ryan because I have had Ryan love since “Remember the Titans”.)
Smitty or Shorty, depending on the mood of our elfin hostess, opened her house and her hot tub to us ladies. Smitty is a wonderfully generous and crazy funny woman, who does a great Hop Sing from Ponderosa imitation. Sure, it’s offensive but it’s also funny as all hell and it’s our weekend, we can offend if we want to.
There were two teams for the hot tub: the Free Team and the Never Nude team. The Never Nudes were comprised of the three women who were raised as Catholics (me, Smitty and Cracklin’ Rosie); the Free Team included CJ (once again was never expecting to see Calamity Jane in the hot tub buck ass naked), Slim and Auntie Mame. Auntie Mame is mother of Lydia. Lydia got her ass dumped at day-care first thing Friday morning because her mother, had “a bag of booze and a bag of food” and wanted to get the party started. We were lucky to have Slim with us because she provided the only level of serenity present for the weekend. Slim’s laugh is sparkling, she is smart and witty but not quite as explosive as the rest of us. I don’t know if she farted all weekend.
We had such a wonderful time because for those three days, six women were content in our lives.
Work is fine, no one is in the throes of a painful relationship, children and step-children seem to be doing okay, no parents are dying. While all of us have waded through the walk of fire that can be life; for three days we were plain old happy. No one talked about how the world is going to hell in a hand basket, no arguments, tears were reserved for hysterical laughter. For three days the sun shone; the house was filled with laughter, good drinks and even better food, and a giant bowl of jelly bellys; we were not moms or wives or bosses; we were sleepy but not tired; our little copper sombreros runneth over.
Cracklin’ Rosie is a media maven, well-versed in US Weekly and a PR star; she will help the six of us forge ahead with our screenplay, the story must be told.
*No garments were soiled in the writing of this blog.