Boat Party

I couldn't have felt any older, even if a giant purple dinosaur had emerged from a paper-machet volcano to lead us in rounds of "row, row, row your boat" as we struggled to string painted pasta-piece necklaces…, and stopped only to exchange exasperated "poo poo heads" over who got the dried, lavender tortellini.

I could almost feel crows trampling the muddy corners of my eyes, leaving near fossilized footprints on my face as flocks of undergrads in pirate costumes passed around alligator masks, candy cigarettes, skittle-colored jello shots, and talked of "deconstructing old paradigms of understanding," and "annihilating out-moded education models with heavy-handed pourings of Whiskey Sours."

Yeah, I was feeling old…
… old like I-had-just-crampon-crunched-my-way-past-Mallory and-Sisyphus-and-was-on-my-way-over-the-hill Old.

Old like I just didn’t care anymore and could scream: “We’re all being attacked by bow-tied, flute-playing ants!” in the middle of a church barbeque without minding if I upset someone’s discussion about how much dill is just the right amount in a potato salad…

But…, yeah, I swear someone was sprinkling gray hair seedlings in remote areas of oft-succulent growth on my body when I overheard Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie's recent escapades used to illustrate the meaning behind an arguably profound Samuel Beckette quote, and when my refusal to drink Tequilla (that was obviously fermented in a re-used trashbag-lined kiddy pool outside of a carnival goldfish cemetery-slash-nuclear storage site) provoked a dissonant chorus of "CHUG it! CHUG it! CHUG its!"

Oh well. Maybe it’s not about age at all…

After all.., I couldn’t even handle those kind of parties when I was that age…

And,

Most of my “grown-up” friends now are admittedly still prone to bouts of freestyle poetry recitations (with an emphasize on fellatio puns and shunning of political buns), sessions of banging on household items (for no reason except that- wow, those are some “cool sounds”!), rounds of summer-saulting and skinny-dipping (only where appropriate and attention-grabbing, of course!), and improvised skits performed in public places (the louder, goofier, and more obnoxious, the better!)…

So, I guess it’s safe to say that even though I felt quite old at the party, those cheap booze-guzzling, liberal arts sea mariners are, in fact, a lot more “grown-up” than I am.

Afterall, I’m certainly not mature enough yet to use the words imperialism, secularism, logical positivism, multilateralism, and Clitorism all in a single, chatty conversation with someone I just met.

But, give me a few years.

I’m sure I’ll work them all into a coherent pick-up line one day.