with you, I know I'm home

There's something dangerous about several smart people with sharp wits together after a long seperation. We were all in rare form last night, and our conversation started at a new low when I nearly made Melynda crash her car with an offensive remark about a mutual acquaintance. It only got worse from there, and the boys were drinking tequilla with dinner. Gene made a stunning observation that watermelon ring pops are good for removing certain tastes from the tongue, and plans were made to make wax castings of Tyler's special features. I pity the people sitting behind us in Curras. At least our smiling waiter didn't seem to mind us.

At the Drafthouse we met up with Sam and James, and used Sam's crutches to score a table. They have little heaters set up outside to keep the smokers warm, though the wind made short work of that. An incredibly wasted, terrifying middle aged woman wormed her way onto the end of our table for a brief period, and proceeded to harrass a number of other patrons. I finally drank a Murphy's, which was interesting but not my kind of beer alas. I horrified and amused with tales of working in social services, and we continued a trend of saying incredibly inappropriate and funny things. Gene was remarkably verbose, so much so that I wondered if he's had a head injury in the past six months.

It was really one of the best evenings I've had in ages. I can't even remember the last time the six of us were all around the same table but it must have been at least two years. This makes me grateful for the constants in my life such as these friends. All of us have changed, subtly and grandly, since our college time. But there's no difference in the greetings, or the laughter, or the dubious quality of our sanity. In the morning light it seems a bit like a St Elmo's Fire sort of moment. So fragile that you wish you could trap it in amber before it wisps away, but it stays with you somehow.