It’s been well established that I just turned 59 years old. In honor of this, three of my girlfriends from high school and I planned a girls’ “weekend getaway”. We have been friends for 40-some years and we all celebrate birthdays in the same month. I dubbed us “The January Girls”.
We headed out to a major hotel in the District of Columbia armed with cake, wine, some bubbly, presents, old photos, horoscopes and enough baggage for a week. We meet up in the hotel lobby about 3 and after the ritual hugging and hollering, we adjourn to our rooms. We stowe our stuff, gather in one room and began to pop champagne corks, spread out snacks and cake, haul out gifts, hook up an I-pod, roll out a slide show of photos on an I-Pad and continually talk, laugh and interrupt each other in our loudest voices.
As can be imagined, we got louder – fueled by booze, excitement and the need to be heard. BUT, remember it’s now probably only four o’clock in the afternoon! Who the hell else but us is in their rooms partying at this hour? It’s still daylight outside for Christ’s sake and it is Saturday. In less than an hour someone is pounding on the door and it’s – HOTEL SECURITY! Yes, we are busted at 4 in the afternoon in a Washington, DC hotel for being too loud. WTF?
Needless to say we became quite sober – no one mouthed off, no one huffed that it was merely the afternoon, we quieted down, immediately, cleaned up the glasses and empty bottles like the nice ladies we are and looked at each other sheepishly. We took to whispering dramatically and quickly formulated a plan to exit the room for a quick dip in the hotel pool before heading out to the bar at Clyde’s for drinks and dinner.
Clyde’s was much more welcoming – there was so much noise during the Saints and SF game that our voices didn’t even register. We had a good dinner and the usual great service from the wait staff at DC’s own Clyde’s. We made friends with half the bar before the second game of the evening started. A quick trip back to the hotel for more cake and some primping and then a cab whisked us off to The Improv.
Thus begins the second act of our adventure where the January Girls continue to make themselves known. It’s near 11 PM and we are stoked and up for what promises to be a very funny show by comic Sheryl Underwood. We don’t know her work & have only seen a snippet of her on a “View-type" show called “The Talk”. We collect our table assignments and are herded into a room with tables where no drinks are served. This does not sit well the “J Girls”. One of us (not me) begins to question the others about the lack of drinks and why we are all squeezed into this little room and why we can’t go to the “service” bar and get our own drink. Meanwhile I begin to notice that we are decidedly in the minority – not because we’re “more mature”, not because we are ladies, but because we are of the Caucasian persuasion. We manage to slide ourselves into seats and insinuate ourselves into other peoples’ conversations while continuing to complain about the lack of drinks (as if we need more to drink…) A very gracious African American couple finds our antics amusing and I try to make amends by saying “Geez, the only white people in the place and we have to act like assholes…”
In no time we’re swept up with the crowd and a club staffer guides us to our seats which are practically ON THE STAGE. Our table is right below the microphone and literally inches from where the performer will soon be standing. Drinks come and a brilliant light overhead illuminates our shiny white faces. The opening act, a young man, begins. He is quite funny, but then Ms. Underwood takes the stage. She is very funny, filthy, but funny. We’re pretty warmed up by the 1st act but she soon has us red hot and occasionally shouting out answers to questions she poses. As is often the case in our great Nation’s Capital -- the subject of race arises and Ms. Underwood graciously explains to “you white folk” some arcane point she believes will be alien to our experience. BUT, she did not count on encountering the “January Girls”! As she urges the audience to sing a song that white folks most likely will not know (Stevie Wonder’s Happy B.day Tribute to MLK) she seem suitably impressed when the white ladies sing along word for word. Later we all sing along to a Temps tune and when she launches into “Backstabbers”…”they smile in your face, all the time they want to take your place…” she is compelled to give us a long thoughtful look and remark “You guys are not White!” We love it and our African American table mates slap us on the back and deem us merely “light-skinned”. For a short time we are part of the show and we are loving it!
If the night had ended there we could not have been happier. But, there was more to come. By the time we got back to the hotel it was after 1 AM and we decide not to gather in the room where we’d been busted earlier! We are pleasantly sated and more subdued, but manage to talk until 3:30 before we finally retire. We were up by 10 am, breakfasting by 11:30, and part company shortly after. It was a mere 24 hours or so but the experience we shared will be remembered for another 40-some years.
I don’t feel old, I feel alive and vibrant and blessed by friendship and the freedom I have to enjoy my life.
I’m just saying…
