It's not BlogHer, but it's a start.

On Saturday night, I left Al overnight for the first time ever. Remember how I wigged out over being more than 10 minutes away from him that time? Well, I learned this weekend that the way to deal with separation anxiety (mine, not his) is to apply large doses of shopping, drinking, and dancing. I can't think of any ailment that those three won't salve.

In honor of my sister-in-law's 30th birthday, five other drunks, one DW*, and I loaded up into a big ol' SUV and headed across the state line where the following highlights were witnessed by poor unsuspecting friends and strangers.

The weekend in numbers:

• One pair of ghetto-booty jeans, two halter tops, one cami, one lace shell, two tees, one pair of shoes, and two bags: The items that I bought upon learning that everyone else was wearing jeans and hoochie tops to the club that evening. I quickly decided that the sundress in my suitcase would not do at all and commenced to shopping my ass off and spending all of my self-imposed Back-to-School clothing budget.
  
• Two or three: The number of items that I can actually wear in the classroom. I'll do Back-to-School shopping next paycheck.
• Two: The number of us who couldn't quite get over the tastiness of the balls at Joe's Crab Shack. Those were some very moist and yummy balls.
• One: The number of people who hit on me that night. While most of the girls were being pursued by 21-year-old boys, my only suitor of the night was a very large, very tattooed and very aggressive woman who physically pinned me into a corner with her very frightening "dancing."
• One: The number of awe-inspiring renditions of the Ice, Ice Baby Dance performed by one of our group.
  
• Four: The number of us who stumbled downstairs to the Karaoke bar and stood on stage as we stammered through the lyrics of "Don't It Make My Brown Eyes Blue."
  
• Three: The number of hours of dancing and accepting free drinks (thank goodness my friends are pretty) that we had spent before reaching that point.
  
• Four: The number of girls who called it a night and went back to the hotel before midnight.
• Three: The number of us who stayed for more dancing before we too crossed the parking lot to the hotel. And decided to go swimming until the wee hours of the morning.
  
• Two: The number of girls in the group who either are or have been married to the Mr.**
• Five: The number of girls in the group who had that same look on their faces when they put it all together, too.
  

The Former Mrs. Mr., The Birthday Girl, and Me. (With black bars, a la Isabel)

*DW: Designated Walker. We arranged to stay in a hotel within walking distance from the club and the restaurant so we wouldn't have to drink and drive. We ordained the one nondrinker as our designated walker, because you never know what might happen with six drunk women between Point A and Point B.
**Yes, we're friends. Not like-sisters friends, but we get along very well. Some people think that's weird. I think it's fortunate.