I have a relatively high propensity for jackassery. Marriage has slowed me down a bit since I'm out fewer late nights, and I drink, um, differently (read: slower and in a less concentrated manner).
I also enjoy others with the same tendency. As an example, the first story I ever heard about my husband, from my coworker who was also his roommate, was about his misguided Christmas shopping trip to the Macy's in Herald Square. To effectively erase the horror of that trip through the 7th circle of hell, he'd gotten drunk and fallen asleep right outside the door of his 6th floor walk-up apartment. With his key in the lock. I thought he sounded like he might be fun.
Fueled by a tiny bit of whiskey, and a reasonable amount of wintertime cabin fever, I had a little dance party last night to the music in my headphones. On the street corner. In my neighborhood. In front of my grocery store.
In return, I woke up this morning with perfect Jenny Lewis hair. The lesson I've learned? Assery begets awesomeness.