Shennanigans at the Rest Home

This post requires visual proof, because you will not believe all the events that transpired on what was supposed to be a sleepy, Sunday dinner with friends. I don't have pictures yet...when I do, be sure that I will post them. Just so you, dear reader, will have irrefutable proof that this actually happened (it happened to me and I'm having trouble believing it).

Some backstory: For the past month and half I've been living with my super cool godmother (A) and her super cool boyfriend (K). They're your average middle-age hippy-dippy artsy-fartsy types. They drink lots of wine, recycle all their old jars, buy organic, their house is covered in art and books. They're the kind of people I want to grow up to be someday. Their friends are the same sort of people.

Sunday evening A,K, and I were invited to eat "beef and cruicferious vegtables" (I told you they were kinda weird) at their friends C&C's home. When we got to C&Cs' house I was not particularly suprised to discover that the 7 of us (A,K, C&C, A&P and me -- initals used to protect the not-so-innocent) would be dining at a ping pong table with an indian print table cloth throw on top of it. Because, in the past month, I've kind of stopped being suprised by how different some people my parents age are from my parents.

We eat shrimp, and various things dipped in hummus and go through a few bottles of wine before we sit down to dinner. Dinner is quite a delicious affair, beef and salad, and promised cruciferious veggies, with garlic bread and perhaps other yummy things I don't remember because not only were we eating we were continuing to drink wine. So! Full of yummy food and several sheets to the proverbial wind, we come around to the fact that we're eating at the ping pong table. How entertaining and avante guard of us! And for some reason (read: I'm drunk) I say something along the lines of,

"Yea, I've only ever played beer pong at a ping pong table."

None of the other people (having not gone to college in the past fifteen years) have ever heard of the game of beer pong. Which means I have to explain it. And I have to explain that there are geographical standards and practices. That rules change depending on which college campus you're playing on. The elders are facinated. So, for some reason (read: I'm still drunk) I go on to explain flip cup to them. And Canoe races. At this point I am bright pink with embarrasement (I mean, have you ever explained to a bunch of people, including the woman in charge of your spiritual guidance, the "bitches blow" rule?)

So, the plates are cleared and we've eaten dessert and are hanging out drinking coffee when someone (I swear to God, it totally wasn't me) has decided that they want to play this new fangled game of "beer pong."

"Well, you need red solo cups and cheap beer."
"We have those."

So this is how, at 10:20 last night I was setting up red solo cups, filling them with Old Style (C had suggested Heinekin and I had to explain to her that Heiniken is way to classy for a game of beer pong) and telling K that he was going to be on C's team, P had already dibbed me, even though I suck at beer pong (this is true, I'm horrible at it. I'm dynomite at flip cup though). What came next was the surrelist game of beer pong in the history of my entire life (perhaps the entire universe).

Its three people who were alive when JFK was shot and me playing "Chicago Style" (their phrase, not mine) beer pong while all of their significant others stood around watching (if they weren't in the living room watching Boston Legal or you know, cashing in social security). Go ahead and picture that. No seriously, shut your eyes and imagine playing beer pong with a bunch of your parents' friends.

It was a close game, P and I lost. Then, because I made fun of him, C chucked a ping pong ball at my nose. That's right. Threaten a guy's manhood and he will get violent. At any age.

I'm waiting for someone (anyone?!) to e-mail me pictures. Which I will then post. Because you really need to see this to believe it.