Look Out Below

This morning, all over the country, women are boarding planes bound for New York. Loud women. Obnoxious women.

Durkin women.

My mom loves her girls. She spends a ton of money so my sister, sister-in-law and I will enjoy a weekend in the city. In return, I promise to play nice. There will be no scoring weed or jazz musicians in Greenwich Village. Damn it. I actually get optimistic and look forward to long walks through Central Park followed by expensive food and enough beer to kill a linebacker. Then my mother announces that several other relatives are joining us and already we’re gonna need more booze and pharmaceutical intervention.

I love my aunts and female cousins. We have a history together. But I’m always afraid someone is going to piss me off. Or a more likely scenario - I will alienate everyone within ten minutes. Let me break it down for you: opinionated women plus an unlimited bar tab can be ugly. I just know someone’s gonna watch Bill O’Reilly, regurgitate right-wing bullsh*t, pass it off as an original thought and send me into orbit.

I’ve got two male cousins who will hang with us as well. One from Philadelphia and the other from Columbia University. What are they thinking?

“I can’t miss conversations about mammary glands and afterbirth. Sign me up for a facial!”

The men in my immediate family are thrilled to be without us for a few days. Just last night, my youngest said,

“I’m so exciting!”

He means “excited”. When I look slightly sad, he says,

“Don’t get mad, mom. We just have our own rules during Boys’ Weekend.”

The rules for Girls’ Weekend are there are no rules. But what happens in New York won’t necessarily stay in New York. I’m gonna rant about everything right here. And include pictures.

Just to add some more fun, God threw a blizzard our way. My flight got canceled so now I’m stuck on the same flight as my mother. I called my sister, brother, and Becky with Final Instructions.

“If this sh*t goes down in the drink, find my husband a reliable woman with a mom who doesn’t charge a dime for babysitting.”

Michael wasn’t comfortable with several aspects of the conversation. I brought Becky down and Michele hung up in tears. So did I.

I can just hear Tommy now, "Jeez, Kate, as your plane is flaming toward the sea...if you could find time to call and give me my third scoop of the week, I'd sure appreciate it."

I kid. I'm a kidder. *sigh* Do they serve cosmopolitans on flights this early in the morning?