We don’t get out much

I sometimes wish I’d started blogging back when I was younger, even though I don’t think blogging existed back then. I feel that my escapades with the ice capades¹ and other debauchery would have made for good reads when my kids got a lot older and they’d get to see that I wasn’t always just a mom. I suppose my pre-kid scrapbooks will assist with that, but it’s not the same as the blog.

But I guess there is no time like the present. It’s been a while since my friends (affectionately referred to as The Hens²) all went out. Like, I-don’t-remember-the-last-time a while. We’ve had some good stories (and pictures) over the years – our first Hens Night Out where we were supposed to shop but ended up crammed in a booth at Bennigans, while the snow flew and the Fish had to come pick us all up; Hen Trainee’s 30th birthday party – Stacie falling off her chair, Stacie falling in the snow, running out on a round of shots that the waitress was taking too long to deliver…only to be dragged back in to Connor’s by the bouncers to do and pay for the shots we’d ordered, Ass Ale and wheat-thin-gate; the time we went out to dinner and then bowling, but at CVS while picking up socks, I also picked up an 18” glorious luxurious clip-on ponytail that was the accessory that kept on giving, right up until Rick made me throw it away when we moved.

I am very lucky to have inherited these girls when I met Rick. The first night Rick & I “hung out” it was at a surprise party for a friend of his. I was invited to the party by another friend of his, but this friend failed to tell anyone else that I was coming. All of the wives and girlfriends had their feathers all fluffed wondering who I was and what I was doing there. Thus the term “The Hens” was born, because they were peck-peck-pecking at me. Luckily I’d had enough beers to not notice.

Side story here – at my wedding shower 2.5 yrs later, everyone had to go around the room and introduce themselves and how they knew me. Sue K said “well…I’m a Hen, and my husband is a Fish with Rick, and…we weren’t sure we liked Sam when we first met her…”. My cousin Susan asked me later if they liked me now. I think so.

Anyway, so it’s been a while since we’ve gotten together and we were looking forward to last night. We met for dinner at Mongolian BBQ and then hit a couple of bars down the road. We got to indoctrinate Hen Saling to the pusher (apparently she didn’t remember her at Sue’s birthday party), and we talked about 2012 football schedules. Jen & Lisa reminisced about the time they played whiffleball on a tennis court with Rick & Ryan, and how Jen struck out (Rick told me today that it was just before the 2000 Summer Olympics and they were afraid they’d ruined Jen, who was a member of the US Olympic Softball team {I can’t wait until Mallory gets older and can appreciate how neat it is that she knows an Olympic gold medalist!}). We talked about Trainee going shot for shot with Chris back during her induction, and why the hell it took so long to introduce Theresa to the group. All the story telling involved lots of “remember when…?” and then table slapping & belly laughing as the stories flushed themselves out.

At the last place we stopped, there was a small dance floor next to our table – and it got smaller as the music got louder and more 20-somethings started dancing (we showed our age getting a kick out of the raunchiness on the dance floor, and reminded me that Mallory will never be allowed to leave the house. Ever.)

As always, our goal was to make it to 9p or 10p, and I think we were all *extremely* proud to say we made it to midnight (well, 10 minutes shy of it, but it counts on bar time). We were missing a few Hens this time – but seven out of 10-ish is still a good number! The next Hens Night Out is already being planned. I’ll make sure my camera battery is fully charged next time so I don’t have to be selective in my picture taking. I’m ashamed of my rookie mistake.

¹2002, Shauners
²2002, Doug