I was rolling out homemade pasta tonight with “Pitbull radio” streaming from pandora, and as I rocked out with my KitchenAide I grew a little nostalgic for the days of old. And by days of old I mean the days of about, give or take, 4 years ago.
My best girlfriends and I all lived within a few miles of each other in Washington D.C. We were still relatively recent college grads, working our first jobs, making some real money for the first time, and the city was our playground. We went to college in D.C., but, at least for me, having my own studio apartment, no one depending on me but ME, and nothing but free time when the work day ended felt like true independence.
We lived for Friday nights. For the weekends.
Dancing to Shakira at Cafe Citron, standing in booths playing bongos. It was a regular thing. And it was awesome.
That’s where my mind went while I rolled out pasta for homemade raviolis. But THIS is Friday night too. This is Friday night now.
Shakira played in the kitchen, but I imagined Christine at home in Pittsburgh rocking her baby to sleep, Hilary in Africa walking around the village with her boyfriend, Alex drinking wine on her new living room couch with her husband if he isn’t on call tonight and Kacie in Baltimore getting ready to sleep in her own bed rather than on my couch. And all that? It’s pretty awesome too.
My my how things have changed. It feels like a lifetime ago and just yesterday all at the same time.
I’m not trying to say that we all still can’t hang with the best of them. We can. I’ve got the pictures from Kacie’s bachelorette weekend to prove it, stripper poles and all. Maybe it’s just that priorities have changed. I still love me some weekend. But a Friday night at home cooking and drinking wine with Joey & the dogs is the new version of waving my independence freak flag. Bongos not required.
It’s the dance of life.