O.J. (the beverage)

Last night we had a "dance party" at a friends house. What kind of dance party? A black out party. So to give you a visualization, imagine about 40-50 Mormons ranging from ages 18 to 30ish dancing around in our friend's parent's living room wearing white T-shirts and covered with neon highlighter (as all the lights were replaced with black lights). And to help with the much needed auditory portion of the story, you have to think a conglomeration of music from "Love Don't Come Easy" by Diana Ross to "Big Pimpin'-Edited" by Jay-Z. Got it?

Okay, so here we are having an absolute blast literally dancing for about 4 hours. There were hula-hoops (hip-hula-hooping, neck-hula-hooping, skip-it-hula-hooping, arm-hula-hooping), the ever-cliche "human train" chugging around the 50 sq ft living room, the "human tunnel" with a flurry of dance moves riding down the middle, and last but certainly NOT least: men working their mortal combat/street fighter moves to any techno song they could get their hands on (not to mention my addition of Chun-Li, war-cry included). Phenomenal.

So here's the best part. I get home, amped up on all this sober energy and I call Robert (he was studying for finals all night-which was perfect because dances really aren't his thing) and the conversation goes a little something like this:
Robert: So how was it?
Me: Oh man, oh man, it was so awesome. We like wrote all over ourselves...you know like with highlighter. Oh man, there were black lights and oh we danced and danced for hours. Seriously. It was a blast. Oh and then and then there was hula hooping, oh oh and Tom drew a ring on my finger during this song, and and then we...man. It was just way fun.
Robert: Huh. Well good.
Me: So what did you do all night
Robert: Well I read this really interesting article about (deep, insightful, deep) and then I was reading this list from the New York Times about (interesting, informative, intellectual). So that's about it.
Me: (Pause) Uh.

****FLASHBACK****

*Flashback to the tenth grade. I walk in from a long night out to my dad waiting for me (as always) he inquires about my night and I have to explain why I have orange juice dripping from my hair (after a food fight, turned OJ drinking contest) laughing all the while because to me it was wildly funny. After my pathetic OJ anecdote I look down to the book he's reading, Lectures on Faith. Crap. Dad says, "Well I've just been studying the principles of (deep, doctrinal, deep).

****RETURN TO CONVERSATION****

Me: Dangit.