I got out on Saturday night. Like, really out. I went into the city, to a club, in the "entertainment district", to see a band.
I'll admit it, a few years and two kids later my life has changed so drastically from the days when I didn't think twice about going out to a club on a Saturday night (although back in my day they were called "bars" not clubs) that when we got up on Saturday morning and Steve said he had a headache - I nearly jumped at the chance to call the whole thing off.
"You're not feeling well?!!?? Well maybe we should just forget about tonight then. If you're not feeling well we should just stay home. I'll sell the tickets."
But Steve said he'd just take a Tylenol and everything would be fine.
I spent the first half of the day packing up the children, writing out Lincoln's instructions (What?! My mom needed some guidance, it was Lincoln's first overnighter), driving them to Grandma's house, getting them settled in and then coming home again - where I could have an anxiety attack in peace and quiet.
Once the Ativan kicked in nicely, I pulled myself together, glued on my fake eyelashes, wedged myself into my Spanx, put on a pair of heels and cracked a beer.
Ahhh... much better.
Before you knew it I was doing Fireball shots in the back of a cab on the way to the skytrain.
It's just like riding a bike, I tell you.
Upon arriving in Vancouver we were like 20 year-olds again, desperately seeking out a fast food joint that would let us relieve our bursting (aging) bladders in their bathroom after a long skytrain ride into the city.
We then hit up the bank machine and hoofed it to the club.
Once through the doors of the club in only took me a few minutes to find my groove (more drinks), and before long, I had squirmed my way to the front row and was rocking out with the band. I even had the token "fuck you" exchange with some drunk broad trying to sloppily push me her way past me. It was classic! Actually no, if it was classic I would have punched her and taken a swing at her mouthy friend and I would have been escorted out of the bar by two big bouncers and then probably thrown in a cop car outside. Still, it felt like the good old days. I'm sure nobody suspected I was a mother of two young babies who hadn't been out in years.
After the band left the stage I rounded up my crew and we went next door to get a cheeseburger from McDonalds (Steve) and use the bathroom (me). Then of course the suggestion was raised that we head to another bar since it was so "early" still. Uhhhhmmm.... It was 10:30pm!!! That is NOT early! And it was going to be a long trip home on public transit (next time I'm hiring a designated driver - skytrain is for the birds) so I insisted that we get headed in the direction of home.
Also my Spanx were starting to get too tight.
So we tromped back down Granville Street and got our asses on the skytrain and headed home.
I had my Spanx and fake eyelashes peeled off and was in bed by midnight.
The next morning when my eyes opened I was overwhelmed with the fear that I would likely have a killer hangover. I gingerly stepped out of bed to find that my poor feet had felt like they'd been put through a meat grinder from tromping around the city in heels for a couple of hours - but that, thankfully, my hangover was minimal. Nothing that a couple glasses of water and some Tylenol couldn't take care of.
(Dodged that bullet)
Now I'm settled right back into my baby feeding, diaper changing, floor sweeping routine and it all seems like a distant memory. My Spanx are shoved in the back of my underwear drawer and my fake eyelashes are probably stuck to the bottom of someone's socks. It was good though, for this housebound broad to get out and be reminded of what is going on out there in the world. I had a good time and I'd happily do it again sometime. But not for a while.