I knew a girl named Julie who got married about the same time I did, at that time it had been roughly a year. I saw her one day looking exasperated. She collapsed on the floor near me and blurted: "I can't believe it! My husband won't let me go on tour my old friend's band. I am so pissed!" The band was all male. I laughed outright and sympathized gently with her new hubby.

This Thursday I came home from work and Scott & I hung around with some neighbors for a few hours. It came to be around 10 and I noticed I had a cell phone message from one of my favorite coworkers. Film School was in town and where the hell was I? I checked my email. Greg, or Krayg, put me on the list. Without hesitation, I threw on some less dowdy duds and zoomed over to Fells. Scott graciously stayed behind to wrap things up with the neighbors. (By the way, how cool is this?)

I was so excited to see my old friend, I flew right by the ticket counter and beelined for the stage. There they were! In person, live, on the stage in my little town! They sounded exactly as thier recordings I've listened to hundreds and hundreds of times over the past few years. Greg's voice filled the room. The sound effects were almost better live. The bassist was spot-on. Ryan & Brent found me and we all stood and savored the experience. I didn't think once about websites or deadlines.

I was awed. A ton of memories came to the surface that I hadnt thought of in years-- Greg was one of my best friends when I lived in SF. A week-long camping trip to Oregon and Washington. A night at the Chameleon when I told the [rather hunky] lead singer from this band that their set was "great!" before they went on. A dare of who could find the seediest bar in the city, a weekly event, that ended quite abruptly. Philosphic conversations, break-ups, loathesome bosses. And all along, Greg spoke passionately about music and made it his study. He was tireless. He formed a band with some other Wired and internet folk and I was, quite possibly, their most zealous groupie.

When I moved to NYC, Film School was hatched. They came and stayed with me for the CMJ festival-- that was the last time I had seen Greg or the band perform- mostly with members who are no longer part of the band. That had been 5 or so years ago. And their success is skyrocketing. Even though they got all their gear stolen last month.

After the show we did get to hang out. It was soo good to see my old pal, who, although the long tour had rendered him sick, seemed finally a little content with things and his success. He had a ready smile, in between coughs, and we parted ways after a little while. How different our lives are now, he was off to Cleveland the next day. I had a conference call at 10:30. Moments like that, I could empathize with Julie.

For a completely plan-free weekend, things ended up pretty comically. Directly from the office on Friday, I pretended I was 10 years younger and went out with the fun club from work, eventually landing us back in Federal Hill.

After Scott got stuck talking to the same person thrree times (shooting me COME SAVE ME NOW! looks across the room, which I admit to ignoring), he told me he'd received a call from his old college girlfriend who was at an 80s party nearby. I'd met her a few times, she seemed nice, quiet and actually, well, pious. As a compromise for the abandonment with the aforementioned work chatterbox, I agreed to go. I wasnt expecting much, understanding the source.

We walked the few blocks up towards Montgomery, where the cobblestones get cobblier and the homes get richer. Unsure exactly which beautiful house it was, we paused and followed the Bow Wow Wow and laughter. We climbed the staircase and peered inside.

All my eyes could focus on were two turquoise buttocks, with a hot pink thong in between. Legwarmers. White leather aerobic Reebocks. She turned to let us in and I nearly dropped my purse. The leotard alone, so jacked up high, just about killed me. Headband. The best feature was that she had regular underwear underneath her leggings-- intentional. She was so perfect, I was speechless.

She graciously led us back to the rest of the party. I've never seen such a group of women. Nothing was spared for the 80's time travel. Chrystal and Alexis were there-- down to the hairdo and jewels. A-ha was cranked. A kelly green prom dress worn at their actual 1987 prom. Taffeta. Bows.

We headed out to the lavish back courtyard, there must have been 30 bottles of wine open-- total opulence. Frankie Goes to Hollywood. Primary colors, shoulderpads. Scott's ex bounced over to us in full Flashdance regalia, plopped down right next to me and we spoke animatedly for over an hour, all the while her side ponytail flipping as she moved her head.

These women were drunk. And mostly roughly my age and up. One gay man in exquisite acid wash with perfect Flock of Seagulls hair. I looked past the side ponytail when the Wham! was suddently turned way up, I could see our hostess doing an aerobics routine up on her countertop. A few moments later she appeared in her high school uniform, replete with knee highs and little necktie. Her husband, who must have been been about 75, came in rather late in a tux. She's 35. Craziness.

I lost Scott for a while, only to have him resurface with eyes round as saucers. I guess he got his ass grabbed. maybe more than once. Ha! I instantly dialed up John and the guys from work I'd left behind-- this possy was anything but pious.

Unfortunately, I didnt get through to the boys-- their nights would have progressed in quite an unexpected fashion, I'm quite certain.

Nothing could have topped that party, so the rest of the weekend was a little more low-key-- went to a birthday party for a little while. I bought new sheets since Scott put his foot through our favorite, threadbare set, that he kept telling me, half-awake, were "loud". These sheets are so loud. They are a little crisp. Like sleeping tucked inside origame. For some reason, that just kills me. Now, I'm tired, its hard to sleep when you're cracking up.

I was telling a work story recently to my brother. It went on and on-- the plot thickening, the turns unpredictable, the dialogue hilarious. He listened with eyes widening and when I was finally done cracking myself up, he stated frankly:

"Holly. Does it concern you that you just used the term team about 5 times just now?"

I'm so self-concious now. Goooo team! Lets make a pyramid!

Nonetheless, my team keeps posting cheeseball pictures on my walls. I now have Nick Lashay and the "Thunder from Downunder" (Australian Chippendales?) staring and pouting at me all day. Sweet.