This Saturday the Fokker left all three Fokkerlings in the tender care of Sweet Babou and went to have a night out with some friends from high school. We’ve been friends for 25 years, and we all keep in contact as much as crazy/busy lives will let us, but every few years we try to get together in person so we can get plastered and gossip about the punishment karma delivered to people/ex-lovers who were mean to us back in the day. Well, they get plastered – I am the designated driver because everyone agrees that drinking results in a temporary Fokker-like mentality and thus there is no need for me to hammered so my sober ass can haul them around.
One of friends, let’s call her Matilda, opened her home to our invasion. Her husband and toddler son fled the oncoming goofy-storm by evacuating to a relative’s house, leaving the herd of middle aged people to suck down chocolates and fall into hysterical laughter over our hairstyles in our high school yearbook pictures. Dear God, why did I have a Camaro Mullet in 1986?? WHY?? Why didn’t my so called friends stop this atrocity? The photo below isn’t me … but it could have been:
None of us regret our “Hammer pants”, however. Those sumbitches was comfortable.
After dinner the seven of us (six middle aged married women and one middle aged married gay guy) went to the Below 0 Lounge in Cincinnati to partake of a drag show. Now, I love drag shows with a great strong love. I even watch RuPaul’s Drag Race because I am all up into that. I follow drag queens on twitter. I say “brava diva” and stuff dollar bills into heavily perfumed padded cleavage with the best of them. I was already happy, but became deeply happy when I found out Penny Tration was the emcee. She is going to be on season five of RuPaul’s Drag Race and I have squee. I also got to meet a queen I was rooting for in Season two, Mystique Summers.
Sadly, something in my ear went “pop” because of the Ur-Music blasting during the show and we had to leave right before the last set. One of the friends is a doctor, and I was pronounced fine at the scene, but it was agreed we should head back to Matilda’s house for some dessert and further gossip since I had a headache.
The only bad part of the evening is when we found out our gay friend, Sugar-pie, had been forced to go to a special “place” by his parents where he was trapped and they gave him electroshock therapy to “cure” his “perversion”. We had never heard about this. We told him that if he had just let us KNOW at the time we would have gone all “Ya-Ya Sisterhood” and busted him out of that hellhole. I had always liked his mom, who always seemed like a sweetie, but I could have throttled her when he informed us of her perfidy.
I dragged back home around noon on Sunday, where Sweet Babou let me nap on the couch and cuddle the girls. He is indeed some kind of wonderful. I am so lucky. I have a wonderful husband, wonderful children, and wonderful friends. I am unrelentingly grateful every single day for my good fortune.
I never, ever take the blessings in my life for granted — and that includes the Fokkerites reading this blog.