The Best Night I've Had in a LONG Time
With a new friend and a bunch of rugby men
About a week ago I was sharing a story with a friend about a really random and unexpectedly uplifting experience I had in the first few months of my marriage in 2007. And somehow I spoke it into existence again in a weird way, because this past weekend I had the most surprising night of fun—with 50 years worth of SIUC rugby players and new friend!
Less than a couple of months into my marriage in 2007, things were already really bad. I felt like the person I agreed to marry was different than the person I was currently married to. The switch had been so quick and so alarming. We’d recently had friends over to our trailer and had spent the evening drinking. I was quickly realizing my new husband was drinking a lot more, and was getting a bit belligerent when doing so.
On this particular evening it was no different. And at one point in the night he had said something really hurtful and upsetting to me, so I decided to remove myself from the situation with him and our friends and go back to the bedroom. I wanted to de-escalate things, and I also wanted to go cry in private.
He didn’t care for this idea though, and he grabbed my roughly and tightly by both of my wrists so I couldn’t move and break his grasp. This was something he had done before, and I had very clearly told him that was not ok. Not only did it hurt, but it felt like he was wielding a power over me that was unsafe. Even after explaining this previously, he still would use it in our darker moments.
I somehow managed to get him to stop, and I ran back to the bedroom in tears. I laid in bed and sobbed and a few minutes later the whole trailer shook and I heard a crash and glasses breaking. I came out to see what had happened, and found our friends outside with my (ex)husband.
There was a huge dent on the outside of our trailer. Turns out that the situation had made him so upset that he bashed his head as hard as he could into the trailer, and made a huge dent in it. (His neck was injured for several months after this.) Doing this had shook the whole trailer and knocked over a small cabinet that held our wine glasses, causing some of them to spill over onto the floor and break.
It then became my job to take care of him and console him. Clean up the broken glass. Make him feel better about hurting me. Make appointments for his neck. And make excuses to our friends.
Not long after this, we had another very big fight. I genuinely don’t remember what it was about. But I remember feeling like I didn’t know this person at all, and I had made a huge mistake in marrying him.
The fight was bad enough that I once again felt I needed to flee the scene. This time I got in my car and headed out for a drive to calm down. As I was driving around in a stupor, I decided I would drive over to a private beach I had recently found. It was probably about 10pm, so I figured it would be relaxing to sit on this beach in the dark.
At that time I was cleaning houses, and this private beach was at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac in a small neighborhood where one of my clients lived. I had never realized the beach was at the end of their road until a few days prior. It seemed like the perfect place to go.
As my car ventured back into this little place my headlights washed over the beach, and to my great astonishment I saw about 20 pairs of shocked and scared eyes staring at me aglow. I quickly realized I was looking at a handful of teenage boys, I’m guessing about 17/18yrs old, in various stages of undress all taking a night swim together at this beach.
As such, my 24-year old ass started backing up and turning around to leave. As the headlights left their faces, they lost their shock and fear, and started angrily yelling at me that “Yeah, I better turn around and leave.”
Well, your girl Krista has a bit of a temper and doesn’t typically allow people to yell at me without yelling back. So, I stopped the car, rolled down my window, and started unleashing all of my fury and rage on them. It was NOT ok to talk to me like that.
Once they saw and heard me, and realized I was a young woman and not there to bust them, they immediately changed their demeanor and my car was swarmed by 20 half naked teenagers who were profusely apologizing. They saw I was crying and immediately started trying to console me. They asked what was wrong and I told them I had just had a huge fight with my new husband.
They all told me I was too young to be married and that I didn’t deserve to be treated that way and really just sat there and talked me through the heartbreak I was going through. They genuinely made me feel better not only by being so sweet and consoling, but by the sheer fact that this was such a hilarious and unexpected moment.
Eventually, I thanked them and made my way out of there. I never got out of the car, the beach was theirs that night. I let them go back to their little swimming excursion.
Five years later, my marriage ended. Never having gotten any better for any length of time than it was during those first few months. Me rarely sharing just how hard it was during that time with most people. You know, besides a group of half naked teenage boys in 2007.
Cut to this past Saturday night, May 3, 2024—the best fucking night I’ve had in a LONG time, with a somewhat similar energy.
Since moving back home I have struggled a lot, about a lot of things, many of which I have written about on this platform. One of the things I grieve the loss of is the type of social life I used to have. Going out with other single girlfriends who wanted to be out late dancing in a bar and flirting with men and no kids to get home to at a decent hour. The life I built for myself up in Chicago was one of such freedom and fun.
Not to say I don’t have incredible friends here, and don’t do things that aren’t wonderfully fun. I absolutely do. In fact, having more involvement with kids during this period has brought me such a different and fun kind of joy. I absolutely love being Auntie Krista. But, the same way parents need to commiserate with other parents, and married people need to connect with other married people, is the same way single women with no children (or no children still living with them) want to relate to each other. I haven’t had that in a long time. Until a couple of nights ago.
Another hurdle for me is struggling with living in a community of people who voted for Trump. We fundamentally do not share the same morals and values and I am not able to build a community I feel safe and free in under those circumstances. The same way everyone has their code of ethics in which they choose who they want to be around—in church, in friend circles, in any group setting. I like to have a diverse set of friends, and I don’t want to spend my time with people who voted for a man who is trying to take human rights away from me and my friends.
So, what’s a single, childless, non-Trump, divorced girlie to do? Well, she gets her butt out to community events that will likely have people who share similar interests and values. As such, I have attended many woo woo things in a neighboring university town. A town filled with people who tend to be more liberal, people who are into woo woo shit, has several bars that stay open late, and is filled with fringe and alternative people who I feel much safer around. Carbondale, IL. The town where I went to college.
At the woo woo events I have been attending, I have attended a few that are a safe space for women. At every single one of these events has been an incredible woman who I have really connected with and gotten to know better. She is also divorced and single, and her kids are away at college. As such, she lives a similar lifestyle to myself. We connect over woo woo things, nature, strong female spirit, politics, and basic values. And, after I found out on this particular night, a very similar going out/partying vibe!
Her and I decided to spend a night out on the town in Carbondale this past Saturday, and it turned out so much better than either of us ever expected. We started with dinner at Thai Taste, one of my favorite restaurants here. There we had such great conversation where we got to vent about men troubles, broken hearts, the woes of being surrounded by Trump supporters, and a slew of other things we can bond over.
After dinner we headed over to The Cellar, a bar across the street. It was still a bit early, and Carbondale is a far cry from what it used to be population-wise when I went to school there. So, the bar was pretty empty. Also, our bartender was out of her mind on coke and yelling at the top of her lungs at everyone she spoke to. The energy was a little too manic there. So, we quickly finished our drink and left.
We decided we weren’t ready to give up and have the night be over, so I suggested we head down to Booby’s—a sandwich shop and bar. I know the bar manager there and I feel like it is usually a good crowd. So, we headed down the strip a few blocks on foot and carried on our wonderful conversations.
Upon arriving at Booby’s my bar manager friend wasn’t working, and the crowd was also pretty small and just wasn’t the vibe. Our bartender was super lovely and sweet. There was nothing “wrong” per se. It just wasn’t the energy we were looking for in a night out. We finished our drink there, and my friend suggested we give it one more shot at PK’s before we headed home. I enthusiastically agreed.
I wasn’t ready to end the night. I had curled my hair, put on my fake eyelashes and nails, and put effort into going out. I was ready for more action. I don’t get to go out very often with my illness, and I wanted to make the most of this. However, I had decided that if the night did end early, I wouldn’t let the hair, make-up and nails go to waste—I would film a YouTube video when I got home if PK’s didn’t pan out either.
Upon entering this bar there was a bit more of a crowd, definitely more of an energetic vibe, and we ran into an old friend that we both knew from different walks of life. Within a few minutes a drunk friend of the friend we ran into offered us shots of Malort, which we both turned down (I lived in Chicago for 13 years—I’ve paid my dues with Malort).
We also noticed a few men who looked to be in their 60s and they were all wearing rugby jerseys. We were both immediately curious about this because you just don’t ever really see a rugby group in this area. It kind of felt like we were walking into a pub in England or Ireland.
While we were very intrigued, we both agreed that we didn’t feel like asking them because we really didn’t feel like it turning into what it so often has—men in the bar being creepy and not leaving you alone if you give them even an ounce of attention. #notallmen but like also #ButYeahAlotOfMenDoThisInOurExperience.
Upon getting close to finishing up our first drink at PK’s, and our third of the night overall (way more than I drink these days because I almost never drink anymore due to my illness), we decided that when we finished these drinks we would head out. The bar had a small crowd, but there wasn’t much going on.
Then, the music started… A screen came down from the ceiling and music videos started playing with songs from our childhood. First up was Beastie Boys, then Prince, and so on and so forth. My friend and I immediately started dancing in our seats. Then, one of the rugby guys came over and said “So, do you ladies go to school here?” It was very disarming and funny, because we clearly are middle-aged women. I quipped back “Oh yeah, we are still trying to decide what to major in.” He laughed and we had a very lovely conversation from there. Then his friends started talking to us too.
We found out they were in town for a SIUC rugby reunion. All the rugby players from over the past few decades were all meeting up in Carbondale to reunite. They were honoring one of their teammates who had recently, unexpectedly passed away. They were in from all over the country.
No one was being creepy. No one was making us feel uncomfortable. It was very light, friendly, safe flirtation. With the music banging and the conversation slaying we decided we were staying (I’m so cute, aren’t I?).
A few minutes later, the door opened and a SLEW of about 40 more rugby players descended upon the bar. From ages 21 to 71. Some with their faces painted. Some in cowboy hats. Many in rugby jerseys. 95% of them with the exact same build—huge shoulders, arms, and chests. Even the older ones. It was like they were all cut from the exact same pattern. There were about 5% who were smaller and leaner. I became very curious about this.
As they came in, some of them were eating ribs out of to-go boxes. A few walked right up to our table and with only eye contact and no words exchanged, offered me a bite of their ribs. I politely declined.
Within moments our table, and the bar itself, was swarmed with these rib eating, barrel-chested men—annndddd I didn’t hate it…. Every single one of them was just being friendly, talking to us, being slightly flirtatious, but just the right amount to where you feel good about yourself and not creeped out. Didn’t matter the age, they were all being this way.
One of the younger guys was wearing a jersey that was cropped to his nipples and a cowboy hat. One of the older guys was wearing a striped rugby jersey and a bright yellow newsboy cap and lots of Mardi Gras beads. Another was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a large pearl necklace. Some had their faces painted green. Others had black lines painted under their eyes. What they all had in common was this incredible energy where they were so friendly, outgoing, fun-loving, affectionate with each other, and so lovely to me and my friend.
Two of the guys who were now at our table were the 5% body type I was curious about, but I wasn’t feeling like initiating the conversation. However, within a few minutes, one of them tapped me on the shoulder and started with, “so.. we are both married” gesturing between him and his friend. What he was trying to communicate is that they were both married to other women, and that they weren’t trying to hit on me, but just talk. However, I took that opportunity to quip, “Oh my goodness I love that journey for the two of you.” They got a big laugh out of it and complimented my quick humor (which very few men do).
Then I asked them about the rugby body types I was seeing, and asked if that was a thing? Are there a few players on the team that don’t need to be really big-chested men? They told me I was quite observant and absolutely correct. There was a position that the two of them played, as well as the other guys with their smaller build, and it was more about running than it was tackling. All of my burning questions were being answered.
They were being rowdy in all of the right ways—climbing over the table to hug each other, holding each other in long embraces, kissing each other on the cheek, grabbing each others bewbies, dancing with each other on the dance floor, going into the single toilet bathroom three at a time while they left the door open whilst taking turns peeing. It was hilarious. They were so affectionate with each other. There was so much testosterone, and so much touchy feely love.
When they beckoned my friend and I to dance with them, they kept their hands to themselves. When they spoke to us, it was respectful. They offered drinks, ribs, and a hat when my hair needed to be up off my neck.
When the song Discovery Channel by the Bloodhound Gang came on, they sang along with the words “You and me, baby, ain't nothin' but mammals
So let's do it like they do on the Discovery Channel” without being creepy and gross. Two of the gentlemen singing along at our table looked to be pretty young. So I asked them how old they were when that song came out. They asked me what year it came out and I guessed 1998 or 1999 (upon looking it up it was ‘99, damn am I good.) They said they would have been negative 5 at that time. OMG, I felt so old. Then, one of them put on his Spiderman mask and headed to the dance floor.
On the dance floor were many rugby men of many ages doing many moves. They were sooooo fun to dance with. The two hottest ones (who I am guessing were in their late 20’s) invited me to the dance floor in a friendly, flirtatious, and non-creepy way. We danced our asses off. They were fun, attentive, and kept their hands off. Have I died and gone to heaven?
Also on the dance floor were various cell phones being held up on video calls. Many of them had dialed in fellow rugby teammates who couldn’t be there, and had them on video on the dance floor where they got to dance with the people there. Many people were going up to the phones and interacting with them, and the people on video were dancing in their living rooms to the music with us. Seriously, what a fucking cool bunch of people.
For the first time in my life, I got to witness a long line of men waiting for the bathroom for a change! Ha! But, we weren’t the only women there. There was definitely a majority of men, but there were a handful of women too. The rugby reunion must have included the women’s rugby team also because there was a group of women that seemed to know them, and they all had a specific body type too. Very muscular. Some were stockier. Some were smaller. Just like the guys. Even the older ones had maintained this build. The stockier ones tended to be taller. The leaner ones tended to be shorter. One of them looked to be about 70 and she was wearing a teeny tiny little top hat on her head.
Amongst all of these women, there was not an ounce of competition in the air. There was zero “pick-me” energy. There was no jealousy and bad blood. Every time I made eye contact with one, we smiled warmly at each other. We danced with each other. And there was no mean girl bullshit. We were all just giving each other supportive nods, smiles, and eye contact whilst dancing our asses off. It was just good, chill vibes. Literally, seriously, I am asking again, “Have I died and gone to heaven?”
Now, for those of you who know the typical PK’s crowd, lest you think the rugby players scared off the local, regular, alternative PKs patrons—they did not. Everyone mixed and meshed sooooo well!! It was a huge dance party amongst the fringe and the rugby reunionees. And everyone just seemed super comfortable and vibing so well. Dancing together and having a beautiful time. It really reminded me of the astonishingly fun, friendly, happy-go-lucky vibes of the pubs in Ireland.
My friend and I had the best symbiosis at this bar because we weren’t glued to each other the whole time. We were off doing our own thing, talking to strangers, dancing up a storm. Then we would come together and talk and dance with each other. Then we’d be off on our own again. We both loved to dance and had zero self-consciousness issues in putting it all out on the dance floor. We left any insecurities we had at the door, and just boldly and confidently cut loose. And, we both felt ready to leave at the exact same time. About 1:15am. The party was still HOPPING. But we were ready to leave on a high note. And we both wanted to “Irish good-bye” (leaving without say bye to anyone). So, we did. It’s funny because not only did the vibe at this bar on this night totally remind me of the bars in Ireland, and the rugby men in their jersey’s made it feel like an Irish pub, but then we “Irish good-byed”. I guess I’m still dreaming of Ireland!
Then, we walked to our cars in the rain. We excitedly chattered the whole way about how the unexpected and perfect night had been such an amazing way to just completely let go and just have fun. No complicated depressing life bullshit. Just pure fucking fun. We agreed it was exactly the night we both needed at this point in our lives. A night to help us feel better about the way things had been going lately.
When I got in my car, I was drenched in sweat and rain. My pleather pants were soaked, very hot, and sticking to my legs. My hair was wet and flat. My eyelashes were coming off. And my eyeliner was running. There would be no going home and filming a reiki YouTube this time. I ended up with a very different YouTube short instead (see at bottom of post). My hair and make-up had not been wasted. They went to perfect use and were tattered in the best possible way by the end of the night.
I will be physically recovering from this night for many days. With my illness the drinking does cause inflammation and the hours of dancing brings on the major fatigue. But, it’s ok. Because I needed this form of therapy more than anything else I have tried to do for my mental health these last few months. Just fucking dancing and not swimming in woes for a GD minute.
The benefits to my health are far outweighing the drawbacks. I needed this night more than I even realized. Just fucking letting go. Getting out of my head (and my bed). Having fun. No worries. No problems. Good vibes. Dancing my ass off. Chill women who were girl’s girls. Fun, harmless flirting with a bunch of barrel-chested rugby men who made me feel safe and desirable. And a new friend who felt exactly the same about it.