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Girl's Night Out

It's been over fifteen years since Dad died, and I still have not drank though all my Inheritance Liquor. (Dave hasn't sold his Inheritance Porn, either.) I keep trying though. I think Marcia and Libby helped with the Whiskey, Sherry, Kahlua, and Creme de Cacao. No one is drinking the Anisette.

It seems Girl's Night Out is often at my house. This may be because Gary's mid-life drum set is in the middle of the great room. (I still think if everyone takes a cymbal or a pedal or individual drum the six or so of us could get the thing rocking like Gary does.)

Usually the attendees are Marcia, Libby, Catherine, Caroline, Gracquel, Lisa, and Holly. In case you are wondering, Gracquel has what she calls a "made up black name" - her parents Grace and Samuel combined their names. It came up two GNO's ago that Gracquel is the first African American to visit my house. (My protests that I went on a date with a black guy in high school didn't trump this blatant evidence of prejudice on my part.) Then, after abusing me for some time, my friends turned Girl's Night Out into African American Roundtable. Black Awareness Night. We peppered Gracquel with questions like "Has anyone ever called you a name?" "Are black men really bigger?" "What did you think about the OJ case?" Gracquel answered all our questions in a very good-natured way. At some point she got on her feet and answered them as she wandered around the house stuffing the silverware and remotes in her pockets.

I demanded that the next GNO be Girl's Sabbath Out and devoted to putting Marcia on the spot for being Jewish. We had Challah bread, Mogen David wine, and Marcia the Jew du jour brought the kosher hot dogs. Of course, we had to circumcise them. We danced the hora to the alcohol/Judaism mixed CD I'd made.  (The process of finding rocking songs about Judaism was challenging. However, I did find a lively version of "Hava Nagila" by Smart Alec, and NOFX has a song called "The Brews." Sadly, Steven Page's recommendation of "Brass Monkey" came in too late, but I was proud my research had taught me the Beastie Boys are Jewish.)

We peppered Marcia with questions like "How many people have to be in the hora before you can do it without getting dizzy and falling down? Is it because we are so drunk?"

I am a little miffed - evidently the prophet Elijah did not feel comfortable at my house and refused both the wine and the Cosmo I made for him. Libby did credit him with blowing a door open. Perhaps it was the drunk girl conversation that offended him.

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