Photographic Evidence

On Friday, in a moment of generosity I'm sure they are regretting by now, my parents decided to whisk my children away for the long weekend to ring out summer in a final hurrah involving camping, fishing and fire.

When I asked if I could join them on their last minute getaway, my father stared at me like I just grew horns out of my head and said, "No. Find something else to do."

Well, okay then.

There is nothing quite like finding yourself unexpectedly alone at 5 pm on a Friday night of a long weekend.

If I were younger, or you know, had a life, I'd have gussied up and headed into the city for a weekend of unfettered fun, free from the burdensome responsibilities of parenting.

Instead, I turned on the television and settled in to watch three days worth of Buffy the Vampire Slayer episodes. My patheticness was only made more charming by eating ice cream straight out of the container with a spoon.

I was feeling slightly ashamed of myself. I mean, I may feel like I have the spine of an 80 year old arthritic woman and my personality may resemble that of a cranky geriatric shaking her cane at the youngsters of society most of the time, but even I know that when life hands you a long weekend with no kids when you are 35 years old, you should make the most of it.

And 'making the most of it' it shouldn't mean cleaning out your refrigerator, watching 90's vampire shows or self-medicating with mint chocolate chip ice cream.

But life has a funny way of turning around just when you are hip deep in self-pity and reaching for the dry cereal to munch on.

My weekend alone turned out not so as I ended up having a good old fashioned slumber party with a friend I've known my entire life.

You know what happens when two moms who have no children to take care of and no husbands to wive or toilets to scrub do for a long weekend?

They raid the liquor cabinet, watch cheesy romantic comedies while slightly inebriated and eat more junk food than once thought possible.

Sadly, there were no pillow fights but there was a lot of farting.

Beer, apparently, makes me as gassy as my dog.

There were, however, photos. Lots of photos.

Because every drunken slumber party should involve a computer, a camera and a twit.

It was like I'm 21 all over again. Minus the small waist, perky breasts and high alcohol tolerance.

I'd totally be that girl who would publicly post drunken photos of herself on Facebook if I was 21 and then wonder why I can never get a job.

Thank God I'm 35 and have a blog. I'm so much better than that 21-year-old.

This weekend I was reminded of the value of a good beer, lasting friendships and the importance of keeping your pantry stocked with munchies.

But most importantly, I remembered why drunk people shouldn't be allowed near cameras of any sort.

Because one is never too old to make a fool of themselves while drunk and then post about it on a Monday morning.