The house has been packed up, the moving van is gone, the sale of the house has closed, and A and her husband and another one of our friends leave tomorrow. Two more of our friends move back to Puerto Rico in the next two weeks. But tonight we partied like it was 1999 (And by that I mean when we were all nineteen and single and had nothing better to do than have a good time... and when we still enjoyed wine from a box).
What started out as a barbeque morphed into a gender-segregated living room dance party (for the girls) and backyard cigar party (for the guys, minus Ryan who had to take Charlie home to bed) once all the food was gone (I wasn't able to contribute music from my iPod like the other girls because apparently I have a thing for laid back pot smoking music from the sixties and seventies and there are surprisingly few Simon and Garfunkel songs as conducive to ass-shaking as say, Shakira). Oh and before that we all talked about our boobs and various GYN adventures like normally happens when there is a gathering of women and a big box-o-wine. It was the perfect send-off.
It was so hard to say goodbye. The thing I really couldn't handle though was when A said goodbye to Charlie, or when she started crying after we hugged goodbye for the third time after we watched one last episode of Big Love together.
I wish them well, but this really stinks.