SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY- It's blog-riffic!
or One and one half hours?!
I hit up party #3 just now. That's the third party in as many days. This was a neighborhood party and I was invited to crash by my estimated 80-something delightful neighbor, Yelpa. I had done the RSVP bit saying, "I wasn't invited, but Yelpa told me to RSVP. If this is entirely inappropriate, please let me know." The hosts didn't call back, and so tonight I planned to walk next door to pick up my neighbor and stroll to the party.

After an exciting finish to The Cutting Edge, I hopped in the shower to get cleaned up. (It was a day's worth of dirt rather than the drama of the classic '92 film.) As I hopped out, I heard Yelpa's distinctive voice in my living room. Thankfully, I had packed pants and a shirt on this trip to the shower. I waved hello as I headed to my room. After a quick change into clean clothes I emerged ready to head to the neighborhood party. Yelpa introduced herself to me and I shook her hand and said, "I'm David. You know me." I'm still not sure what that was about.

We walked a block and entered a house full of the neighborhood. There were a number of faces I've seen behind rakes or at the store, and a number of faces I'd never seen before. Yelpa bounced around the room greeting everyone by name and then saying, "This is my date."
I got some funny looks, but everyone was very polite. I made small talk, which as I'm inept at small talk often involves me trying desperately to not come off like an awkward psycho. This is usually accomplished with a slight lean in, an awkward smile and the occassional head nod. Maybe accomplished isn't the right word...

After the 900th time explaining where the carriage house was, and what a carriage house was or that we had met at the block party some time ago, I was starting to wear out. I'd mingled quite a bit by my standards. I probably met 15 people and held semi-awkward conversations with 6 or so. Quite successful. Except for when I almost made an old man cry. Yep, I'm a smooth talker all right. He didn't cry. He didn't look to be the type to cry, but I'm pretty sure I saw tears in his eyes. Maybe asking him how he spent his time these days wasn't the best ice breaker. I apologized profusely and he waved it off. I think he was happy to have the attention, but I felt bad. As parents started to pack up children to shuttle them off to bed, I started to look at the wristwatch in my mind.

Yelpa offered that we could leave anytime. I told her that the kids were leaving, so we should leave. She agreed. I walked her home, that is to say one driveway past my home, and then headed in to my cute little carriage house all full of holiday cheer. (The feeling, not the drink). As I entered Reuben looked at me shocked. It was as if I'd caught him eating cookies past his bedtime. Then I saw the clock. It read 7:32. I'd been gone less than 2 hours. I swear it had felt like 3 hours or at least 2 and a half. It was only one and half hours. "ONE AND A HALF HOURS!" I howled. No wonder Reuben looked shocked.