Homies, Vertical Vomit, and Breakdancing 50 year olds.

10:30 came early this morning. Withold judgement at my Sunday slumber, please.  One does not need to be present at any religious establishment that wreaks of little old ladies recklessly doused with Ode 'de Tafetta and singing hymns off key for Jesus to be present.  I'm quite certain he and I were communicating directly this morning when "God! It's freaking cold in here!" fumbled from my chapped lips. Before my squinted eyes had opened to survey the view from underneath Mt. Blanket that I crawled into at 4 a.m., I had already dialed in a prayer request for the pellet stove to spontaneously light itself.  I'm also sure that my gratitutde for having been the designated driver last night (resulting in non-hangoverism) succesfully navigated the heavenly lines of communication.  Jesus and I are alright on this blustery day of rest here in my little cabin.  We're homies for sure.  Speaking of homies... last night was an incredibly entertaining evening complete with spontaneous, vertical vomiting, hearing impairment and mis-interpretations, word associations and upper lip smiling.  Ahh yes, a night on the town with my friends both new and old...

After a fabulous dinner the four of us headed to a small, local establishment in which the displays of dance to the dj's turntables could only be deemed as "art" (thanks to my closest 'homey' for appropriately dubbing it as such).  I do believe the 50's something, mohawk wearing, misguidedly confident woman in the canary yellow t-shirt doing something that was meant to resemble break dancing had jaws dropping left and right...most likely out of concern as opposed to envy over her 'sweet moves'.  I know at least half a dozen people had their phones poised for the 911 call we were certain would be needed.  One of my newest friends of the evening, made sure the shots and beer kept flowing at a steady pace for everyone (myself excluded).  Yeager Bombs, Kamikazi's, Guiness, etc., etc., ...mix that with the champagne from dinner and you've got the perfect recipe for spontaneous spewage. Yep.  It all happened so quickly.  No warning.  One minute he was conversating and then in mid sentence he was unsuccesfully covering his mouth, I was pushing Kate out of the way, and a running blur of a vomiting, gay man whisked past all of us toward the restroom.  We stood in silence for a moment and looked at one another with non-verbal confirmation of what just took place.  Much self restraint was employed in order to not follow suit simply by way of weird gutteral reciprocation. Kindof like a yawn only way more gross.  I held it together though and our lovely host returned glossy eyed but all signs of puke removed.  Another shot? Of course they did, lol.  We decided some fresh air on the patio was just what the doctor ordered and it was here that I entertained my friends with the art of smiling only with your upper lip.  Aghast at my freakish talent, they were overtaken by laughter and sincere frustration at not being able to mimmick my upper lip's contortionist abilities.  Much like you and your frustration right now at trying to figure out what the hell I'm talking about while making bizarre facial gestures.  If you're going to try it though, you have to do it in front of a mirror.  Let me know how it works out for ya. 

Having grown tired of this particular watering hole, we agreed it was time to make our presence known at a larger more 'clubby', sophisticated establishment in which our own sweet dance moves would have ample onlookers and an audience worthy of our own onlooking.  The steady thump of the speakers promised an array of visual displays set to its tribal beat. Like the rest of the lemmings in search of a 'good time' we funneled through the doors, eagerly extended our hand for the stamp, and sauntered in with eyes agape in order to take it all in.  Skinny boys in speedos and shirtless men with god-like physiques mingled through the crowd and displayed their rhythmic prowess atop boxes specifically designated for them to entertain us. Gorgeous women filled the dance floors and those too shy to join in hugged the side lines like they were at the 50 yard line of a championship football game.  It was enough to have made my mother blush. God bless her.  (See, there He is again.)  I love you Dolores! I do. I really mean that, mom. So much so that I have a special ringtone on my phone for you that yells "Dolores is calling" in the most obnoxious Jersey accent I could muster.  It makes me giggle when you call. :)  I digress....

It took all but 5 minutes before another round of shots were had and we hit the dance floor.  The syncopated techno tracks were the ideal platform to bust out moves like 'the robot' and 'the sprinkler'. I was a hit.  I'm not shy about it.  I grew tired of the attention however, and I regrouped with my crew at the bar.  It was then that the dj brought the 'goods' through the speakers and the house started jumping and gyrating to a mix of both old and new hip hop and rock and roll.  The perfect scenario for me to turn my innocent water bottle into a virtual, roaming microphone for the girls doing bad karaoke versions of club classics like " I love rock and roll" and Usher's OMG.  I was like Dick Clark, before the stroke.  They loved me.  

Ahhh... good times, good times.  I could go on and on about the evening and the need to communicate via hand signals due to the loss of hearing in the club.  All I can say is word associations is a fantastic way to get to know even your closest friends better. And if someone says "would it bother her?" and you hear "Did you win the lotto?" and "Did you date a model?", if some strange valet attendant touches your hair, and crazy=socks in your mailbox...you know it's going to be a fabulous evening.
Cheers to my friends both new and old :)