Saturday, April 29, 2006

Somewhere

at this very moment, deep within Portland’s old port, are a handful of my very dear and very 30 year old friends. They are most likely involving themselves in matters of alcoholic frivolity and uproarious recollections. How I wish our moons were aligned and I could be in their company. But there’s always 31, right? Party on Wayne. Party on Garth.

2 Comments:

Blogger Amanda said...

You missed some fun, but if Andy has his way, there will be more to be had at Easton Field Days. We got lost part-way through the night in a mob of drunkards, but at that point it didn't seem to matter much. I meant to send you phonepics, but we didn't get a chance for one of us all together before we separated. Oh well, you'll be at the next one. :)

12:23 PM  
Blogger Progressively Me said...

I feel your pain! I get that way everytime my cousin calls me to tell me that she's going to the club with my good friend from school!!

7:29 PM  

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