Not Since Seventh Grade

The Hookah Lounge
wanting tasty soup. . .
3:12 pm
Thursday, July 6, 2006

Per my annual tradition, I always go in for a little mind-expansion on the Fourth of July. It's such a great thing: you always remember where you were on the Fourth, what you did, how much beer you drank. That is, until you drank too much beer and then things get real fun. It's the one day of the year where it's your constitutional right to be loud and obnoxious, drunk and disorderly. You have the right to persue happiness, so by god, get out there and do it.

Last year, Alii and I had a Indiana Dune adventure. This year, Paul and I decided to indulge the evening of July 3rd so we could watch the sunrise on the 4th and get epically drunk as we come down from our own sweet adventure.

We drove to Hyde Park. We tried to break into my apartment. We had horrible stomach pains: who'd a thought that dropping some acidic chemicals into a stomach full of beer would be a bad call? We tried to set up Ayse with Polish John. We walked. We talked. We wandered around a church. We talked about God. We talked about family. Paul lost his shirt.

We swam in the lake with some naked, drunk girls, whom Paul happened to know. Yeah, awkward as hell. We instinctively walked in the opposite direction from they're hollar, splashing, booby-flopping selves. Wandering in to the deep-blue velvety expanse of forever, the moon shining, skirts swirling, water cold, hand-in-hand. The ripples we make now will some day be waves. Each ridge in this sand bar was made by waves from across the way. Each ripple goes on forever. Paul then picked me up and spun us around in circles, circles, circles until we were too cold to enjoy it anymore, kissing, drenched in moonlight.

After splashing, dunking each other and generally creating a giant hubbubaloo, we emerged dripping. And then! 8,342 cops showed up. Turns out, someone was robbed blocks from the lake and they though all the fucked up people on the beach might have seen something. "What were we doing, officer?" as I wring water from my dress, "Oh, ya know, just reading a book."

As the sun showed signs of rising, we decided to go home, change, NOT GET DISTRACTED, and come back to watch the sunrise. And, glory be, it worked. Tapestry in hand, snacks and beer in a bag, we laid on the deserted beach feeling luck to be alive. After an indeterminate time of staring, looking at things, and general gawking, Paul turned to me.

"So, we've been seeing quite a lot of each other lately."
"I'm pretty okay with that."
"Me too, but uh . . . do you want to date or something?"
"Well, I'm not sure. . . I'll have to ask the Wills, but uh, probably."
" . .. Uh, . . well, you could check it out and let me . ."

That's when I kissed him. Insert a several minute time lapse full of mushy-gushy stuff.

Then I sit up, smile like a demon and say, "Wait, did you just ask me to be your girlfriend? I don't think that's happened since like, seventh grade? Are you serious? That may well be the cutest thing that's ever happened to me."

Then Paul blushed and poked me, tickling me into giggling submission. I've decided I'm going to have to make that whole turning-red-and- being-adorable thing happen as much as possible.

This, this feels good.