The Space City of a Thousand Teas

Fred again. And seriously, don't be misled by CG. We had an extremely exciting Valentine's Day weekend. I turned 21, we had a birthday party, and was no alcohol. Instead, we sat in various combinations and positions that might have at times resembles circles, played guitar, and sang songs out of Rise Up Singing (which is an awesome book).

And we had so many parties this week. Last Tuesday, we had a potluck, with four guests. We wound up singing at that, too, show tunes mostly. We also sang, stridently and in an extremely high register, the Battle Hymn of the Republic. We woke up everyone else with that one, actually. And that party degenerated into a puppy pile, which would up staying the night on the fold-out couch bed.

Going even farther back, the Folk Fest after party was at the Space City the Sunday before that. It would up being a bit of a flop - not enough instruments, and not enough alcohol (can you guess how much? That's right - NONE) - but it wasn't a total loss because afterwards Karen, Margaret and I went to Wendy's for dinner (at 2 am) and then Margaret and I had a serious Homework Party. We actually slept and worked in shifts to each finish a 25oo-word midterm in fewer than 12 total hours.

Finally, moving forward in time again, as usual we had Saturday morning bridge - which actually was bridge, and actually ended at 2 pm this week. This aside, it was a good time, and perhaps in the near future there will be bridge, euphemistic, again.

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Apartment news aside, I feel compelled to point out that it is very strange to be 21. Yesterday, almost everyone I met over 21 said something along the lines of "So, I need to take you to the pub for a beer." And every single time, even the fourth and fifth - I had to forcibly stop myself from saying "But I'm not old enough." It was highly disconcerting to be old enough.