I had a totally bitchin’ weekend. It was the 11th annual Women Introxicated from Now On, Sucka (a.k.a. WINOS) weekend. This year’s conference was in Denver. The WINOS consist of five women who met our junior year of college and permanently damaged our livers studied together in Fremantle, Western Australia. Every year we ditch the husbands and kids and try to relive our past Australian glory. And we usually have a great time even if the hangovers get worse every year. But in all of WINO history, we’ve A) never been mistaken for undercover cops or B) had the pleasure of having a homo (I think I’m allowed to say that since he refers lovingly to himself this way) join us or C) had to blow up a queen size air mattress manually. MANUALLY. It was so delightful.
Lets discuss point A first. We booked a last minute mid-size rental car from Priceline for $81. When we went to pick up the car we passed several respectable, newer looking rental cars and SUVs. When we got to our assigned stall number we were a little shocked, to say the least, to see a very large, blue Grand fucking Marquis, straight out of Magnum PI. I have included a picture here, since if you are reading my blog you probably have no idea what that is because you likely weren’t a cop in the 80’s. Apparently FBI agents and Budget Rental still buys these bad ass mother fuckers and gladly assigns them to women on the one damn weekend all year long we find a way to escape from our “real” lives and live like we’re still childless and single and don’t require Spanx to hold in our muffin tops. I was really hoping for a Prius or at least a fucking sweet minivan, but no. We got the Grand fucking Marquis – a car longer than two football fields and uglier than Courtney Love after a binge. We named her Lucille.
On the bright side, what better way to start off a girls weekend with the most fucking ridiculous car in the world, perhaps the universe? I laughed so hard at this injustice I peed a little bit in my pants. But it was easy to clean off the Grand Marquis’ pimpin’ leather seats with some of the Kleenex that came complementary in a matching blue box in the backseat window. To all the ladies planning your own bling girls getaway I highly, highly recommend you roll in this kind of awesomeness.
But now I’ll get to the really good part — lets talk about our new Gay. Tori Spelling has her gays and Kathy Griffin has hers and now the WINOS have ours. Well, not gays plural. Gay singular for now, but I’m sure that one gay will eventually beget many gays. The WINOS rented out a corporate apartment for the weekend that came with a concierge. And that concierge was named Thomas. And Thomas is gay. And he is. a. RIOT.
So we all fly into Denver from our respective cities and we pick up Lucille and we get to our place around 1:30 and thats when we meet Thomas. He introduces himself and its very, very clear by his dress, his mannerisms, his hair, the way he talks, and the fact that tells us he is a homo, that he is gay. So we ask him where we should go for lunch. He tells us that he was just going down the street to get a sandwich and tells us we should come with him. So we do. And it isn’t really clear whether he is going to get a sandwich and go back to work or what, but we get there its a sit down type of place, so not to be awkward, we ask him to join us. And we thought he probably wouldn’t because why would a young gay dude want to sit down and have lunch with some thirty something suburban moms he has met 2 minutes before that haven’t seen each other for a year? But Thomas was all about it. And it was the best lunch ever.
The WINOS and our Gay covered a variety of topics over sandwiches and $2 mimosas & bloody Marys, including midget porn, southern baptists, Oprah, our kids, my career, Thomas’ ex-boyfriend that cheated on him with two guys and a girl and revealed this to him via Facebook IM and then claimed he was just kidding, Thomas’ twin sister who is a lesbian and likes to tell him the details of her sex life (here is why I believe in the Law of Attraction. Ask and you shall receive), Thomas’ issues regarding the fact he had to ride out 11 more months of his lease with the aforementioned ex-boyfriend who also lost his keys and now they are sharing a single set of keys for their apartment they can’t get out of, democrats, stalkers, college majors, local beers, Texas, and Colorado politics. Ah, Thomas. Glorious Thomas. We paid for Thomas’ lunch. It was the best $12 we split 5 ways ever. Ever.
So then we all go back to our place and Thomas hooks us up with spas and restaurants and fun gay bars we should go to. We did all of those things except for the latter. I’ve never been to a gay bar, but I didn’t want my first foray to one to occur while I was in mom jeans. Truth be told, I don’t think I want a foray of any kind to occur while in mom jeans, but I packed the wrong ones. What can I say? The next day after we returned from the spa, he told us all about the show down he and his ex had the night before and all the juicy details as if we’re all total BFFs. I wanted to gather him up and take him home so he could amuse me with tales of his 22 year old gay sex life. But alas, we had to leave him in Denver. I miss you already, my dear Thomas, and my first Gay I can call my own.
I would be remiss if I didn’t tell the story of the air mattress. Or two. But its kind of long and I’m getting bored, but lets just say that the ass clown who managed the apartments was supposed to furnish an extra bed. He isn’t much of a planner, so at about 11pm he brings over a queen size air mattress and doesn’t spring for the pump. How long do you think it took 5 women to blow up an entire fucking queen air mattress? I don’t know either – we told him to get off his ass and buy us a pump. We’ll see you on Trip Advisor, fuck face.
Anyway, to Denver, Lucille and Thomas, and the queen air mattress that we were supposed to blow up with our own drunk lungs, thanks for the laughs. We shall never forget you.