Sunday, March 27, 2005

It's a party

Yesterday I attended my first easter egg party for bears. The boyfriend, who volunteers regularly for a big local bear non-profit group (they run IBR, yadda yadda yadda), gave me the low-down beforehand: lots of food to eat, beer to drink, and eggs to decorate.

The success of the party, as the host pointed out, depended on two things: plenty of jello shots, and plenty of glue guns. There was an entire craft table, and it was jammed with men attaching sequins and feathers and googly eyes to their eggs.

My favorite moment occurred while I was in the kitchen. I was helping myself to a lime jello shot when a harmless but loud drunk guy came up to me and shouted, "The green one is a party... and we all get to come in your mouth!"

My smile froze. "Thanks," I said as I slowly backed away from him.

He realized that he said his punchline wrong, so he tried again.

"No, wait. The green one is a party in your mouth... and we all get to come! Ah, forget it."

My second favorite moment was when I saw a cute-ish guy sitting on the couch with one ball hanging out of his jeans. Let me rephrase: he had pulled his ball through a tear in his jeans. Once I saw it, I couldn't stop looking at it: I wasn't turned on, by any means, but I still kept coming back to it.

The boyfriend had been sitting in a different room, and the same guy had his ball out while sitting over there. Which means that every time he sat down, he had to rearrange himself just so.

I like to think that he pulls his ball out of his pants everywhere that he goes: on the bus, at work, at church. His friends probably have grown so used to his ball that they don't even see it anymore. The rest of us are too polite to say anything, as if he had a bad combover.


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