Primping

The gloom of world-events has descended upon me. I will shake it off by telling the story of my Saturday night, with a slight digression into girlie-girl trivia.


Saturday night was the 40th birthday bash of one of my dearest and oldest friends, Brooke. I have known Brooke since I was 17 years old. We went to college together. Our friendship is long and deep. With many hilarious interludes. Despite our status as grown women, there are still occasions where she and I become like 16 year olds, bopping to the tunes we picked out at the jukebox, giggling about our friends, and gossiping like magpies.

The party was held at a huge warehouse-loft space in the meat-packing district. The cobblestoned meat-packing district on the far west side of lower Manhattan.

It felt like everyone that I have ever known was there.

The college crowd … so many of us living in New York City … still intricately involved in each other’s lives. It is such a blessing. And, I think, rather odd and rare.

My first boyfriend was there, to give you an indication of the level of weirdness.

The party spanned many hours. I drank martinis. I lolled about on random couches with old friends, talking the night away. Deep talk, talk of renewing old ties, uproarious laughter about our adventures of old.

I would look around and see people I have known since I was a teenager, clustered in different groups, laughing, interrupting each other, talking.

We have all known one another for 20 years. The amazing thing is that this was not really a “reunion”, of any kind. We don’t need a reunion since we all still see each other with an almost every-day regularity. I am a person who nurtures my friendships, I never let people go if I love them once. I feel very lucky.

At one point, a couple of us talked about it: It has been 20 years. We are all still friends. I still talk to them on the phone, I have get-togethers with the college girlfriends once or twice a month, there is a continuity in our friendships … I made the comment that it is not just “luck”. It is a combination of luck and will. We willed this to occur.

Now, onto the girlie-girl part of things:

I primped for this party for 3 hours. This is not my style, but I succumbed to it whole-heartedly.

I went a little bit insane, with the primping. Let’s just say that once the primping began, it took on the character of a run-away train. But a very very specific run-away train.

–The outfit was carefully chosen. Long black billowing Lana Turner-esque pants, a little black sheath top, and then this deep-maroon lace shirt to go over the sheath … The lace thing clings to my form, so that when it’s on, my arms actually look like they are covered in Maori tattooes or something.

–I bought new shoes. The heels are teeteringly high, and the shoes themselves are the latest style. By that I mean: the toe of the shoe comes out to a point, so that you look like the Wicked Witch of the West. My shoes will be out of style next year, but I figured I would participate in the trend.

— I broke out the hot rollers. By the time I was done, my head was a cascade of boingy-bong curls.

— Here is the level of insanity: My lipstick matched my nail polish matched my earrings. That is a coup d’etat of fashion obsessive-compulsive-disorder rarely accomplished in the world of Sheila Low-Maintenance O’Malley.

— I actually used a magazine article on eye shadow application to do my eyes. I was quite proud of myself. I normally have no patience for makeup. I throw on some mascara, some lipstick, and I’m good to go. But for this party, I went all out. Embarrassingly so.

I was not alone. Everyone showed up at this party looking like a million bucks. All of the women, including myself, had fabulous cleavage on display. We all remarked on it, admiring one another’s racks..

“Look at Liz’s cleavage! Awesome!”

“Wow – your boobs look amazing.”

“The boobs around me are absolutely spectacular. A very good showing.”

I sat on the couch with the first boyfriend and we howled with laughter about our 2 month trip cross-country years ago. At the time, the trip seemed like a never-ending odyssey of pain and tragedy, but time has dulled all of that, and now all we can see is the comedy.

Our thwarted night of camping at Roosevelt National Park … the camp stove leaking onto boyfriend’s sleeping bag … I mean, honestly. The camp stove leak was a tragedy on the level of an entire civilization dying. And on Saturday night, all we had to say was, “Member the camp stove?” and we rolled around the couch in laughter.

We also were guffawing about this STUPID song I made up, during our trip, about prairie dogs, sung to the tune of “On the Street Where You Live”, from My Fair Lady. It’s so stupid, so comical, so RIDICULOUS.

It was fun to laugh with him again. After so many years.

We sang “happy birthday” to Brooke at exactly 1:04 am, the time of her actual birth.

And Mary, one of Brooke’s friends, said, “I have an idea – why doesn’t everyone sing a song – that reminds them of Brooke – We’ll go around, and everyone will sing something!”

I could feel the ripples of fear and discomfort.

My friend David, another old college buddy, leapt into the fray. He said, “Oh, I’ve got a good one. I can’t sing or anything … and maybe I won’t remember the words … but this song, more than anything, reminds me of Brooke.”

And David – a big burly football-playing man, a father of two – stood there and sang, a capella, “Still Crazy After All These Years”.

The candles flickering around the loft space, the darkness of the meat-packing district outside, and all of my friends – my friends for 20 + years now – standing around, listening to him belt out the song. He sang it with such openness, such passion (I saw his wife well up with tears as he sang) – It was such an acknowledgement. Such a gift. God. It was amazing. I felt like I had to be the most blessed woman on the planet.

I met my old lover on the street last night
She seemed so glad to see me I just smiled
And we talked about some old times and we drank ourselves some beer
Still crazy after all these years
I’m not the kind of man who tends to socialize
I seem to lean on old familiar ways
And I aint no fool for love songs
That whisper in my ears
Still crazy afler all these years
Oh, still crazy after all these years
Now I sit by my window
And I watch the cars
I fear I’ll do some damage
One fine day
But I would not be convicted
By a jury of my peers
Still crazy after all these years
Oh, still crazy
Still crazy
Still crazy after all these years

We all just erupted into cheers and applause when he finished, hugging each other, laughing, in tears.

Still crazy after all these years.

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16 Responses to Primping

  1. Emily says:

    Sheila – it’s nice to hear that you took a break from the horror of this last week to have fun with your friends.

    However, I am MOST disappointed that you should spend so much time telling us about your primping without offering up so much as a single bloody photograph of your hotly goddessness.

    And hang on to the shoes – they’ll be back in style within a couple of years.

  2. Dan says:

    Good point Emily. ;-)

    It’s nice to hear you recharged your batteries in such a joyous fashion. One of my best friends is flying into town today; I’ve taken Wed and Thursday off so we can celebrate properly like. I can hardly wait.

    Old ways is best ways.

  3. red says:

    The power of the imagination is a potent thing. I like to retain a bit of mystery.

    (yeah, right. I’m an open book.)

    Oh, and the damn shoes were like mini torture chambers. I came home at 3 in the morning, took the shoes off, flopped into a chair, and sighed with decadent relief.

  4. Emily says:

    Yes, high heels – Western Civilization’s answer to foot-binding.

    But to recall the words of wisdom from Frenchie in Grease, “beauty is pain”.

  5. Seriously. By the way, I know somebody who actually is a beauty-school dropout.

  6. alex says:

    Would I still be counted as your new friend if I say I was damn proud of the matching polish/lipstick/earring coup?

    Yummy.

    Alex

  7. red says:

    I honestly do not believe I would have the patience to match the lipstick/nail polish/accessories on a daily basis. Or I would somehow have to streamline my process.

    But yes. You can still be my new friend. I had a moment of completely satisfying utterly trivial pride when I looked at the triumvirate of color.

  8. Bill McCabe says:

    I would have expected a guy to be the first to ask for a picture of the “hotly goddessness”, but the request has been made.

  9. red says:

    Well, seeing as I’m a girl who stands around with her girlfriends complimenting them on their “nice set” or basically just saying to them appreciatively, “Nice boobs” – I was not at all surprised to have the request come from a woman.

  10. Dan says:

    Well, coming from a guy such a request might seen as kinda stalkeresque. Perfectly acceptable from a woman though.

  11. Beth says:

    Sheil- you’ll appreciate this- when Ceileidh was about 8 years old, she received her first pair of bikini panties as a gift from one very cool auntie. She put them on, wiggled her bum uncomfortably, sighed and announced, “They feel awful, but they LOOK GREAT!” My baby had finally become a woman . PS For those of you who don’t know me, this is a WILD joke, as I have NO driving desire to be in pain for fashion purposes.

  12. Ken Hall says:

    If we can’t get the photo, can we at least get the lyrics to the prairie dog song?

  13. red says:

    Ken –

    The prairie dog song is exacerbatingly moronic. I composed it during an absolutely exhausted trek back to our van, when my legs were so tired I could barely move. I was delirious. We kept seeing these prairie dogs popping out of their holes, and staring at us. As if frozen. And it seemed to us, in our delirious state, that they were warning each other of our approach. It looked like there was some complex messenger system in the prairie dog world.

    So, deliriously, I began to sing. In a quavery high exhausted voice.

    All I remember is the line I made up (literally on the spur of the moment – I made up the entire song with no thought, it just flowed out of me as my boyfriend staggered along beside me, helpless with laughter) –

    At the point in the song where it goes:

    “All at once am I several stories high…”

    (If you know the song, you know that the song basically shoots up almost an octave there)

    So I sang loudly, and passionately:

    “Prairie dogs warning prairie dogs…”

    I don’t know why it struck us as so funny, but we laughed about that line for about 5 days. And obviously, we are still laughing about it now.

  14. mitchell says:

    oh…to be sooo out of the loop! The party must have been amazing! I literally got a stomach ache reading about it. It hurts to be so far away. David is a miracle,and Liz has always had a great rack! Somethings never change! If i may.. i also applaud the color coordination! So little work for so much beauty!!!

  15. red says:

    Mitchell –

    How I wished you were there. You will be soon. It’s time for you to be geographically close to all of us again!!

    You should have seen David singing. You would have had to leave, in a weepy mess. :)

  16. Mitchell says:

    im weeping thinking about it.

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