It's not all green speedos, but I've got a few good travel stories. And I pray, pray that my friend Kari doesn't hate me for telling this one. (I actually texted her to ask permission but she didn't get back to me in time. So friends, be warned).
Around 1993-1994 I was in a performing group at Utah State University called New Horizons. We were so awesome. I wish I could find the picture of all of us in our pastel t-shirts and white pants.
We even went on tour to exotic places such as California. And Idaho.
My friend Kari. My fellow New Horizonite. She laughed at all my jokes. Absolutely everything I ever said to try to be funny.
Kari and I would sit at the back of the bus, the social epi-center. After two days we decided that we were the social epi-center, and had a frank conversation about how much everyone liked us. The exchange went something like this:
"We're toootally popular. Everyone thinks we're so funny," I might have said.
"And it's not because we're at the back of the bus," Kari probably replied.
"Totally not. We are so funny. The party would follow us wherever we go."
"Totally."
"For sure."
The next day, utterly convinced of our social prowess, we decided to sit at the front of the bus with our choir director, his wife, and the young married couples.
It didn't take long for the bitter taste of humility to set in. We listened to the talking and laughing at the back of the bus and felt very grouchy, indeed.
Yes, we returned. But I still maintain that the back was not as fun without us.
Around 1993-1994 I was in a performing group at Utah State University called New Horizons. We were so awesome. I wish I could find the picture of all of us in our pastel t-shirts and white pants.
We even went on tour to exotic places such as California. And Idaho.
My friend Kari. My fellow New Horizonite. She laughed at all my jokes. Absolutely everything I ever said to try to be funny.
Kari and I would sit at the back of the bus, the social epi-center. After two days we decided that we were the social epi-center, and had a frank conversation about how much everyone liked us. The exchange went something like this:
"We're toootally popular. Everyone thinks we're so funny," I might have said.
"And it's not because we're at the back of the bus," Kari probably replied.
"Totally not. We are so funny. The party would follow us wherever we go."
"Totally."
"For sure."
The next day, utterly convinced of our social prowess, we decided to sit at the front of the bus with our choir director, his wife, and the young married couples.
It didn't take long for the bitter taste of humility to set in. We listened to the talking and laughing at the back of the bus and felt very grouchy, indeed.
Yes, we returned. But I still maintain that the back was not as fun without us.
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