How to Catch a Ride to Hell

This weekend, a friend of mine had a Mardi Gras party. Nothing crazy, just a bunch of friends, a bunch of food, and a bunch of Mardi Gras-themed horror movies. Ok, I should probably note that the majority of attendees are friends from my New England Horror Fans meetup group.

I’ve known this particular group of friends for about 3 years and we’ve grown very close over that time. We watch movies together, have sleepovers together, go camping together, and overall feel very comfortable with each other. Maybe too comfortable. For example, we regularly joke that “the conversation always comes back to shitting.”

The reason I love this particular group is that since we’re all so open, there’s rarely cause for embarrassment. And since we’ve camped together, and have had food poisoning, hangovers, and even suffered through gout together, we’ve seen each other at our worst. And rather than be grossed out by someone’s sensitive digestive system, we make a joke out of it, and move on.

The second reason I love hanging out with this group is that we can all revert back to high school or grade school and laugh at immature sex jokes with cucumbers (and honestly, anything that resembles a wang or boobs).

So when you get us all together for a party, we tend to be loud, gross, and slightly overwhelming.

During the Mardi Gras party, as we feasted on King Cake and cajun chicken, we heard someone talking about having a sex toy party in the next room. As one person said, “Shhhh! Not so loud (because after all, there were a few non-horror friends at the party)!” Friend #1 said, “What? You don’t want me to talk about your box of 200 dildos you’re getting delivered? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA” with a chorus of laughter from the rest of us.

We found out the newcomers work as a graphic designer, in marketing, and—in a conversation about playing an after-work gambling game while drinking beers—one guy laughingly admitted to working in a church.

The rest of the night was sprinkled with fart and poop jokes and the required amount of sexual references
At one point, I asked the one guy, “So, you said you work in a church…what do you do?” To which he replied, “I’m a priest.” 

Cue the photo montage and sound bytes of all our R- and X-rated conversations from the evening. I wish I had a picture of my face. 

I’d love to tell you that before making poop jokes and dropping the F bomb repeatedly at a party next time, I’ll find out what people do to try and gauge my obscenity level, but that’s just not going to happen. 

There was a lesson there. But I can’t say I’ve learned it.

The Men of Match

A tribute to my parade of dating failures.  These are actual guys who "winked" at me or emailed via match.com.

Men of Match (a powerpoint visual)