Street Cred

I spent the first half of today paying for all the fun I had last night. Food was prepared, drinks were consumed (six? seven? six?), stories were told, pictures taken. One thing led to another (that's how a progressive dinner is supposed to work, right?) and suddenly it was almost midnight. After sweeping me home just before the stroke of twelve, my Prince Charming didn't so much whisk me off to my fairytale dreamland as much as pass out on the couch, fully clothed, lights on, TV on, and sleep there until 6:00 this morning. So romantic . . .

More than once last night, conversation turned to the luck that led each one of our families to buy a house on this street. Nobody knew, going in, what kind of neighborhood it would be. We fell in love with a specific house, or maybe a location here in the "epicenter" (as Patrick likes to call it) of our town, and then later, after we'd moved in and unpacked boxes, we met these funny, lovely, generous, down-to-earth people. Now, at each event (and there are many throughout the year), we joke about taking our Love Of The Street to new and ridiculous levels. In the realm of fantasy, there has been talk of buying up one house on the block, razing it, and putting in a neighborhood pool. We've daydreamed about constructing a float to enter in the EGR 4th of July parade, though only one or two people in the group could even muster up the construction knowledge necessary for that. We throw out all sorts of possible future events - the O Avenue Prom, The W. T. party, having a band come play in the middle of the street in the summer. We can't help it; we like to dream big.

One idea that keeps coming back is having T-shirts printed up for everyone with our street name. Of course, we'd need some sort of catchy slogan to promote our street, and the only one that has been oft-repeated is "Not a Thru Street." As I nursed my headache and stomachache this morning, I came up with a couple more: "Not a Good Influence," and "Where the Grown-Ups are Naughtier Than the Kids." Thoughts, neighbors? And cheers, too, to another riot of an evening.