I was invited to all three, and planned on making appearances at all three, but it didn't help that each one was a good 30 minutes away from the other. That also meant I couldn't booze it up because I'd be stuck driving all over the place.
"Ummm, we look awesome," I said to Cayden, looking at our reflection in my bathroom mirror.
He pulled on his fro and laughed. "That word, 'awesome.' I love how you say it all the time. It's such an American word."
"Well, I mean, how else would you describe this?" I asked, gesturing to our short shorts and knee socks.
"Awesome pretty much sums it up." The word didn't sound so American with his accent.
Cayden had saved me from a minor breakdown less than an hour earlier. For the life of me, I couldn't find my black leggins. I wanted the leggings under my running shorts because they were ridiculously short. I don't have any problem showing off my cleavage, but when it came to my thighs, count me out. I hardly even wore shorts in the dead of a Texas summer. Call them my Cuban curves. Call them "muscular." Call them what you will. But no matter which way you spun it, my thighs looked best behind a layer of clothing.
I hates shorts. Not to mention that whole "lady penis" thing that happens when your shorts ride up the middle and the crotch pokes out all creepy like. Oh, and when you sit down in shorts and suddenly your thighs spread out and look four times their size. Yeah, no thanks.
But in the end, the leggings had disappeared in a black hole in my room. They were probably hanging out somewhere with my favorite scarf and my USB camera cord. I had to grin and bear it.
"Babe, I love your legs! You look hot in those shorts!" he'd said.
Then it dawned on me. Cayden liked my legs. That's all that mattered. It didn't matter that other people might see me and think, "Yikes, who let her out of the house in those?" or "Ever heard of a treadmill?" I didn't have anyone to impress but Cayden. And if he thought I looked good, then god damn it, I looked good.
Our afros smashed against the roof of my car as we drove out to Madisyn's for party stop number one. Madisyn met us in the parking lot looking sexy in a short, Victorian dress and vampire teeth. One thing was sure, there was nothing sexy about our costumes. Unless you have a thing for men in short shorts.
Rae showed up dressed as a German beer wench, influenced by the fact that Chaz was in Germany at the time. And her roommate (and our good friend) Rick came dressed as a hot dog vendor, complete with a strategically placed bratwurst. Joyce hand-made a sexy panda costume in honor of her half Asian roots. And our friend Joey looked like a giant man-child in his one-size-too-small Super Mario costume that gave him a camel toe if he sat up too straight. Compared to the other costumes, our 70s marathoners getup didn't look all that random.
Cayden fit right in with all my friends like he'd been a part of our group for years. That's just how things were with him. We just fit. And he was the perfect party date, too. Even though he barely knew anyone, he went off and did his own thing, starting up random conversation with just about anyone, while I mingled with my friends and caught my girls up on the dirty details of his visit so far.
"You guys are just so great together!" Joyce said, hugging me, but careful not to smear her Panda eye makeup. "I'm just so happy for you."
"And that accent!" Madisyn added.
Just then Cayden came around the corner and stopped next to me.
"So, what's this beer pong game I keep hearing about?" he asked.
"YOU'VE NEVER PLAYED BEER PONG?" we all asked in unison.
I pulled him out to the garage where the beer pong table was ready and waiting. I explained the basic rules. I had 6 years of experience behind me and he had beginners luck on his side. So in an hour-long tournament, Cayden and I walked away undefeated and borderline sober. Beer Pong Champions! We made quite a team.
We partied. We danced. We drank. We sang off-key at the top of our lungs. And at 11:30 p.m. we decided to relocate. But first we signed the beer pong table.
Next stop: The Finch sisters' house. Rae, Rick, Joyce, Joey, Cayden, and I piled into our three cars and made our way to Plano. Cate Finch played on my kickball team but broke her elbow during our first game (yeah, we're pretty hard core) and her sister, Bethany fills in for her when she can. Bethany was decked our in Roller Derby gear. I wish I'd thought of that. Cayden could have made a hot roller derby girl. And Cate wore a cardboard cutout the shape of a spade (therefore, she was 'Kate Spade.') their costumes were a little more creative than ours, but after four or five jell-o shots, we didn't really care.
Another Joey on my kickball team showed up as a Chilean miner (hey, someone had to do it), and my other kickball friend Bryan went as a chick magnet (he wore a black shirt with fuzzy yellow chicks glued to it, but everyone ended up calling him 'the black chick' all night.)
"Who wants to play some flip cup?" Joey the Chilean miner asked, more than enthusiastically. I could tell he'd already played a few rounds.
Cayden shot me a look that said, "What the hell is flip cup??"
Back out to the garage. (Apparently it's protocol for everyone to have a drinking table in their garage. I'm adding a garage to my list of requirements for my next apartment.)
After three games I pulled myself from my team. There was no way I'd be OK to drive if I had anymore to drink. So I cheered Cayden on from the sidelines. I can't tell you how many games he played exactly. Six, maybe seven? But he was on the winning team every single time. He's like a drinking game god. A 70s marathoner drinking game god who could pull off short shorts and weird wigs. And he was all mine.
We never made it to the third party.
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