Flashback Friday – Smokin’ at the Condo Clubhouse

Happy Friday blogosphere! I’m a wee bit tired because Barbara, my roving photojournalist in the ‘hood, had a Silpada jewelry party last night and not only did I stay up past my bedtime, I had a little alky-hol too (weird, huh?). When Tracy and I were leaving (another Tracy who spells her name totally different than mine), Yeti’s husband was walking their dog Cody across the street to piss in someone else’s yard. And not only is there a new broom across their driveway, Yeti had her car parked at the very end of it lest one of Barbara’s guests try to turn around in it. But someone did anyway, ha ha! Yeti was probably cowering inside her home mainlining wine and Xanax to medicate herself from the fucking travesty occurring on her street.

Okay, it’s time for Flashback Friday. Here we go.

When I met Dave I had just bought my first place, a sweet little two bedroom condo with a pool and clubhouse. It had a few drawbacks, most notably the fact that the average age of my neighbors was approximately 107. There seemed to be a lot of strokes and heart attacks and the ambulance pulled up with some regularity. And those old people did not care for my stereo volume at all. If they’d chucked their miracle ears they wouldn’t have thought I was so loud but since they seemed to like those hearing aids I just sat back and waited for them to kick it.

Anyway, I found out you could rent the pool and clubhouse for parties and we had several during the five years I lived there. One was held in the summer and involved lots of drinking and skinny dipping and the other two were semi-formal holiday parties held in December.

Here we are at the first holiday party. What a nice group of young adults, all fancy in our semi-formal attire. I’m the one in back with the bangs. And bangs+me=icky. As always, click on any photo to enlarge.

Dave, me, and the icky bangs.

Oh so festive and silly.

Tom, Amy, and Dave.

This photo was taken at the end of the evening.

I guess the condo association felt we were responsible enough to have another holiday party a year later. Rookie mistake.

Look! I’ve grown out my icky bangs (but still have massive caterpillar eyebrows). And nothing says classy holiday party like a bunch of twenty somethings drinking keg beer out of red plastic Solo cups.

Wait, I don’t think we were ready.

Striking a pose.

I think someone spent some time in rollers at the beauty parlor!

How could you not swing from this chandelier?

Raise your hand if you think I’m over the legal limit. Ditto if you think Dave is.

Back then, everyone we knew smoked cigarettes and I think some people might have been smoking two at a time because the next day the geriatric manager of the condominium complex called me to ask if there had been a fire in the clubhouse. Apparently the walls were covered in black soot. Probably we should have cracked a window or something.

We blamed the massive smoke damage on a faulty fireplace, the manager bought our explanation, (thus proving there is an upside to senility and Alzheimer’s) and we escaped with nary a fine.

Neither Dave or I smoke anymore, and haven’t for a very long time. Almost everyone has quit and those that haven’t will be quitting SOON, right?

RIGHT.

P.S. Only 181 days until Christmas so start planning those holiday parties now. If you have a clubhouse, keg beer, Marlboro lights, and plastic cups you can party like it’s 1995.

You’re welcome!

(Please don’t smoke though – the surgeon general and I heard it’s bad for you).