Welcome to another edition of the blog. This entry is a continuation of part 2 which you can read at http://stevemcdevitt.blogspot.com/.
I think I speak for all of us here at Shenanigans, when I say we hope you enjoy your stay on the blog site, and should you not, may you be attacked by a roaming gang of angry of Rosie O’Donnells.
With that said, I give you Un-Enthralling Epiphanies Part III, chalked full of fabricated tarradiddles…
Now that I’m thirty, reluctantly, it may be time for me to overcome a condition I’ve had for years commonly known as PFS (Post Fraternity Syndrome). After a college career of frequent exchanges, parties and gatherings that were always set up with some sort of theme in mind, I am forever scarred for any rendezvous in the real world, and even seven years later, I find myself in utter disarray. Symptoms of this condition include being unable to casually invite people over for a beer without a specific reason such as Eighty’s night, a Wild West theme or a Dress like your favorite Boy Band member event. (I generally choose Lance Bass obviously). Every drinking juncture basically has to have some sort of theme or purpose, otherwise you are unable to enjoy the evening and end up becoming an inhospitable outcast pouting in the corner. If you too are noticing any of the aforementioned symptoms, you may also be suffering from PFS, or perhaps you may also just be a loser, ignoramus who truly believes they are still in college. I’d like to blissfully exclaim that there is a splendiferous elixir for this horrific condition, giving way to a gloriously jovial ending to this blog post, but, alas, even with the greatest of scientists working around the clock, there is unfortunately no cure, other than of course, just coming to the realization that you are that ignoramus loser Ghost of Fraternity Past. Recently it got worse when my buddy invited me over for a barbeque…
“What’s the occasion? New Year’s isn’t for another week, so what are we talking here…?” I asked sheepishly.
“No occasion,” he responded. “Just a couple of burgers, chicken breasts, beers, you know, watch the game.”
“Great,” I replied. “I’ll wear my disco outfit, the same one I wore back in ’02 to winter formal. You have an ice luge right?”
“No, just come over, and why would I have an ice luge?” he responded completely bewildered (clearly not suffering from PFS and has actually grown up)
“No reason…no problem,” I calmly replied, though inside I was frantically screaming… ok Steve, don’t panic, don’t panic, ok, got it – “I’ll just wear my toga instead then, no worries, see you in twenty…
Another sign I was getting older was I no longer had to covertly hide my alcohol when attending house parties. In the past, I’d get to a party and individually unwrap my twelve pack of Pabst and hide each one behind a perishable item in the refrigerator, worried that some bootlegging, plundering alcoholic would discover my precious beers from behind the leftover meatloaf. Maybe one would be placed behind the milk carton, another in the vegetable drawer, and another in a box of popsicles in the freezer which likely was forgotten about and exploded during the night. In each case I’d make them just visible enough so I‘d remember, but hidden enough so if you weren‘t looking for them, unless you were fishing through beef stew from the night previous, you‘d never find them. But then things started to change…
“Hi Steve, welcome to the party, I’ll take those beers for you, the friendly host would greet me.
“These are Sierra Nevadas, missy,” I would respond. “Nice try, but you’ll have to alligator wrestle me to the ground before you can pry these from my catlike grasps. You can take my freedom but you can never take my Sierr-.”
“Whatever…that’s fine, why don’t you just put them over there with the seventy other beers,” she’d scornfully respond.
Glancing over to the kitchen I’d notice that some moron had left an entire twelve pack of Stella out in open, ripe for the taking.
Oh, they’re like for everyone? The bewildered thought passed through my head. Wait a second…who left the guacamole dip out, and who didn’t finish eating their pizza rolls, and why isn’t everyone attacking them? My head was racing…
Cheers…
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