Adults only
This weekend featured an odyssey into full-blown adulthood. After getting our new mattress, which Jason and I were unhealthily excited about, we made a trek to Target to donate our weekly $80. Our shopping list did not consist of a single cool item: furnace filters, shower curtain liners, kitchen sponges, and cough syrup. Seriously. In a fit of rebellion, I purchased a bottle of Mt. Dew just to prevent myself from aging another 30 years.
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During our weekly weekend Game Night, where we blast loud music in the basement and play foosball and darts, we discovered that I can actually beat Jason at darts. (But only if the Beastie Boys are playing.) I won by hitting a triple 15, which is amazing considering the fact that I always aim at a bullseye and never hit anything but the right side of the board. Actually, what usually happens is that I hit the wall, and my dart caroms wildly to stick in the carpet like a menacing syringe, inches away from the cats, who do not comprehend the danger they are in. So my amazingly bad play is always compounded by the fact that I am nervous about hitting a feline’s major organ.
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To further demonstrate our adultness, Jason and I then had a very serious discussion, in which we tried to pinpoint the exact moment Nick Nolte and Gary Busey became indistinguishable. Conclusion: sometime after Blue Chips.
