Y4DA + 1 10 May 1999

4:47 PM: A fine, peaceful day of no work, after a fun, carefree evening of no thinking. Allow me to emit a rather gloating sigh of contentment: Aaaaaah.

That has got to have been the easiest party I've ever thrown. Professional service all around - people serving the beer, blocking out nogoodniks at the door (well, the ones that I didn't know personally, anyway), cleaning up the empty glasses, lovely. Why, I bet they would have even emptied out the ashtrays, had not our profound respect for the laws of the State of Californiapickthatupandstopslouching prevented us from using such terrible things. Ahem.

Mother's Day was a fierce competitor, but lots of people showed up anyway. Lucy and her friend stopped by, he said in a casual but subtly emphatic namedropping way, to hoist a few well-deserved beers and take some no doubt embarassing photographs. Some people from work came by, too, leading to much fruitless speculation about the possible presence of my office crush among them. As if I'd tell. Hah. I'm thinking of picking a new one anyway, just to confuse the issue.

Mostly I bounced around Brownianly, talking and drinking and collecting gifts. Star Wars was a big theme, you'll be surprised to hear. Probably will turn out to be a better investment than anything in my 401k. I also got a disturbing little clam hand puppet, and a Mr. Potatoe Head watch that stares at you when you're not looking. How did they know?

There was a lot of drinking, toxically sweet birthday cakes, bad jokes, and a rousing singalong to "The Pencil Rain" by They Might Be Giants, which I think frightened the strangers who had been let into the bar by that point in the evening. Good. Welcome to my world, tourists. (I'm still trying to get over Lucy's assertion that the bar had originally been a water bar. Water? Shudder.)

Then today I woke up, largely hangover-free, and was out of the house by 1 PM, to do nothing more energetic than pick up the day's NY Times, and this week's Economist & New Yorker, walk another half-block to the very nice cafe up the street, and sit drinking tea and eating a toasted bagel with melted brie while reading about idiots at home and abroad. Disgusting, isn't it?

Now I'm home again, with a big fat new pillow that's begging to be tried out. Life really is much better without this having to be somewhere stuff. Too bad about that non-existent family fortune.

Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.

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All names are fake, most places are real, the author is definitely unreliable but it's all in good fun. Yep. © 1998-1999 Lighthouse for the Deaf. All rights reserved and stuff. The motto at the top of the page is a graffito I saw on Brunswick Street in Melbourne.