band of Mystics

Girls’ weekend. Life is short, and sometimes you just need to fill the tank and kiss asphalt. This weekend found Jane, Lynn, Jen and myself:

- grabbing pizza in Mystic, CT (yes, THAT pizza – we are our own chick flick);
- petting rays at the aquarium;
- walking barefoot on the grounds of four Gilded Age mansions in Newport, RI;
- drinking 7-11 Slurpees and slappin’ on vending machine decal tattoos;
- downing seafood, steak, gelato, IHOP breakfast and craptacular afterhours bottlecap chardonnay (next time, we get the sake or bring a corkscrew);
- surviving rotten mattresses, sleep deprivation, unexpected allergy attacks, a little sunburn and a lot of fresh air.

I’m afraid it was far from the bacchanalian reverie that might send the average boyfriend spiraling into equal parts anticipation and dread (not my style, anyway), but it was more like a destination sleepover, where we made fun of each other’s jammies, talked about sexual health and the new awesome deodorant we bought, the book just finished, films to avoid, the guys we’re seeing and how much that ex really needs to get into therapy, and the quotes from the weekend we really should be writing down (like Banger in a blanket. That's fuckin' awesome, man). And – of course – we took lots of silly pictures. It was much needed, and just served as further proof (like I needed any) that I love my girls.