So the weekend winds down and we prepare to face another week. What did I do this weekend? Well it started off atypically. Is that even a proper sentence?
Friday night I was looking forward to hanging out with two important friends: close ones from my UMASS days. One is really good about keeping in touch. And it doesn’t matter the place or how long it’s been since we’ve last hung out, we always seem to pick up where things left off. And I hate saying that b/c it’s so unoriginal, but it’s exactly how I feel. I noticed a ring on a necklace around her neck as we spoke at the bar before most people arrived, including my other friend. But I didn’t ask any questions because with this particular friend, there is always a story–and most likely it’s a sentimental one–and most likely it’s a sad one. Aside from our mutual friend (her best friend) getting struck and killed by a car my freshman year at UMASS and having that memory follow us around to this day, her father died of cancer several years ago. Three to be exact. I know it’s three because she blurted out, while we sat drinking Corona’s out of paper bags (the bar’s name is The Liquor Store and I found this quite amusing!), that the anniversary of her father’s death was that very day.
I have a solid fear of death and while inebriated one time, I told this friend she was so strong because although she mourned him, she and her mom are closer than ever, and she can open up and discuss his death like that–just as she shared it with me that night. She even told her roommate she was there for her as her father had the exact same type of cancer. I admire my friend that she can be so open and honest and just so experienced–if that’s even the right word–at death. I have had people who I was very close to die, but when a parent does, to me I feel the devastation will be all the more unbearable.
This entire sad story aside, my evening was atypical because the bar we went to turns into ho-bag night. All of the 19-year olds with fake IDs wear tube tops and straighten their hair, layer on the greasy fake tan makeup, and think that they’re now ready for the action. And you can’t forget the mechanical bull. If I wasn’t driving that night, I would have downed a couple shots and tried it out myself. The best part are the macho-looking guys who jump on the thing (which mind you is surrounded by a Playskool-colored-rubber-pool-looking-thingy) and then fall off seconds later–either because they’re drunk or because they truly didn’t hold on. That thing goes pretty fast!
So I was out really late which is also not one of my fortes. That and the fact that I always wear incredibly uncomfortable shoes when I go out on weekend-nights since they would be the ones that look best with the pair of jeans I select.
And no, I wasn’t wearing a tube top. So what’s the conclusion of my story here?