Samsara.

Nice to meet you, Dion. May I call you Dion? Ok, so there was the time that I had a little too much to drink. . . I'm nickering already because the idea of a school-wide college formal dance is, in itself, kind of funny. Let me tell ya, Dion, we do not grow out of that awkward stage. Even after puberty is a distant memory, it is and will always be awkward any time formal wear is involved. And that includes your wedding.

Anyhoo, the guy in my German class asked me, and he showed up at my apartment in suspenders. Funny, right? I was side-eyeing him because my formal dress was full and sky blue, but tight at the bodice, so together we looked like Pinocchio and the Swiss Miss. No doubt our German IV classmates would take notice. When in Rome, right? So we started out by drinking some biers. Er, beers.

At the pre-party, we listened to The Police and every time they sang "Roxanne," we drank. (Dion, it's a lotta Roxannes. Too damn many to count, and way more than anyone should drink to.) And that is exactly why I was a little distracted when we stepped out of the party and onto that heating grate where my heel got stuck. Those metal bars bit the spike right off my heel, and from then on, every song we danced to was a waltz for me. The Stones? I waltzed it. The Connells, more waltzing. Coolio? You get the idea. I probably should have taken both shoes off, but then I would have slipped on the gazpacho, so, in hindsight, I think I made the right choice.

It was a long night, made longer by drinking a Screaming Alien, which I was sipping because my head was already spinning from the hopping up and down on my heel and from drinkint to all the Roxannes. By the end, I was tired and I felt pinched all over, despite never having been pinched all evening long. (Probably a function of the unflattering dress. Note to self: skinny cocktail dress next time.)

When my date asked me to help him at the football game the next day, I'd just had too much. I was honestly swearing off drink at the time. So I went to bed. And I promised to drink water. Only water. Nothing else. And be in a dark room. Preferably, a cave or a darkroom.

The next day the sun was shining annoyingly hard and when I walked past the frat house, my friends were calling to me from the lawn, "Davis! Davis! Come and join us!" There they were in the sunshine, dancing to a live reggae band, steel drums a playful hypnotist saying to me, "Davis, go, have fun! Look at the people sandwich dancing to the reggae band. Doesn't that look like a great idea?"

Now, a more enlightened person probably would have felt compersion. I, however, am apparently still in my samsara. So. Much. Fun. And I was missing out. Well, heck, it's not like I was ditching my date. This was a whole new day! Besides, everyone knows that it's the hair of the dog that bit you that brings the cure. Or, at least some adventure. So, the next thing I knew, I was gyrating on the front lawn with my buds and laughing and having a good old time.

The rest? Um. Well. Ah. . . Stop, it Dion! You know I don't remember. But the Greek and I had a great time. As a matter of fact, that was the day that he invited me to his frat formal the following week. . .