Holy crap, it’s Thursday already?!
It feels like it’s been three weeks, rolled into one. Yesterday alone, I worked twelve hours. Running stairs. ON MY FEET. Needless to say, by the time I left work, I was not in a great mood.
So I ate at PoBoy with my parents. That helped a bunch. (Hot Damn sauce usually does.)
And then I drove home. I debated going to Book Club, since I was exhausted and it was obvious that I was going to have a fitful night of cramp-induced sleep. But then I thought, “I have no one to bitch to here.” So I tromped off to Caroline’s.
I am SOOOO glad I went.
First of all, I’m never short of amazed at Book Club. It’s a room of highly-intelligent, gorgeous and funny women who all have walked different roads in life. We all have different view points, we all are loud about expressing them, and it’s all done through conversation and laughter. (And wine. No, I did not partake. But I also knew that this was one place where I could have a glass and not be judged.)
I laughed SO hard last night, so many times. I mean, how often do you walk in and say, “I’m sorry I’m late, and I didn’t read the book” only to be told, “That’s okay.. would you rather give a blow job or do a load of laundry?”
These are BURNING questions, people. Deep questions. Questions that make you examine your moral fiber. (Answer: I HATE laundry.)
Part of it is hormonal, I know.. but even that is rooted in logic. I want my child to grow up around happiness and community. That’s why I’m involved with theatre, and that’s why I surround myself with women like Book Club. I want my child to know that women are NOT out to get you. They are wonderfully complex creatures who all suffer the same tortures and have so amazingly hysterical views of them.Â
How many times in life do you get to hear the phrase, “Excuse me, ma’am, could you get your cunt off of my shoulder?”
We missed some of our regulars last night (Kari, Steph, and Jessica were all off having a life), but it was a fabulous time.
Lil Celeste-Mexican Pete-Peener-Brown-Comer will be loved.
