A truly lovely weekend celebrating Stacy's birthday (today she turned, ah, twenty-nine and a bit). Some very dodgy steaks notwithstanding, we had a wonderfully quiet and romantic evening at home, with lemon cake and what in a Victorian novel would be a number of asterisks. Ahem.
Last night was what might be thought of as the celebration proper, going out to the Brickskeller with Matt and Caren and the Marthas ("Oh my god - there are no straight people at this table") and having what I don't doubt was way too much fun for way too long. Their Buffalo Burger is every bit as good as I remember (BUFFAALLLOOOOO!), and good with Guinness, as though anything isn't. (I do have to wonder what it says about me that I go into a place where I can get any beer in the world and order a Guinness. Hmmm.) The high point of the evening, though, was when Matt discreetly pointed out to me that our waitress had a barbell in her right nipple - so, of course, next time she comes back I'm looking to confirm this, and I hear her ask me if I want a refill on my Coke just in time to realize I've been totally busted staring at her tits. Wonder if she goes through that a lot, or if I just came off as being a pervert of an especially high caliber.
Would that Jeff had been there. Well, on the other hand - perhaps not.
So now I'm winding down the weekend, having just watched MISSION HILL and savoring that "Dan, this was very nearly your life" feeling that comes with each episode, indulging myself in a pipe and what might be thought of as a poor man's White Russian (no vodka, so not so much "virgin" as "only gives blowjobs"). Wondering what all my far-flung friends are up to tonight, hoping they're all safe in their beds. Oidche mhear, my darlings. Murphy watch over you all.
Me, I'm headed for the couch, to spend my last waking half-hour or so tonight in rapt contemplation of AQUA TEEN HUNGER FORCE and the bottom of a glass. Oh, I hope tomorrow will be more fun than I think it will. 'Cause I have a bad feeling it's gonna be one of those NO EXIT kinda Mondays. Gaaahh.
Well, whatever. They all have to end sometime.