Weekend before last I had the great pleasure of spending round about 48 hours in the thriving collegiate metropolis of Murray, Kentucky.
What I love about being in Murray is that, like any place where you drank excessively and had no technical, actual responsibilities, everywhere you go and everything you see reminds you of a story. Most of them hysterical. Many of them involving kegs, and stands, and also keg stands.
I made this particular trip with my sorority sisters Jennie and Colleen, both of whom are now living in Memphis, which meant that I had two sets of willing ears (read: unwilling captives) to listen to all my yarns about the good old days. Like when we drove by a particular landmark on the way into town and I was reminded of the night that my two best friends and I snuck into the University president's backyard and jumped on his trampoline. And then promptly dispersed to a second location and called the police on ourselves so that we would be in Police Beat as "suspicious activity reported."
Or perhaps, also on the drive in, when we passed the home of Don and Martha. How do I know Don and Martha, you ask? Well, I don't know them personally. But somewhere around my freshman or sophomore year they decided to decorate their house for Christmas. And part of that festive decor was their names, spelled out in Christmas lights, on the side of their storage building. And ever since that Christmas, they have never taken it down. Once, when Holly and I were driving by, we yelled "Don!" out the window at the man out in the yard raking his leaves and sure enough he looked up from his raking and waved right at us.
I was in Murray this time around to do a marketing workshop for my sorority chapter, and so we kept the crazy to a minimum. But we did eat Dairy Queen two days in a row, and sit in the quad, and watch the Racer Band march, and eat at some of our favorite places.
It'll never be 2005 again, but I sure can pretend.
Incidentally, though, one of those favorite places we went to eat was Tom's Grille. After we were seated, I got up to use the ladies room and paused at the side of the table where Jennie and Colleen were sitting -- I'd remembered (and needed to share) that at homecoming last year, during a Tom's Grille dinner, I'd accidentally gone in the men's room. And I didn't just walk in, either. I had no clue what had happened until I was completely done with the transaction and washing my hands next to a urinal.
In my defense, the signage was clearly not up to code.
cheers,
elizabeth
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