the beehive

I spent another evening partying with the rich people, and had a good time. Good thing the rich people I hang out with on occasion aren't the typical rich people. Their neighbors hate them because they listen to The Prodigy and have people over and drink a lot. They live on the side of a golf course in a gated community. You have to punch in a code to get to their house. You also can't park anywhere on the street. I parked there anyway. You're allowed to live there, but you certainly can't have any guests, unless they live inside the gate and can walk there. You certainly can't have poor guests.

Why would you want to hang out with poor people anyway?

Eventually the cops were called by the hateful neighbors, which seemed a little excessive. We all got parking tickets, but I was hanging out at a rich person's house, so there was no danger of ending up in jail. Other than that, I had a great time hanging out with the rich folks and chilling out by the pool. Frogs croaked loudly from the golf course. I even took my shoes off and waded my feet in the pool. That's as close to going in a pool as I ever get. I"m not much for swimming or being submerged. It's probably because I don't float. I sink.

We had a really good dinner too. One of the attendees barbecued some fish he just caught a day or two before. I also had salad and garlic bread. It all tasted so good and healthy. I hadn't had a meal like that in quite some time. I haven't felt the urge to cook since I've moved. I've only cooked for myself once since I've been here--a pot roast that turned out really good. Other than that, it's been eating out or drinking my dinner. My roommate and a friend of hers were talking about going to the store and the three of us going in on making dinner for each other. It sounds like a good plan. I'm getting sick of the restaurants in this town. Basically because there are like four of them. I'm wondering what damage all the junk is doing to me, but my friend who's leaving town said that his father was a professional marathon runner and he just had bi-pass surgery. I hate hearing stuff like that.

I spent most of the night on the chaise lounge on the other side of the pool, because the rich people were talking about rich people things. Like diving in the Barrier Reef, owning property, their private boats and things of that nature. That's all well and good. I don't have a problem spending the money they earn. It's just something I can't relate to, sitting their in my Target T-shirt, a tattered pair of Vans and one of my two pairs of shorts.

It was a lot of fun, and they got me good and drunk. I'd spilled my first drink at a party in years, which required me to take a penalty shot of their choosing. It turned out to be some vile substance from Budapest, Hungary, called Unicum. According to that link, it's the national drink of Hungary, which makes me wonder what's going on with Hungarians. At first, the taste was pleasant, sort of like a less-sweet Jagermeister, but then the after taste kicked in--sort of like fruity gasoline that had been left out in the sun too long. It didn't sit well with my belly full of fish, rice, salad, bread and rum and cokes; it also didn't sit well with my fragile psyche, which was now trying to process this liquer's blend of "over 40 natural herbs." One of them, I'm assuming, was crack cocaine, because I quickly lost control of my motor functions and mastery of speech volume.

A van came and took us away, and not a moment too soon, either. Good thing it was a taxi cab that took us back to the safety of home, where a bag of Rold Gold pretzels and bottled water were waiting.