Saturday, April 29, 2006


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.


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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