Portrait of a Hangover.
I'm feeling a little pressure for this blog post to be spectacularly witty, as much mention was made about THE BLOG over Girls Weekend.
Examples: "Will that go on the blog?" "Don't put THAT on the blog!" "That should SO go on the blog!" and so on...
Gulp. Nothing I write will do justice to the comraderie, hilariousness, seriousness, drunkenness and friendship that ensued in Newport this weekend, as only the 5 of us can attest.
But, I'll try.
We bitched. About our kids, our husbands (ummm, but not you Hubby), our in-laws (uhhh, but not your parents Hubby)...
We had serious discussions about protecting our children from pedophiles. We talked about cancer. And the people we know who are battling cancer. And our fear of our children drowning.
We lounged--in the (free!) condo and on the beach (and some of us witnessed a very hairy man in a thong. Bending over.)
We drank. I got nicknamed "Sally" for being at least a beer behind at all times. Those
lushes thirsty girls!
We danced and (loudly) sang 80's music. For hours.
We shopped. Flying monkeys were purchased.
We surfed. 2 out of 5 of us rode the surfboard on our bellies. 1
crazy brave soul actually stood up and surfed. She was nicknamed "Surfergirl" for the remainder of the weekend.
We discussed tattoos. If we were to get one, where we would get it (none of the 5 of us have one!) What it would be. We talked about the lower back tattoo being called a "tramp stamp." My friend, whose husband gave her the hotdog quote I love, said that he calls back tattoos "reading material." I may have peed a little when I heard that one.
I'm still not able to put into words the feeling of relaxation and utter ease I feel with these women. I'm thankful for them. And oh so lucky. Lucky to have them.
And lucky to have a Hubby who (albeit grudgingly) knows that this annual getaway weekend is what I need.
Today (and even yesterday night) was hard. Getting back into the rhythm of the Trenches. Switching back to Mommy Mode.
And drinking the Red Bull without the vodka.