Okay, so call me Scrooge. I was going to write a blog on the premise and promise that I would not write about Christmas, but then, as I got it underway, I realized it kind of defeated the purpose. What to do?
I want to have a girls night, probably start at my house and then subject all of my non sports loving girlfriends to a hockey game. At least they can take in some of the man candy that is hockey players:
I could go on and on, but I don't want to come off as some kind of sexual deviant.
I really do love hockey, though I must say that living in the Tampa Bay area, I haven't been witness to some really good hockey in years...years, I tell you. It's been painful.
But to get back to my girls night...They never go as planned. The last one almost ended up in a cat fight. Honestly.
I know this may come as a big surprise, but girls can be mean. Mean, I tell you. And they hold grudges. FOREVER. If you screw up with one of your friends, they don't forget about it. It doesn't fade with time, something to laugh over later. Hell no. And if you tell one of your girlfriends you're going to be somewhere, you damn sure better be there and stay a proper length of time. Leave too early, and you're the crappy friend that gets talked about as soon as the door closes behind you. I'm not making this stuff up.
And I will pat myself on the back, here, as I never get my feelings hurt. Ever. I don't care if you hate my hair, my outfit, my make up, shoes, purse, choice of drink, or the way I dance. Yes, I've heard it all. Not aimed at me (that's always behind my back) but about everyone else.
I find it amazing the way a girl can turn the exact same argument around and make both parties right, depending on whose telling, gossiping, rehashing, emailing, facebooking, texting about it.
Last girls night, I had six of my friends over, seven counting me. And I'll be the first to admit that I was pretty well on my way to hugging the toilet when all hell broke loose. We had blenders going, wine bottles being uncorked, and shots getting thrown back, it was fun. Anyway, it moves to the back patio, where the radio was playing and we're all having a good time, when all of a sudden, the conversation to my right begins to get just a little higher in volume than what is normal (they were screaming until the veins popped out of their foreheads) and sliding glass doors are being slammed open and girls are storming into the kitchen for their super light-ultra light beer (she wasn't about to leave it - thank God, I woulda never been able to drink it anyway) and storming out through the garage. I tried to get them to calm down but was afraid I was going to get a fist in my face for my troubles. Besides, I was so tipsy I probably would've pulled a twenty out and started betting on who was going to win if it came to blows. All I know is we were quickly down to six girls, because only one actually left.
My point here, girls are freaking crazy. Is it just my friends? I don't expect my friends to get along with everyone that I do, but jeez...I thought that maybe we could have a night in, drinking, talking, maybe even doing a little bit of kareoke without it coming to blows. And let me just throw this out there. Most of us are professional women. We have good jobs, make a decent salary and seem to know how to conduct ourselves in a responsible fashion (excluding a Mercedes tearing up my lawn as she beat a trail down my driveway). Hell, maybe we're on the same menstruation cycle and a few of them were doing some serious p.m.s.ing and I'd just killed my violent urges with tequila......(Is that an oxy-moron?)
Anyway, we'll see how the next one plays out and who will actually show up. It might make for better attendance. The prospect for girl fighting might make up for the fact that a sporting event is going to be involved. Maybe they can get their aggression out vicariously as there could be some good fights on the ice (even though year after year it seems that fighting is becoming obsolete - the Hanson brothers would be so ashamed - and hockey is being ruined, but don't get me started).
Until next time, try to stay out of the way of manic soccer moms in the mall and avoid all those people in the Santa suits. You never know who is lurking under the beard. Creepy.