Party like it's 1999

Or maybe not, because then I'd probably have cirrhosis of the liver. And probably a boyfriend.

The Duh-runk Friday crew assembled early yesterday morning to discuss where we were going to go. Since most of us live on the south side of the city, we decided to meet at the southside counterpart to our favorite wing place. Close to home, probably not crowded, perfect - right?

So we went rolling in there around 1 PM to find that half of the restaurant is occupied by guys from the Army base that's almost an hour away. One of the guys is being shipped off to Kuwait in a few days so they'd taken the afternoon to caravan up to the city and give him a proper send-off (although I questioned the lack of a stripper, because if I was going to be in harms' way I would definitely want to see some boobs first, but maybe that's just me).

And this is where it gets interesting. You have four women, thirty testosterone-pumped men, and what happens? Egads.

It was almost like being dropped into some kind of sociology experiment. The older guys just want to share a drink and talk. They want to talk about their umpteen ex-wives, their kids, their frustrations with the military, and all that good stuff. The younger guys are all about bragging rights and seeing who they can bag and tag to take home. At one point the commanding officer came over and asked if we wanted the guys removed (at this point we had ten of them sitting at our little pub table with us) and we said no, they were fine. Really. Not to mention we were getting LOTS of free alcohol. And free alcohol is good. And keep in mind, these guys totally knew that all of us (except Stephanie) were married. VERY married. But that didn't stop them.

Cathy and April bailed out around 3:00 and Stephanie and I finally went dragging out around 4. Hey, I had more drinking to do. But not before I had been propositioned at least ten times by various guys, the funniest being this guy they called Jack-Jack. Yeah, they all had nicknames for each other, the best one being Biscuit ("Cuz I'm crunchy on the outside but tender and fluffy on the inside..."). So the conversation with Jack-Jack went like this:

Jack-Jack: So what exactly would I have to do to get you to take me home with you?

Me: To do what? You want to play with my kid?

J-J: No! I think you could teach me a thing or two, ya know what I mean?

Me: Jack-Jack, how old are you?

J-J: (proudly) I'm twenty-three.

Me: Do you have any idea how old I am?

J-J: Twenty-seven? (and at this point I am so impressed by his bullshitting abilities that I almost want to sleep with him just as a reward)

Me: No. THIRTY-SEVEN. I am thirty-seven.

J-J: No disrespect, but age is just a number. And I think we could have a good time.

Me: Jack-Jack, I have sweaters older than you are. Not to mention that if I took you home with me, I would make you cry like a little girl.

At this point the crowd went wild. The older guys were high-fiving each other and poor Jack-Jack still didn't get it. I think he got it when I finally went home. Alone. And when I got home, I discovered phone numbers and email addresses had been surreptitiously slipped into the side pocket of my handbag. Yikes.

So then I waited for Joey to come pick me up so that we could go to the wine tasting. Damn, was it hot. We met David, Yvonne, Gil and Martha there and we split a few bottles of wine and Joey managed to schmooze one of his customers and possibly land a very big job. And then, on to dinner.

So all told, I drank for about 10 hours straight yesterday. In moderation, but damn do I feel like ass today. Dragged Monkey Man to tae kwan do and the grocery store (where Mommy had a little meltdown but what do you expect when your head feels like it's packed with sand?) and now I'm thinking about lunch.

And I'm also thinking about Ben. The guy who is going to Kuwait. As all the guys were partying like it was 1999, Ben sat at the table alone looking pretty sad so I went over and sat with him for a while. He's divorced twice, has one kid that he never sees, and will be 42 in August. And all he can think about is what Kuwait is going to be like and what will it be like when he comes home. And what he will come home to. "He's broke," said one of the other guys in my ear a while later, "and he will probably have to go back and live with his folks. Between alimony, child support, and his bills he doesn't hardly have a pot to piss in."

I looked back at Ben, who was gazing down into his beer, and saw a man - older than I am, with the weight of the world on his shoulders here at home - ready to take on the problems of a whole other world. I ended up going back to him and asking for his email address so I can write him now and then when he's over there. I guess being an Army brat myself, I know what kind of sacrifices he's made. Huge sacrifices for someone who in the grand scheme of things probably has a lot bigger fish to fry.

I gave him a big hug goodbye before I dragged Stephanie out kicking and screaming. "Your husband is one lucky guy to have a classy lady like you," said Ben.

Thanks, Ben. I feel like I'm the lucky one in a lot of ways. And I'm glad that I got to spend an afternoon with a bunch of guys who give so much for others. It's not every day you get to do that.

So if you're ever in my neck of the woods and you run into Brownie, Boo, Biscuit, Jack-Jack, Papa Pump, Harold, or Ben, buy them a drink. They deserve it. Actually, buy Jack-Jack two drinks - because he deserves it just for his excellent bullshitting capabilities. That man will go far in life. Not with me, though.