You ever feel nostalgic for something ridiculous?
A drinking game.
Back in college.
Gathered with friends around a table. Carefully rubber-banding a tissue over the top of a glass. Placing a dime in the middle of the tissue.
I remember the rituals of the game with great fondness.
A lit cigarette passed from hand to hand. Each person pressing the burning tip of the cigarette to the tissue. That tiny controlled burn. The hiss of fuel consumed. Fabulous . . . the result a perfect small hole, its edges charred and dark.
Each person burning a hole with the cigarette tip . . . each person trying to avoid causing the tissue-fabric support beneath the dime to give way.
Until what remained was a browned and singed lace circle, delicate and gorgeous in my memory.
The dime atop.
Tension built . . . the cigarette passed. Small holes expanded. Bits of strength exploited. Larger and larger bits of support withdrawn . . . burned away.
Small intense movements and small intense fires.
Sometimes so much of the tissue would be burned away that it would appear as though the dime was performing some sort of suspension magic.
Mesmerizing.
Which made the inevitable a jolting electric event . . .
The dime would drop.
We would release an inhaled collective breath we hadn’t even been aware was caught.
And then the loser would drink.
How I loved that game.
The rituals . . . the tension . . . the heightened sense of every movement’s importance . . . the connection to the group . . . the fire . . . the burning . . . the strategy . . . the withheld breath . . . the inevitable falling away . . . the drinking . . . the laughter . . . the connection . . . the inevitable falling away.
The inevitable falling away.
Sighs at the memory.
And so I have poured myself a beer.
Snort!
I am feeling tense.
No real reason, but a million reasons.
A million small holes.
Tension built. Small holes expanded. Bits of strength exploited. Larger and larger bits of support withdrawn . . . burned away.
Breath withheld.
It feels as though the falling away is inevitable.
Sigh.
I am the dime.
Anyway.
I really do have that beer.
Let’s see how the rest of this post goes.
Or perhaps I will just stop here.
That might be better.
Love, love, love your writing. I need it every day, can’t go without!
Julie -
I adore you.
That is all.
Thank you.
Kris
I love the way you build tension and anticipation in your stories. Word by word, so simple… awesome post. Enjoy your beer. ;)
Brandon -
Look at you . . . hardly glazed at all . . . snort!
Thank you, babe.
I appreciate that.
I have been that dime.
More so recently.
I get it. I see you.
Stasha -
Yes, I know you know the feeling I am describing.
I see you as well.
Sigh.
Love to you.
Sigh. I understand that feeling all too well.
Hope that feeling passes quickly for you.
Thank you, lovely you.
I almost didn’t post today, but you know what?
I would like the first day that I don’t post to be because I am doing something fabulous that takes me away.
Not because I am hiding.
So I am not hiding.
Thank you.
Thank you for not hiding. Love you. That is all.
(Also? If you play hide-and-seek? We will so find you.)
Varda -
You would not.
If I hid, you would not find me. I know that.
It would be the end of the game . . . just me alone.
I know that.
So I don’t hide.
Anyway.
we always played beer pong and mexican dice.
and, if i remember correctly, i lost much more than i won.
i think i spent high school in a drunken stupor.
perhaps that explains the never-ending angst now.
and i’m with stasha.
i too have been the dime.
held up by the invisible.
it totally sucks.
sigh.
One time?
I was spending the afternoon with one of my younger brothers, and he suddenly made excuses. He had somewhere important he had to be. Really? I asked him where he was headed.
He was on a Beer Pong team . . . didn’t want to be late to practice.
A BEER PONG TEAM?
I laughed hysterically.
Snort.
Beer pong team.
So funny.
I don’t have the patience this evening to wait to burn pretty patterns in paper … I poured a glass of wine and then had another.
You are never done for the night.
I know better.
See you on Twitter ;)
Sassy you.
You know me well.
See you on Twitter.
Snort!
I never played that game. we always played drinking games that ensured all of us got drunk entirely too fast. now I don’t quite get it. I like to savor my drink. actually taste it. get just drunk enough to feel fuzzy and glowy, but not so drunk I get sick or lose the use of my legs. (I was always the girl at the party on the floor)
I know!
I drank a lot back then. I was always able to drink more than people expected, and I took a weird pride in that fact. Which is just stupid.
Nowadays?
I like a single beer in the evening.
Maybe two, but mostly not.
One will do.
It really will.
yes one is really just right. yum.
Yay!
Yes. . . yum.
A million small tensions… the girls are home all week for a vacation right? Well there you go, the source of your tensions. Katie has been home with a cold yesterday and today and was off on Monday for the holiday. Can I leave please? If not, I think it is time for a adult beverage here also.
By the way I know the answer behind the Salvation Army and the huge athletic facilities. Have Kallan google Salvation Army and Mrs. Kroc (of McDonalds fame.)
Sue -
I love how you are so matter of fact and filled with solutions.
Love that.
There is a bit more to it than the girls being home for a few days, but you are awesome.
As for the other?
I mentioned in one of my comment responses that I had Googled the information about Joan Kroc’s donation to the Salvation Army.
Thank you!
Sometimes it’s hard to hold the dime up.
I’ve read every one of your archives in the past month or so. Your writing is exceptional. Not many people would be able to capture my attention and time like that. If you want it, there’s a writing career in you. I feel like it’s just brewing right now… growing… gaining strength… like Voldemort… you’re that good, and the holes are what make you that good. Thought you needed to hear that today.
Nicole -
First of all? Your words make it sound as though you have the power to grant me that writing career! Yay! Wave that magic wand!
As for me being like Voldemort?
Wasn’t he evil?
Pretty sure he was.
I am all giggly.
I know I don’t say this, but every day that I read your blog I love your blog. I just don’t want to sound like a kiss ass and tell you this every single day. But just know that there is always me saying “damn” every time I read your posts.
Randa -
Thanks for commenting today, you!
The idea of you saying “damn” every time you read my posts?
That has made me smile.
Thank you.
How have I not played this game? I have played many others, ranging from the popular to the uncooth, but never the burning-paper-falling-dime game.
It was a very excellent game, once upon a time.
Nowadays?
Not so much.
Ahem.
I needed a happier post to get me through the day. I checked your blog all day with much hope. But it just goes to show that the only person capable of turning your day around has to be yourself. Lovely imagery though.
Amy -
Snort!
You cannot rely on me to be funny every day. I do the best I can, but I am not always funny. You know that. I am sorry you are down today. It seems to be going around.
Hmmph.
No real reason, but a million reasons.
That is the source of my tension….a million things, things I can’t put a name to, but they are there. Burning.
Your writing is brilliant. As always. Makes me think.
Tracie -
Thank you so much for that.
Tomorrow?
I will try to bring the funny. But today?
This is me today.
Thanks for appreciating all of the sides of me.
I love that.
I’m not sure how I’m held up at the minute.
I do not intend to drop though.
Times like these just show you that you are strong and capable, right?
Sigh.
Toni -
I have every intention of holding up.
Not dropping.
But I am currently aware of the drop’s possibility.
And I hate that feeling.
As a younger reader of your site, what’s your favorite drinking game? I’m tired of playing Kings every night (yea, I know every night is excessive, but I’m in college, what else can you expect?)
Ps. I’m always wishing I could write the way that you do. Whenever I write something I feel so contrite and dumb basically. Lovely stories from you all the time.
Pps. This college girl is a little tipsy as she writes this. Love is being sent your way
Megan -
To get drunk? It was all about Quarters when I was younger. Clink!
And thank you for the lovely compliments! Tipsy or not . . . I will so fucking take them!
Yay!