Spring Break, 1992 Style.

Friday afternoon I posted on Facebook I was getting ready to head out to spend a weekend with a certain group of girlfriends from college.  One of our mutual friends commented that it was “1992 all over again”. Good call Todd, because that probably was the last time all of us were in the same room together and surprisingly enough (or not), not a whole heck of a lot has not changed when we all get together.  We drink slightly excessively, we use language that would offend the saltiest sailor, we really do not behave well in public and that’s on a good day.
I have not laughed that hard in I don’t know how long.  It’s Monday morning and my sides still hurt from laughing.  I laughed until I cried so many times I ran out of tears.  I laughed most of the way home just thinking about how much fun we had had.

While there is a notebook of notable sayings from the weekend, the most used phrase was definitely
 “You are such a fucking bitch.”
Yep, not much has changed.   

 

When I say we really don’t know how to behave in public, we really don’t.  No one was safe.  
Definitely not men wearing clam shell bras and tiaras.
Sheilah lives in Virginia Beach with her family, so we descended upon them for the weekend.  Sheilah packed up the fam and sent them to a hotel, while we got to keep the house. 
It was evident within minutes of us all being in the same room how little some things have changed.  Or why her family got the hotel room and we took over the house.  No way were we all sleeping in the same room together.   I was told even though I am currently wearing the ‘costume’ of  PTO-Soccer mom type, I’m still Becky.  I still will jump out of the car to go ask the guy outside of the T-shirt shop if they will make us custom T-shirts because I couldn’t get his attention by yelling at him from across the street, then, as my friends take off without me, run down the middle of the street chasing the car.  I also still apparently dress pretty much the same way I did back in 1992 (black t-shirt, demin skirt, cowboy boots), I still manage to inexplicably lose my underwear in really bizarre ways (I’m not alone in this with these ladies though),  still use my bra to store items instead of a pocket and no one is at all surprised I’m not a good housekeeper.  We throw beer at people,  we may have left a bigger trail of sand than a pack of 4 year olds (Somehow it’s all over the interior of my car too. I really thought I dumped all the sand out in Sheilah’s front hall.) and plenty of other things that I will be polite about and leave off the internet (because it does get worse.)
We do drink better wine these days, out of glasses.  Some of us may have wattles and the wattle status was established.  We quit smoking cigarettes.  We are all starting to experience ‘women of a certain age’ things, like our hot & cold being a bit off.  I learned how to cook.

College was really the first time I felt like I fit in somewhere.  Being around these girls all weekend I kept remembering why that was.   The rest of them were all former roommates  – I was the only non-roomie, but as Sheilah said, I was a ‘lifemate’ and a package deal with Andrea.  As you get older and are expected to behave a certain way, it’s hard to find friends you can really let it all hang out with (although I don’t always let that stop me).  Honestly, I can’t remember how I met Andrea and I can’t remember exactly when we became inseparable.  I remember spring of my first year at Auburn, standing over a keg at a party at her brother’s house calling each other names, not the first time we met, but that may have been when she became my standing Saturday night date, in my uniform of black, demin and boots.  I met Candy that summer, when she lived next door to Michael, Sheilah when she started hanging out on my front porch the next spring and Clara when she showed up at my front door that spring (or was it summer) and told me I was going to move into the house she was currently living in, with Toni as my roommate.  To this day, whenever Clarabelle shows up in my life and tells me what to do, I listen.  And I don’t listen to anyone. 
In addition to none of us really ever giving a crap what other people thought of us, not taking no for an answer, foul mouths and a small leaning towards dressing like bag ladies (okay, that one might just be limited to me & Andrea), I was so happy to discover that most of us (not Candy) still share the trait to absolutely butcher the English language in the most honest way. I had forgotten this about them. They really and truly are my people.  We are most certainly not going to let another 20 years go by before we are all in the same room again.
I showed up Friday and baked a cake.  Not sure why, I just thought we’d need a little something sweet.
Maybe it was to prove that yes, I really do know how to cook these days. Anyway, at some point Friday night, this cake was renamed “Sex Cake”.  (We really are inappropriate.)
I promised I’d share the recipe, so here it is. It’s based on a recipe from Green & Black’s Unwrapped cookbook. 
Dark Chocolate Mousse Cake
1 tablespoon ground almonds (or sugar or cocoa), with extra for dusting the pan.
Three 3 1/2 ounce chocolate bars
1 1/2 cups sugar
2/3 cup (1 1/4 sticks) salted butter
pinch of sea salt
5 large eggs
Preheat oven to 350.  Butter a 8 or 9 inch springform cake pan (Or tart pan with removable bottom) and dust with the ground almonds (or cocoa or sugar).  Melt the chocolate, sugar, butter & salt in the top of a double boiler.  Beat the eggs with the almonds and fold into the chocolate mixture.  The batter will thicken after a few minutes.  Pour the cake into the pan and bake for 35-40 minutes. 
Remove the sides of the pan and leave the cake to cool.  You can sift confectioner’s sugar or cocoa over it before serving, or not.
Note – I tend to end up using three 4 ounce chocolate bars, which is an ounce and a half more chocolate than what is called for and I generally skip the almonds.  It doesn’t make that much of a difference in the end result to be honest. 
Thank you for such a kick-ass weekend girls.

3 thoughts on “Spring Break, 1992 Style.

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