Who needs champagne wishes when I've got Megan, Bud Light, and Hangover Sundays?

After the human contents of the club were spilled onto the streets, Lala, Megan, Rosie and I piled into Rosie's van and went back to Lala's house. But not before I was made to feel like a grandmother, just standing there in the midst of a sea of Party People. I remembered my days as a Party Person, when it was all about having the cutest shoes that cut your feet and trying to dance without breaking a heel. When 9:00 was early and 4 AM was the afternoon. When I actually gave a shit about make-up, and hair, and getting the number to the cutest guy in the bar (who always turned out to be either an alcoholic or a wife-beater, or both) Some people would call those the good old days, but I'll take 26 and serenity over 22 and excitement any day.
I was exhausted but Megan The Nightowl was not ready to go to sleep. "Have a beer with me."
"Okay." We sat outside with cans of Bud Light. The air in the valley had cooled in the darkness and we covered ourselves with blankets and sweatshirts. "I can't believe this is summer," I mused.

Somehow the subject changed and the letters, "P-R-C-A" came out of Megan's mouth and I thought she said "We are create." I believe it had something to do with the incessant drone in my ear from the woofers at the club.
"We're what?"
"C-A"
"Freeway?"
"No! P-R-C-A! The rodeo!" she laughed.
"Oh! Oh, okay! I'm sorry. So you like rodeos?"
She looked at me like I had asked if she liked breathing and sleeping. "I didn't tell you before?"
"That you like rodeos?"
She giggled. "A couple months ago I was at a bar and it was really busy. The bartender was this chick and she was pretty much ignoring me, right? But then she got a sec and asked, 'Are you Megan (I forgot her last name and can't get ahold of her on the phone for the last couple days...)?' And I was like, "Yeah," and she was like, 'You were the best barrel racer in the state.' And I was. When I was between about thirteen and sixteen."
"Really?"
"Yeah," she continued, telling me about her childhood home, the 30 acres, all the horses, and her father teaching her to rope a goat. "I was going really slow and he yelled, 'What're you doin' over there, knitting a sweater?!"
"Sweet god, I couldn't do that."
"Eh, you get used to it. But the speed is just.... man! I can't describe it! I mean, you've got to make sure you don't eat shit jumping off the horse--"
"Dude, what?!"
"Yeah, you have to jump off while the horse is running at full speed, because you can't lose the speed going after the goat, and you have to swing your leg over the saddle and jump like this" -- she demonstrated a flying leap like Superman -- "and get your feet under you enough to run. I've seen girls completely eat it on the landing."
"What is barrel racing?" I asked.
"Running the horse around barrels. You try to get them as tight as possible, and they time you. Like I said, I was the best in the region. I went to live with my trainer when I was sixteen."
"What about school?"
"I had a tutor."
"Jesus! You were serious!"
"Yeah, totally."
"Why'd you stop?"
"It's like anything you eat and sleep and breathe for years. I got burnt out."

We went to sleep soon after, only to wake up to One Of The Greatest Lazy Sundays I'd Had In A Long Time. Adam picked up a ridiculous amount of food from Taco John's, we all stuffed ourselves, and then lounged in front of the TV watching Adult Swim On Demand. It was hangover heaven. Since I've been spending most of my Sundays sober, alone and without a TV, it was a special treat for me. Looking around the living room, seeing five sets of eyes hiding from the sun like vampires, watching Carl pee on Meatwad's beloved Boxy Brown, I realized that life's happiness really does exist in tiny little moments.