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“We are perfectly human only when we play.”
- & nbsp; &n bsp; Friedrich Schiller
I love Thursday nights. Thanks to a new tradition introduced to me by the Sesames: Hillary and Tiffany. Every Thursday night for the past four weeks (with the exception of one when we were all overloaded with work – damn this class thing getting in the way of our college experience!) we have gone to Tiffany’s boyfriend John’s place on Atwood. Always a nice chill time – he and his 3 roommates usually get a keg, there are 20 people at most, beer pong, and let’s just call it an “eclectic” mix of music.
Last night was certainly not an exception. Matt, one of John’s roommates and a fellow member of my Creative Nonfiction writing class, met me at Fuel and Fuddle a little before 9 to listen to our professor, Kathy Tarr, read some of her work. She met us with a grin in the basement and leaned in towards us to semi-whisper:
“Don’t worry, guys, I’m reading first – I wanna make sure you get to your party on time.”
I love this woman – I love writers. Matt and I squeezed onto the cushioned bench, occupying the last two available seats. More of our classmates arrived, and other writers, relaxed and open, sitting on the concrete floor, standing in the back. We listened to her words amidst the smell of clove cigarettes and hushed requests for pints to be refilled. She is good. More legitimate in my eyes now. I look forward to her criticism throughout the rest of this semester.
Once she was done, Matt and I approached her to tell her how much we enjoyed it – and she thanked us then shooed us away with a flippant gesture.
“Go, get out of here – enjoy your weekend! I’ll see you in class on Tuesday.”
No argument here. We emerged from claustrophobia into the brisk cold of the evening, headed through the parking lot behind the restaurant straight to Matt and John’s house at the end of Atwood. It was still early, only 10ish and no one was there except the roomies and me. I called Chad and was informed that they were at the Pete, drawing some money out from the Mac and would be there shortly.
Why wait? Without much prodding from Matt, we took a shot of Cherry Three Olives and toasted to the…eccentric… old Polish woman in our writing class. I swear she has to be at least 75. At the mention of anything that sounds like the word “Polish” or “Poland” she thrusts her arm into the air and frantically motions at herself. We like to test her reflexes in class…
“Hey did you see the new commercial with the POLar bears in it?”
“I like to POLka.”
The arm shoots up then back down. It’s shameless fun, I know.
So we toast to the Polish woman with every letter in the alphabet in her name. Once. Twice. Three times. Lost count – oh well, start over.
Chad, Tiffany, Hillary, Jimmy, and Matt arrived along with more of the Thursday night crew, Andy and Joey. Beer pong is in full effect, the soundtrack of Thursdays playing in the background. From Dave Matthews to White Town’s “I Could Never Be Your Woman,” these guys have it all.
So, some shots and a couple beers later, I find myself on one side of the pong table (a door they lay across the table – complete with doorknob sticking out and everything), with Jimmy as my partner. Let’s clarify: I am not known for my pong skills even if I’m completely sober, and while Jimmy is MUCH better than me, his skills significantly decrease as his level of intoxication increases. But I’m having fun so what the heck….
Until we find ourselves down to one cup, and Joey and Andy’s pyramid is untouched. Big deal, you say, it’s just a game of beer pong. Well, abiding by the unwritten rules of this house, a complete shutout means a naked run. And I don’t feel like being nakey in front of all these people, no matter how much I love them.
Chad’s eyes are growing wider with every toss we miss and then it happens. Andy sinks the ball into our last cup. If Joey makes it, we’re naked. He misses. Phew. And then the greatest miracle ever occurred.
I MADE THE SHOT.
Jimmy then proceeded to sink something like 4 in a row. Where was that skill when we were sweating it out, Jim? Gosh.
Soon enough, the game is over and my stomach is growling. A glimpse into the fridge as someone gets a beer reveals a jar of sandwich pickles. Yes! I sneak in, casually trying to get them…I just want one, please just one.
“We have a two pickle limit!” John teases me, after Chad gave me away.
Gosh. I thought you were my boyfriend or something.
Before I know it, Tiff and Hill are eating the pickles right along with me – but we definitely adhered to the limit rule. Hmm. Still hungry. I catch Joey’s eye and nod my head in the direction of the bread on top of the fridge, next to the peanut butter. Next thing I know, I’m huddled behind the stairway with Joey, spreading huge gobs of peanut butter on bread with a very sharp knife. Sooo good.
Of course we get caught and a still unresolved argument arises about the best brand of peanut butter. Of course it’s Peter Pan, specifically the honey-roasted creamy kind, but Chad and several others claim that creamy Jif is the best, support for their argument being that choosy moms choose it. Ok – because that’s a valid point. Dorks. Meanwhile Tiffany’s jumping up in down in the back yelling:
“I like Skippy!”
No one’s going to acknowledge that, Tiff. Come on now, Skippy’s not even on the radar.
I catch Andy trying to finish off the Frosted Flakes, but he’s going about it all wrong. I ask him what he’s trying to prove and he finally pulls the bag out of the box. I reach in for a quick little fingersful and come up with mostly sugar – come on, you know how the sugar all collects in this great white powder on the bottom of the Frosted Flakes box. And you also know the best way to finish it is to just empty the bag into your mouth. So, Andy attempts to hold the bag while emptying it into my mouth, but bumps the bag…HARD…and succeeds in getting the white powder allll over my face. We’re talking eyebrows and eyelashes here, buddy.
Cameras flash and I attempt to hide my face and make it to the bathroom to clean it off. Chad doesn’t even come to my aid – just lets me bury my face in his chest for a second on my way. Andy actually feels bad and he and Tiff lock the three of us drunkards in the bathroom as we try to get the sugar off without smearing my make-up everywhere. After several minutes we decide – ah, good enough.
The time between exiting the bathroom and leaving is somewhat blurred. I remember Tiffany crying, that kind of drunken cry that I am oh so known for, because she called Chad Matt by accident and Jimmy yelled at her. He apologized countless times, but she felt sooo bad for doing it. I love that drunken cry that you end up laughing through because you realize just how comical the situation really is.
On our way home, we stopped at Antoon’s, of course, and picked up another Thursday night tradition: sausage and pepperoni pizza. Mmmm soo good. But Chad won’t let us eat it until we get back to PA hall. As we rounded the side of the union, we encounter a girl maybe 5 feet away, pants around her ankles, poppin a squat right next to the damn panther, trying to pee. She sees us and pulls up her pants, stumbling as she tries to run away, and I can’t stop laughing.
The shuttle driver is my absolute favorite: Don. I firmly get told by Chad, Jim, and Hillary before boarding that I am NOT allowed to give him any of our pizza this time. So I feel horrible – here I am, this whole wonderful pizza, and not sharing even one tiny piece with Don. It doesn’t help matters when I leave my purse on the shuttle and SafeRider has to radio Don asking him to swing back around and drop it off. But he is ever so kind as I run out to meet him, and I promise him pizza next time I am drunk.
So, today, here I sit, working in my work study office from an agonizing 8:30 a.m. – 5:30 p.m. But it doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t sacrifice my newfound Thursdays and the memories we make for anything. = )
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That'll take you to some pics from Thursdays - just keep clicking the right arrow to go through the slideshow. (Make sure you check out ALL of my pics!)
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