Tonight is our last night at 130 Holly Court. The Whisman Bruisers Varsity Yoga team is disbanding. We've dreamed up rock bands and book clubs, food free dinner parties, croquet tourneys, escandalos, and mathematical constants in this sliver of suburbia. Jung, Dave and I hosted guests from across the nation--exalted principals, mincing Republicans, babies, toddlers, and school aged children. We lost our lunch money to CKE in poker and we're still waiting for Shani to pick up her sleeping bag. Road weary commuters have slept on our couches and Joyce left her shampoo here. Kat knew where to house her all wheel drive safely and securely. Things happened at Whisman. We saved the universe, for the second time, in two days flat. "My name is Jason. What's your name again?"
At 130 Holly skipping, singing, and dance dance revolution were the rule rather than the exception.
Dave's at the hospital, saving lives or perhaps sleeping and Jung and I just did our final walk through. We lit candles and walked from room to room solemnly singing, "Loving you, is easy 'cause you're beautiful." We lit the fire place for the first time since the great toiletry melting of 2004. It's over. We're moving on.
3.14159265358979323846264338327950288419716939937510....dammit Dave!!! You can't just keep going on your own!
1 comment:
For shizzle. I got this late but I'm tipping my libations to Whisman also. Is Randy the exalted principal??? You didn't mention the giggles of children, the games of mafia, the piles of clothes sitting anywhere, and the fact that I tried to burn down your house before you'd even gotten to move in good. Who knew you could turn on a fireplace with a light switch? I swear there's too much money in California.
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