Two weeks after a weekend trip with girlfriends, I still feel a lingering joy.  Although we frequently enjoy dinners with each other, a weekend get away occurs only once a year. My husband calls our soiree’s  “chick fests”.  Chicks no longer, but the title after many years has stuck.

My posse, clan, tribe, I love them. We have grown up together, some since grammar school, others since high school and the last chick came into our lives during college.  We know each other inside and out.  I’m wondering if this long-term friendship we hold with each other is rare?

Our conversations have evolved and over the years we’ve explored the following topics, pretty much in the following order: boys, men, career, marriage, kids, career again, health, parents, repeat.  There are occasional debates about politics, religion, but mostly, we talk about our lives.  And we always seem to inadvertently draw attention to ourselves as an adventure begins to unfold.

We know each other so well that we can complete each other’s sentences.  Laughter is effortless.  Tears spill without regard to smudged mascara or the horrified look of a waiter as he steals a confusing glance at his table of grown women sniffling over the latest life event that touched us.

Usually our weekend get-a-ways finds us in the comfort of Lake Tahoe, a place we know and love very well.  This year, however, we headed to the North end of the State to visit the cowgirl of the bunch, the redhead with 8 horses, 5 dogs, a couple of hens and an occasional goat.  A tractor perches at the edge of the property.

The town where she lives is quaint, small with a population of 749 peeps.  Everybody knows everybody.  A truck and a trailer is a must to fit in with this horse loving community.  And if you happen to have a rifle riding shotgun in the back window of the truck, all the better.

After a day of horse riding, shopping, visiting a 150-year-old possibly haunted, but cool looking graveyard and a satisfying dinner, we made our way to the local dive bar.  I’m talking, pool table, juke box, shuffle board, guys and gals in cowboy hats kind of a dive bar.  A beer drinking, don’t even think about ordering wine kind of bar.

So imagine the annoying look when I innocently asked the bartender if he knew how to make a Dark N Stormy.  Oh, I will never forget the look on his face when I asked. His reply was curt, cut to the chase, with an emphatic NO!

I was so happy to be with my pals, I was not really picking up on the signals of the atmosphere, I then implored, “well how about a Cosmo?”  He took a deep, patient breath, paused and answered yes.  Wonderful! I watched intently as he, with surprising expertise, mixed up the tasty martini.  I was prepared to instruct him to finish the drink with a wedge of lime, but didn’t need to as his thick fingers cut a lime into wedges and was added to the drink. I rewarded his efforts with a healthy tip and sauntered off, cocktails in hand to continue our shuffleboard competition with two locals.

The cowgirl was amused and not in any way shape or form embarrassed by our antics, or possibly the degradation of her reputation. Two cosmos became 4 and then 6 as the rest of us now had the courage to order from the threatening bartender with the piercing eyes and thick fingers.

The night was so much fun.  We beat the locals at shuffleboard, although, perhaps they were just being kind.   As we readied ourselves to walk back to our “lodge” (really it was a motel but we decided to call it a lodge), we turned for one last glance at the bar and bartender.   To our delight, several young cowboy boot, jean wearing females, were lined up elbow-to-elbow deep in conversation and laughter.  They were drinking…….. Cosmos!

Do you surround yourself with supportive friends?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tagged with →  
Share →

2 Responses to A MARTINI AND A DIVE BAR!

  1. Lorelei Gunn says:

    Most entertaining as I expected! I think I am going to quite enjoy keeping up with this blog…….Hugs Girl

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *