Monday, March 17, 2008

This weekend broke me, but it was completely worthwhile.

On Saturday night I found myself at a house party a few blocks away from my apartment, full of people in sunglasses and black clothes and suits. We didn't know that there was a theme when we followed the party train to this place, and moreover we didn't much care, so we stood out like sore thumbs in spring pastels. A couple of hours and a few beers in the opening strains of a Journey song hit the speakers. Andy shouted that it was too early for Journey but his words were lost in the collective yell of recognition, and suddenly this room full of strangers turned into a single dancing organism, all loudly refusing to stop believing, all planning to hold on to that feeling.

And that, friends, was a Moment. And even though this weekend was pretty much a 48-hour hangover punctuated with brief fits of whiskey and bad ideas, it was made entirely of Moments. Ugly strippers and Whidbey Island iced teas and an island cab also made appearances, as did an adorable deaf hipster, two brunches, an ex boyfriend, and further demands for strangers to tell me jokes. I'd do it all again, given the chance. In fact, I just might do it all again this coming weekend.

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