The Team

For Maureen - 5 years cancer free! You phased cancer out like you threatened to phase Molly out back in the day.

I am lucky to have fantastic friends. Like, really fantastic. One such group is The Team. We have known each other since high school and I have actually known two of them since I was 6. We'z be tight. We can also fight like ghetto ass street thugs, and I have been known to be upset and tell others that whoever I am mad at used to be a man.

We've been there for the usual rigamarole: breakups, make ups, weddings with 17 feet of hair extensions, "is my boyfriend gay?" moments (for the record, Julie - he was) and vomiting all over your mother's newly painted kitchen (sorry about that, Tara). This past Saturday was a big celebration, however, as Maureen has been cancer free for 5 amazing years. Our goal was to be wild, OK? So we did what the Team does best - we got fucking crazy.

Great Moment Number 1: We walk up to the bar's entrance and I flash my ID for the bouncer. I am thinking, "ah, the old days. Holla - no cover charge because we are sexy as shit Here comes THE TEAM, BITCHES!" Well no, there was no cover charge because we were there before 9pm and the bouncer looked at my ID and said, "have a nice evening, MA'AM."

We enter and - holy crap - it is CROWDED. Who are all these....children? That girl needs a coat! Drinks cost WHAT? It was shocking. Our friend, Julie, waves from the back and we head towards her. Guys are looking at Julie - which is totally normal. But they keep double taking because not only is Julie hot, bitch be pregnant. Considering girls are wandering around this establishment with their vaginas in the breeze, Jules' 7 months along belly gets some glances but you can also see their consensus: I'd still hit that. Julie's husband, oddly, was proud.

Great Moment Number 2: Tap, tap on my shoulder and I turn around and find myself looking at some homeless kids. Well, they were dressed like that. "So, do you like this song?" Really? That's what we're going with? I said, "no, it sounds like Eurotrash. It sounds like Chumbawumba." Confused look. "Like Ace of Base....Boyzone." Blank stares. I realize they are roughly 22 and I should not be talking to them without a lawyer present.

More drinks. By this point, Jessie has taken 67 pictures of the two of us sitting on a barstool while we watched a girl rip off her sheer leopard print top (oh honey, fashion offense) and mount what I believe was a legal midget right in front of us. At first, I thought she was attacking him as her jaw unhinged and she basically ate his face off. Then I realized, dear God, it's a bar makeout session. I haven't witnessed one of these in years! The usual agreement for such instances is feigning casual indifference while sneaking occasional looks. But guess what? We're old now so we pulled up bar stools and blatantly watched with our mouths open. I don't know if this poor guy was being initiated in to a gang but he got his ass kicked. He tried to be sexy and gently push her up against a wall. Leopard Girl THREW him against a wall and continued to behave like the secret to eternal youth was deep in his throat.

This became the perfect time to whip out a little something Jessie & I snuck in inside her purse. Roofies? Cigarettes? No. Hot dogs. Bar food is pricey, and I knew I would get some drinks in me and need some carbs. So we stuck some hot dogs in to Jessie's purse. And ate them. In the bar. Yes, people stared but it was out of JEALOUSY and mental kicks to themselves of "why am I not that CLEVER?"

Great Moment Number 3: Maureen's younger brother joins us and brings with him 4 guys that smell like Chinese food. I immediately want some spring rolls. I am told "you're pretty hot....(FUCK YES).....for an old chick." I say that I am equal parts flattered & horrified but refuse to let a comment by a grown man wearing track pants AND A CHUCK NORRIS T-SHIRT bring me down.

Great Moment Number 4: Being hot & old & bitter, I need to do something that boosts my ego and, luckily I have stupid friends that continually drop their shit everywhere. Enter: Maureen's cell phone. I select random guys and begin texting them. Dave L. gets to read the text "I'm horny". Eric receives "I have a yeast infection." James opens "do you like bukaki?" Jessie and I think this is HILARIOUS and begin singing along to whatever god-awful song is playing with the chorus: "we fancy....yeah, we fancy. We fancy, yeah."

At this point, ummmmmm, we lose Maureen's cell phone. Whoopsie. I mean, I tossed it on the bar. It had to be safe there, right? Notsomuch. This leads to a 45 minute ordeal of Maureen wanting to shut down the bar, body scan every one inside and then finding out I had been texting random guys.....well, nuclear explosions are kinder. But MIRACLE - after many repeated calls to Maureen's phone, someone answers! Maureen's college friend, Jenny, begins the following monologue: "THIS IS THE STATE POLICE, YOU WHORE! BRING THAT PHONE BACK! I AM THE POLICE! YOU BRING IT BACK HERE TO THE STATE POLICE NOW, WHORE!" The best part? 90% of this is slurred. And the person on the other end of the line is slurring & crying. Maureen speaks to a responsible party on the line (i.e. a less drunk person) and announces, "we need to go to Georgetown!"

Um, no. By now, lights are on in the bar, it's closing time, I need more hot dogs & to properly remove my makeup and apply my anti-aging regime. I believe my helpful, understanding declaration to Maureen was "we are not going to fucking Georgetown for your fucking phone!" In most cases, this would be cause for a full out war but Mo is too overjoyed to have her phone (somewhat) found and so she grabs a manager who had been helping us who is sporting a full set of braces AND RUBBER BANDS and screams, "YOU GUYS, THIS IS DAMENICA'S DAD!" Holy shit. No one gives a crap about Damenica or her dad because I'm too busy trying to get Jessie to stop caressing the bouncer who is telling us "ladies, you need to GO....ma'am, stop touching me....ma'am, grab your friend and go." Even me telling him that we are fancy and have hot dogs is not enough to assuage his annoyance.

We stumble out in to the night and pile ourselves in to Maureen's car (with a sober driver who greatly wanted us to shut the fuck up). Jessie begins yelling that my coat's fur hood is exasperating her allergies. Jenny says her feet hurt. Maureen is plotting her phone's retrieval for the following day complete with night vision goggles and calling 5 of us to let us know her whereabouts at all times. I realize - We. Are. Old.

This stellar evening ends with me sharing a bed with Jessie for about the 827th time in our lives while we cram chili dip in to our faces and continue to talk about how motherfucking fancy we are.

Goodbye & good riddance, Cancer. You were never a welcome Team member. Kinda like Lebanese chicks. Yet another Team mission accomplished.