I kid. I mean, the test did tell me this. But it was not news. Also not news? The fact that I'm what the book calls a "Woo." This means that I'm adept at Winning others over. I like to meet new people and in fact thrive on situations where I will be thrust into rooms full of strangers and forced to get to know folks I don't know from a ham sandwich.
Case in point? This weekend, the legendary Super Secret Alumnae Party that has become the stuff of legends among my sorority sisters. The SSAP was sort of a rite of passage for us, the one thing that awaited us when we graduated - an invitation to attend a Homecoming party thrown by our chapter adviser.
We'd always heard tell of wild stuff going down at these parties and so naturally were chomping at the bit to be able to witness all of it, particularly if it involved our adviser, whom we only knew to be the absolute picture of lady-hood. Turns out, as we learned last year, that most everyone at these parties was about 25 years older than us. I guess that fact alone really wasn't so surprising, since the attendees were all friends of our adviser and her husband, but mostly the only wild thing about the festivities in 2008 was that we were there for the very first time and may have later taken a cab BACK to her house after drinking at a local bar for a few hours to drunkenly sing her a song on her front lawn.
These things, they happen.
But this year, there was something in the air. I don't know if it was the hand-painted 1994 Speaker of the Year mug that belonged to our adviser's husband that I drank beer out of all night (while continually referring to myself as the Speaker of the Year, NATURALLY) or if it was the piles of old scrapbook pages of Murray State fraternity life from the late 1970s that showed up in the living room and had everyone reminiscing about times they ran naked through various campus facilities, but this. THIS was a party.
Next thing you know I've made friends with a guy named Bob Jackson, who tells me a story about a guy named Tiny, who turns out to be a total womanizer and hits on all of us almost all night before revealing that he's not totally sure if any of us is over 18. He also shares with us that he's "hung like a gerbil," that the gerbil's name is Steve and that he is writing a book on good kissers and needs to do some research.
After sharing all this it might seem a bit incongruous to tell you that Tiny did have a lady friend with him, but you'll be relieved to know that we asked her if she knew anyone named Steve and she promptly turned eighteen shades of purple. We decided that she did in fact know Steve. Well.
When we first met Tiny's Lady, he had introduced us to her as the most beautiful woman in the world. To which one of my sisters promptly retorted, "If you liked it then you shoulda put a ring on it." Thank god for Beyonce, because Tiny's Lady's face was about as red as we thought a person could turn, though we were later proven wrong. See above, re: Steve.
He shared with us at some point that the reason he has not "put a ring on it" is because he is in the middle of a nasty divorce settlement and is paying his ex-wife $5,000 a month in alimony. Knowing of Tiny's deep, deep love for me and seeing a window of opportunity, I asked what I felt was the natural question. "Would you send me a check for $5,000 a month?"
To which Tiny replied, "What are you going to give me for it?"
"I'll send you a picture every month like those starving kids in Africa."
He didn't exactly say the check was in the mail, but I'll keep you posted.
Me and my old pal Bob Jackson (please note the speaker of the year mug).
Tiny loves me. Can you blame him?cheers,
elizabeth
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