When a fun person starts slowing down.

I need an adventure.

An old friend was reading this here blog, which had me reading old posts as well, and it appears that I was fun even as recently as within the last four years. As it turns out, I realized I'm not that fun anymore. What happened (well, lots, actually, but it's kind of a rhetorical question)?

I know I was fun pretty much from my teens forward. A lot has to do with the friends I hung out with. For some reason I have always been attracted to people with wacky personalities (to match my own?). Wackiness tends to lead to a fairly adventurous lifestyle. I'm not talking mountain-climbing, bungee-jumping, buried-treasure kind of adventure. I'm talking the kind of adventure where simple stuff happens and it turns into something you talk about for years afterward.

Like skipping school to go get some cake at Rose's and getting pulled over and having the motorcycle cop hit his head on the side view mirror and falling on his ass in the middle of Hall Blvd while your friend in the passenger seat who has managed to tuck all of the empty Coors Light cans in the front seat from your brother's date last night under the front seat starts laughing, disrupting said cans and potentially causing more problems (luckily the cop was too embarrassed to even give me a ticket let alone notice any evidence). That kind of adventure.

Meeting boys on the Florida turnpike and playing freeway tag with them for two hours on your way to Disney World only to find out that they, too, were from Beaverton.

Drinking way too much ouzo, rolling a car and coming out smelling like a rose.

Taking various pharmaceuticals, houdini-ing from a club and throwing your debit card out the window for any number of reasons.

Getting turned away from Belize because you didn't like the way the border agent played the game.

Talking myself out of no less than four DUIs in Eugene while still not eligible to vote.

Attempting to break a beer bottle over a third string LA Raider's head while he was trying to strangle my brother, resulting in a bar brawl of epic proportions that is still a local legend.

Driving around Eugene on a road trip, drinking beer and missing curfew, visiting a porn shop and then making out on the Humpy Lumpy, and, again, being the one who ends up not getting in trouble for it.

Driving a car with absolutely no brakes for a year in Southern California.

Being the keeper of the nachos for a relatively short drive from the 7-11 to home when the driver hits a bump and the nachos go flying, landing (of course) nacho-side down on the gear shift and console, effectively getting cheese sauce on pretty much every surface of a very expensive rig.

That kind of stuff. It just isn't happening anymore. I know more stuff is in me, I know I still have miles to go, apparently it takes effort now. It never used to.

I guess I need to get out more.