So, the ladies picked last night to go out, catch up, and enjoy a bottle or two. Thursday nights are the easiest nights, you see, because our husbands/fiances/close-enoughs generally play poker that night.

Unless one chick says “Honey, please stay home with the baby. I haven’t been out with the girls in months.” Then there aren’t enough guys for a game. As the host put it, “the girls are getting together because we’re playing poker, but because the girls are getting together, we can’t play poker.” (I take this as a lack of respect for our own friendships — didn’t this prove we’d go out whether they had poker or not?)

There was some grumbling, but then there was some grilling and all was well.

Last night was the first night we’ve been able to sit at an outside table this year — the weather was perfect for cheese and wine and girl talk, and for catching members of Congress smiling dorkily so they wouldn’t be caught not smiling if someone happened to recognize them.

Sonoma is just what you might think — a wine bar and restaurant with a slightly pretentious atmosphere (welcome to the Hill) and a remarkably friendly and funny staff. Somehow, I’ve never been available for other trips to this place, but I hereby deem it worthy of dealing with DC during and after happy hour. (I am a suburban wife over 30 and I reserve the right to avoid the city when I don’t care to spend an hour looking for parking. My career does not hinge on backroom deals over brandy and cigars.)

Shockingly, none of our other friends shared Alicia and my giddy excitement re: the triumphant return of the quintessential boy band. In fact, one of them? Was one of those people spreading the rumor about sperm in Jordan Knight’s stomach. And that’s just mean.

(Talking of Jordan, though, he’s got to be over the moon about this. Anyone else remember the photos of him signing CDs at a Wa1-Mart a year or two ago? There was no line, people — no line! And now the comment counts on the NKOTB blog are rivaling dooce’s. Except her readers are there because she’s clever and human, not because she reminds them of the days when their popularity was closely tied to how tightly they could peg their jeans.)

I was outed a little bit last night, by the way. Some friends (hi, guys!) were unaware of this blog until “Shotgun” from last month’s shopping trip felt compelled to defend her berserker reaction to my mad driving skillz. She still claims that going 65 on an off-ramp is problematic. I don’t know where she gets this shit.

But I have not actively promoted this blog to people who weren’t already reading me somewhere else, except for a few colleagues who get my jokes. Fortunately, because all of my friends are generally swell people and any spats between us are likely to end in laughter, I’m not worried about anyone reading this and getting offended. Is this what kids these days call BFFs? Either way, they’re neat.

I believe it was after 11 when we got home. On a school night. I feel quite bad ass.