There's nothing like a heap of Masquers piled on your bed to keep your toes toasty when the temperature drops. In the mid 1990's, I waited for it to get nice and cold to head to Binghamton, NY were Bob, and John & Lara were in grad school.
I'm not sure when the tradition began, or who began it. I would guess Scott, but it could have been Ross. Then again, it also smacks of Constance. A weekend morning at a Masquer house, empty bottles of grain alcohol and cheap beer line the stairs. The remains of the previous nights party guests also strewn around the house, in various stages of dress and consciousness. Suddenly, someone or more than one has taken whatever blanket you managed to end up with. There are yells of 'Shree', poking, tickling.
And this tradition didn't end with college. I think it got more intense with the addition of pets and children. Whenever I'd visit Masquers, I made sure whatever I was sleeping in had a 'G' rating, never sure if there would be a toddler hurled onto me before I even had my contact lenses in.
Which is not to say, that I was only ever a victim of this phenomena. I took a certain glee from doing unto others, and it was always the more the merrier. Chris & I visiting Scott in Pittsburgh giggling as we climbed onto his bed. I think it had to be done in groups. Otherwise, this would be a completely different post.
These pictures are from two trips in the early to mid 90s. Some of the pics are labeled with 1994, but the hair in some looks much earlier than that.
Wasn't it just yesterday that Connie pantsed, or rather 'shortsed' Ross in Kriner Diner? So where did all these grey hairs come from and why is there a minivan in my garage?
We may eat better now. We certainly drink better beer. Who notices receding hairlines and proceeding stomachs. We are still Masquers. Everytime we converge again, sometimes not seeing each other for years, all those mortage payments and incompetent bosses slip away.
We remember watching the sun come up over The Wall. We discuss the McMansioning of America. The past makes us who we are, but we don't need to live in it.
You Know I Can't Hear You When the Water's Running