My spring weekend was a total rock and roll weekend--dancing, drinking, bar banter, squirrels, a man dance, brunch, champagne, frantic crazy talk, a cupcake that coaxed my stitches out, running into so many people I haven't seen in a long time, streakers, arm wrestling, thumb wrestling, a couple rounds of the mouth replacement trick, a newly-developed fascination with the backs of stop signs, a leisurely walk around my neighborhood, a lot of whiskey, discussion of quantum relationship mechanics ("Why are you single? You have a really nice ass!" "I know, but this is happening [explanation]..." "Oh, and that ass doesn't cancel that out?" "Guess not." "Huh."), laughing and laughing and laughing, reading and daydreaming at the micro park, and a narrow escape from a goose bent on stealing my soul.
I don't need to have adventures, really, since I sort of am an adventure. And you are all a bunch of pretty, pretty easter baskets.
In my head, the whole thing was scored by the All Girl Summer Fun Band. It would have made for a tolerable scene in a low budget teen movie, probably, if we'd had some people rolling down hills or playing with a beach ball or something. And less whiskey. And now it is time for coaches to turn back into pumpkins and for samanthas to not talk to anyone for about two days in order to recover. Having a great time, wish you were here.