Steph Not Stephanie

Fun might be the most subjective word in the OED. Lately, I’ve ended up in a bunch of surprise-fun situations. We all know what we consider fun (wallpapering can be fun for some, right Mr. and Mrs. Snack Bag?), and typically what we don’t. Or do we?

I was home for a very countrified Christmas, made even more so by my sister’s plan for Redneck Christmas at my uncle’s house – complete with dress code, games, and four-wheeling. The city girl in me cringed, but in the end I had a fucking blast:

This past weekend, I was having a chill movie night in with Edwin when the smoke detector went off (no, I wasn’t cooking). Turns out it was actually the entire building’s fire alarm, so after being told to put pants on and attempting to chug my wine, we hauled ass outside (where much smarter people had actually brought their wine – noted for next time). Since the fire department had to clear the building, we went to the bar across the street to wait it out/find more wine. A few other residents had the same idea, and I ended up chatting to some really cool people. If you had asked me before if I thought a fire alarm could be fun (especially after dealing with them all. the. time. when I worked in a dorm), I might have punched you in the face. This time, it was actually one of the highlights of my week (a very close second to a wine-fueled twerking lesson while cooking with a very good friend/troublemaker). Life can always use a bit more fun, and I guess this just shows it can happen anywhere.