[about the author]
i actually like speaking in front of large crowds. freakish,
i work crossword puzzles in ink.
i am the american nigella lawson. or maybe the american eddie
izzard. can't decide, really.
i would be a really good mom, but i'm cool with being a really
i am sometimes more perceptive than i would like to be.
i am fiercely loyal. sometimes, stupidly so.
i never play dumb. never.
i am way too hard on myself.
i am a change agent.
i sometimes cross that fine line between assertive and aggressive.
i am not afraid to tell people that i love them.
i am militantly pro-choice.
i am pro-adoption.
i know a little bit about alot of things.
i typically enjoy the company of men more than women.
i am capable of being really mean and nasty, but i fight it.
i am a lifelong cubs fan. do not laugh.
i have been known to hold a grudge.
i have hips.
i am not my sister.
i am lousy at forgiving myself.
i am an indoor kind of gal.
i am a bargain shopper. to the point of obsession.
i am 32 flavors. and then some.
southern hospitality with a shot of southern comfort
i have no idea what made me think of it, but this morning i remembered a story that a guy i used to know told me years ago. it was one of those stories that conjured up such vivid images in my head, such great word pictures, that it made me wish i had written it. not lived it, necessarily, but written it.
this guy had a lot of great stories, actually. most of them were from his college days and started out in one of three ways:
1. [insert friend’s name here] and i were drunk
2. [insert friend’s name here] and i were high
3. [insert friend’s name here] and i were on mushrooms
it was all just healthy college experimentation, but it led to some really funny stories. this particular story fell into category #3 as i recall.
they went to college in the south. it was a university of irony -- a somewhat stodgy and prestigious institution filled with the offspring of old money families planted squarely in the heart of redneck country. as is often the case, there was a certain tension between the local folks and the pseudo-ivy-league-legacy students in their seersucker and madras.
it happened to be halloween, and this guy and his friend decided that they would indulge in some mushrooms and then get dressed up and head out to some parties.
he decided to go as a vampire, and went all out with the cape and the fangs and the requisite fake blood. his friend hadn’t put a whole lot of thought into a costume, so he had to come up with something at the last minute. of course, coming up with a halloween costume at the last minute can be a daunting task in and of itself. but, when you’re on mushrooms and trying to come up with a costume at the last minute, well, it lends a whole new aspect to the challenge.
the two of them wandered around their fraternity house to see what they could possibly fashion into an acceptable costume. they walked out into the backyard of the house where the current project-in-progress was a deck that they were building. as they looked out at the stack of lumber, the costumeless one said, “dude, i have the best idea.”
and, with that, he went to work with a hammer and nails, dispatching his partner in crime to the linen closet to retrieve a sheet.
“hey – bring the fake blood, too,” he called after him.
thirty minutes later, oh-so-pleased with their handiwork, the two of them set out for an evening of merriment. they caught a ride with some friends to a party that was at a friend's house off campus. and, as sometimes happens when you get tanked, they looked around at the end of the night to find themselves stranded.
“dude, it’s halloween. i’m sure there are plenty of people still out. there must be people headed back toward campus…we’ll just hitch.”
“hitch?! man, this cross is heavy as shit. i don’t think i can drag it all the way back to campus. not to mention i'm wearing a sheet -- i'm freezing my ass off.”
“dude, that lumber is for the deck. we gotta take it back.”
so, the two of them set off toward campus. dracula with his cape fluttering in the moonlight, and his compadre: jesus christ. with cross in tow.
it wasn’t long before they saw headlights.
as the vehicle neared, they saw that it was a rusted-out chevy pickup with three guys in the front seat. and a confederate flag hanging in the cab window.
the truck slowed, stopping beside the two figures on the shoulder of the road.
“hey, man, can we get a lift?”
the men stared in silence. one of them threw a beer can out the window.
“shit…this might be bad, man,” muttered dracula.
the chevy’s rusted out muffler rumbled through the quiet night air. alan jackson was faintly audible through the open window of the truck cab. after what seemed like an eternity, one of the men in the truck finally spoke.
“who the fuck do you think you are?”
after an evening of mushrooms and alcohol, the answer offered probably seemed like a good one.
“dude, he’s dracula and i’m jesus christ!”
“oh, man – drop the cross and run!”
they never looked back, but they heard the truck doors open and the drunken ranting as the guys tumbled out onto the ground, too drunk to stand up for long.
“goddamn sacrilegious motherfuckin’ sonsofbitches!” echoed through the crisp autumn air.
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