On Saturday morning, we packed up the car and headed to Columbia, Missouri to watch the Missouri Tigers KILL the Colorado Buffalos. (I’m all-capping the word KILL to make you think I’m a big football fan. In reality? Not so much. The final score of the game was 26-0, which I believe qualifies as a kill. Remind me to tell you about the time I found myself in Colorado playing the horn of some guy who was out sick with a foot fungus. During that same trip, I ended up wearing a sombrero and singing in a mariachi band. I live the life I love and I love the life I live.)
Our seats were way on the eastern side of the field, and I think we all know that I’m making that eastern thing up. I have no sense of direction. All I know is that 21-year-old students look a lot younger now than they did when I was a student at Mizzou.
While we were in Columbia, Jeff and the girls were very patient with me as I shared my most remarkable memories with them.
I once (mostly accidentally) shaved my head, and my best friend (who was one of the Trumans!) cheered me up by letting me parade around in her Truman suit.
That particular incident most likely took place in this house, which was known as the DOG House, and my capitalization would make much more sense if I was allowed to use Greek letters in this post:
(The incident really did take place at the DOG house, but I’m not completely sure this IS the DOG house. My shadow is growing longer!!! And why are Greek letters giving me error messages?!)
Look at this building and tell me it doesn’t look like a fish with a big gaping mouth that vomits sorority girls!
I know! I think so, too!
Speaking of vomit, it was at this very bench where my friend Séve and I took a break from walking home after a long night out. While taking that break, I leaned over and threw up onto the sidewalk. (I know. I was just as mortified as you are right now.) Séve, God love him, simply squeezed my hand and said, “Oh, honey. You had spaghetti for supper.” (Yes. The girls are pretending to throw up in the photo. They also pretended to cry afterward, because I always cry after throwing up. I gave birth to Good Sports.)
We hung out at the columns, where I once engaged in a Big Mac fight, because I was young and stupid and not yet aware of how many homeless people were roaming the streets just a few blocks over.
This is the house where I lived after graduation. It’s a tiny house, and four of us (sometimes five, sometimes seven and a baby) lived there. I spent many hours sitting on the roof of that house. (One of my roommates built the screened-in porch, which eventually brought us down from the roof.)
When everyone is talking football and the only thing to eat is meaty sandwiches, Harper and I tend to transform our hands into hecklers.
Harper Quote of the Weekend: The sweat in my armpit smells like onions.
Meredith Quote of the Weekend: When I burp it tastes like sausage.
And I share these quotes not because I feel you need to know them, but because I want to remember them. This is my canvas.
15 thoughts on “I’m not internationally known, but I’m known to rock the microphone.”
Get them while they’re young, Evita, get them while they’re young.
(hooray! new little MU fans!)
You had me at “internationally known.”
Clearly we went to college at the same time:
Because I get stupid–I mean outrageous.
Oh, how I miss Columbia! It looks like you had a great weekend. I love the regurgitation reenactment picture.
That sentence about blowing a guys horn and foot fungus?
Had to reread that several times because yes, my time at uni was quite some time ago now but clearly my humour has not quite moved on as it should have.
And this post? One of my favourites.
My son leaning over my shoulder: “Oh, and she must be a Bob Marley fan.” Building with the fish face? He agreed. You must write a multi-generational blog.
Delta Omicron Gamma?
Tell Meredith that when all of your burps taste like sausage, she wins. Tasty gas is the best gas, I think. That belongs on a bumper sticker or a shirt.
I remember when Lakota opened up, they were the first of the downtown coffee shops. My favorite place to eat in Columbia is Sub Shop (Meatball sandwich and chips, which are really fries). My favorite place is Rock Bridge State Park. My favorite smell is found downwind from the crematorium next to my old house. It is what it is…
oh my gosh, i love those girls! they are going to be great in college. i can’t wait to show my boys the college house i lived in my senior year, which was also the one i spent several hours (minutes? who knows!) throwing up in one night freshman year. good times! i also haven’t eaten manicotti since freshman year either, after one particularly awesome night.
Ha! You were definitely on the Southerly side of the field. Meanwhile. . I lived in Laws. And Whoo-Boy was it a great time.
Perhaps you might remember this because it was part of that Colorado trip. We were going to rooms in a hotel doing fire safety checks and smelling for parties. I think we found the drum major post coitus.
Awww! Suzi beat me to the “south” conclusion. And I was feeling like such a smarty-pants!
strange, i was once pelted with a big mac after i had shaved someone else’s head. strange again, by a girl named christy. but she was not my roommate. good times, college!
I love it when my 4-year-old burps and then says something like “I burped about bacon.”
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