Last weekend was Alistair’s pool party, an annual tradition for a growing circle that includes a lot of my high school friends.
When I moved back north last fall, I felt strange picking up with my friends from ten or fifteen years ago. I still feel awkward answering the first questions you’d ask anyone back in town after a long absence, those basic questions about why I moved back or what I’d been doing, because I came back to New Jersey so completely battered from the intersection of relationship and career failures.
But, hey, if you ever need to reboot your life at almost-thirty, these are some of the guys to do it with!
We were still at the grocery store before Alistair’s party when the shenanigans began.
Apologies to other people in the store. In my defense, though, A RAMEN DESSERT COOKBOOK???
No, I didn’t get the cookbook. Mostly because the temptation to try the recipes would be too great, but also because I wanted to spend that money on beer.
Alistair is a tattoo artist (Yes, all my friends are cooler than me. Thanks for noticing!), so most of his friends at the party were inked and decorated, sporting retro-cute bathing suits, wild haircolors, and piercings. I was impressed (and a tiny bit intimidated) by how awesome all the guests looked, and I said as much to my high-school friend Colron.
“Oh,” Colron said, realization dawning after a moment’s reflection. “This conversation is about fashion. Ok, carry on.”
OMG this post made me hungry and self conscious. Logically, I should go on a diet, eat ice cream, and then go shopping. Not necessarily in that order. [Female “logic” ;p]
Ooh, shopping! (I’ll take a pass on the weird eating habits, but that just gives me more time for buying pretty things!)