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.<\/p>\n
\nSaturday 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.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
It felt like everyone that I have ever known was there.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
My first boyfriend was there, to give you an indication of the level of weirdness.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
I would look around and see people I have known since I was a teenager, clustered in different groups, laughing, interrupting each other, talking.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
Now, onto the girlie-girl part of things:<\/p>\n
I primped for this party for 3 hours. This is not my style, but I succumbed to it whole-heartedly.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
–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.<\/p>\n
–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.<\/p>\n
— I broke out the hot rollers. By the time I was done, my head was a cascade of boingy-bong curls.<\/p>\n
— Here is the level of insanity: My lipstick matched my nail polish matched my earrings<\/i>. That is a coup d’etat of fashion obsessive-compulsive-disorder rarely accomplished in the world of Sheila Low-Maintenance O’Malley.<\/p>\n
— 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.<\/p>\n
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..<\/p>\n
“Look at Liz’s cleavage! Awesome!”<\/p>\n
“Wow – your boobs look amazing.”<\/p>\n
“The boobs around me are absolutely spectacular. A very good showing.”<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
It was fun to laugh with him again. After so many years.<\/p>\n
We sang “happy birthday” to Brooke at exactly 1:04 am, the time of her actual birth.<\/p>\n
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!”<\/p>\n
I could feel the ripples of fear and discomfort.<\/p>\n
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.”<\/p>\n
And David – a big burly football-playing man, a father of two – stood there and sang, a capella, “Still Crazy After All These Years”.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
I met my old lover on the street last night
\nShe seemed so glad to see me I just smiled
\nAnd we talked about some old times and we drank ourselves some beer
\nStill crazy after all these years
\nI’m not the kind of man who tends to socialize
\nI seem to lean on old familiar ways
\nAnd I aint no fool for love songs
\nThat whisper in my ears
\nStill crazy afler all these years
\nOh, still crazy after all these years
\nNow I sit by my window
\nAnd I watch the cars
\nI fear I’ll do some damage
\nOne fine day
\nBut I would not be convicted
\nBy a jury of my peers
\nStill crazy after all these years
\nOh, still crazy
\nStill crazy
\nStill crazy after all these years<\/i><\/p>\n
We all just erupted into cheers and applause when he finished, hugging each other, laughing, in tears.<\/p>\n
Still crazy after all these years.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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