I posted the usual history mentions late today but for reasons I’m sure most of you will applaud.
Last night Daughter Catpaw came by with her friends and that their invite I thought the hell with restraint and joined the party.
I overindulged the tequila (in my day it was cheap wine); yummed down nachos, chicken nuggets and tater tots; listened to jazz and blues; listened to their sincere but naive idealism without comment; sort of watched “Taxi Driver” (young Robert DeNiro and Jodie Foster); and no neighbors called the cops for the noise level. I stayed up past 3 am.
This morning I woke after 9:00 which is oversleeping for me. The living room looks like a disaster; there are bodies laying randomly at different angles (nobody drove home); and I’m trying to revive with strong coffee.
I don’t think I have the stanima I used to. It was fun, but, my god, I’m paying for it now.
And now that I’ve learned my lesson and know better—I’d party again in a heartbeat.

Never did know the reason for the celebration, but then at that age, who needs a reason to party?
The margaritas were yummy, so I guess college students are learning some survival skills. : )