Double Flee A

Nothing exceeds like excess. I have a hangover. I think "hung over" is the official feeling of adulthood. That was fun, but ouch.
I had the pleasure of accompanying the lovely Joyce for her last night out before another semester of slaving to the grind at nursing school. (Incidentally, I recommend dating nurses.) We went to Elsie's psychedelic bowl-o-rama.
A guy was making balloon hats and pretty soon everybody was wearing one. They danced in wonky paths through the black-lit bowling alley and created an unexpected dork-safety that had everybody talkative and relaxed. Far away through the bluish haze pins fell and the robots obediently set them up again, for us to plow through carelessly again and again. I bowled a 146 the last game, which for me is good. Vodka and red bull, a fashionable drink these days, showed up brightly owing to its chemistry, and the sweet-tart smell came in body-waves as people moved past with heavy grace. Girls in three-inch heels bowling, carnie-like attendants scratched at touch-screens, waitresses, however shiny with vim, were dwarfed and mostly ignored, we noticed how drunk we were getting and didn't mind. I had the vodka-red bull of yesteryear, a bourbon sidecar, and then pitchers (how conveniently they disguise volume!) of beer. Was Gene Siskel buried with his thumb up, you think?

posted by dale @ 12:52 PM