*Shaking Head*
You know…
I did a kegstand for the first time this past weekend.
Dear moppets who may not have ever gotten sucked in to the greek system or gone to a top party school, a kegstand is when you firmly clasp the sides of a keg with your hands, someone hold’s your legs up (ideally making you vertical but that’s really, far too ambitious) and then you’re forced to drink beer straight from the spout while inverted for a count of…well, one-ups. I managed to a count of six.
Remind me how old I am?
Jayzus.
This after sparring about privatizing medicare, interest rates, and um… the “hunter gatherer” school of mack care of Drew. at a party hosted by my friend Mike and his half dozen or so roommate’s including Peter who also blogs bits. Intriguing conversations that night re: Charter School issues, financial implications of the war, on how younger men might better succeed in wooing older women, methodologies and implications on pursuing better “close rates” on dating. Hunting or being hunted. Squirrels. Or prize hunting with a head to be displayed on a lodge wall. I am not kidding. It was kinda wacky but fun.
There’s nothing quite like that half sarcastic moment the next morning where you ask yourself
“Oh fuck. Where am I. Where are my clothes. Why the hell does this keep happening to me.”
And then finding a gouge scratch on your knuckle.
And thinking to yourself: “Wait. I don’t think I remember punching *anyone* out this time.”
And then reminding yourself that uh, yeah, you’re kinda a girl, too.
Post Vday.
In consideration of the odd social and emotional landmines around this holiday: let me say it’s good to drink wine with friends and eat indian pizza while giggling over how life is perfect and that joy reveals itself in every day.
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