Is it possible that I am STILL hungover from Saturday night? Whew! I got a little wacky this weekend. Okay, update, M.s. is still away and this kitty has been spending her energy on too many mice, though no amount of mouses (sic) is enough to compare to the fun of the one I own. Friday night I was tired, the week was long. I hung out with the eldest of the clan for a bit (always a lovely time), and then Ollie came over to help me trash the zone. Just kidding. We watched some movies, very mellow, Ron & his woman came by for a movie and some pizza. The night ended early, and I went home to sleep with my cats. Because Iím a cat-lady.
Saturday I didnít want to do anything. Mr. Ababwa dragged me out though, and we had a day of fun, shopping, lunching, fish-watching, plotting and scheming, and we even fit in a movie. Saturday night was the big night out, plans to see an amazing and talented DJ at a club so new, itís web site isnít finished yet. Much planning was done. I met up with Pixie and Cabana Boy, and we were joined by Spider Monkey and O.H. Downtown, and even more people crept out of the San Diego social corners. The music was excellent, the DJ was fucking amazing, the dancersÖ I knew some of them. The flattery was fabulous, nothing like getting moves made on you to reconfirm your ďHOTometer.Ē Mostly, I just wanted to watch it all, observe the people, appreciate the record mixing, smile and enjoy.
What Iím saying is, I didnít need the drugs and alcohol. I even smoked a few cigarettes, and itís been five months since Iíve even had a drag! So, needless to say, I feel slightly worked. After dropping people off at their homes or their cars, I headed over to M.s.ís, to try and get to sleep in a bed without the aid of man or animal. It was hard. Next time I go to the club, and oh, I will go again, I will be content to sit back and observe and enjoy without the aid of inebriation. I do believe Iíve actually gotten it out of my system, that feeling that I want to get ďfucked-upĒ and ďparty all night.Ē A year ago, I never saw this coming. I never thought Iíd actually tire of the scene.
Speaking of the scene, I talked to Africa this weekend! He told me about his New Yorker Magazine ad, which I have (yay!) and his new Sprint commercial. Good for him, working his ass off and getting further and further in his career. He was even asked back to host Montrealís Just For Laughs for a third year in a row. As one of my friends used to say, ďGood on yaí, mate!Ē I hope to see him sometime soon. So hard to plan those things, L.A. has never seemed so far away as it does right now.
Tonight I meet with my class mates, operation retardation. Iím having them meet at the coffee shop under My manís domain, so that I can easily escape to the cave quickly if I get too annoyed. Mm, Animal Planet. But Iím skipping something. Ah yes, yesterday, Motherís Day and a birthday party for my brother-man. A day spent at my motherís, complete with family and food, smiles and appreciation. I really like the mood I get in when Iím tired and hungover. Itís a sort of, ďI do not give anything remotely resembling a shit, so for your own sake, do not tread the hot water around me.Ē
Before going down to my motherís, I actually told an annoying neighbor something Iíve wanted to say for a long time, but that damn natural social skill, politeness, always got in the way. Fresh out of the shower, a neighbor came by to give me a message for my father. Happily taking it, this woman is lovely and kind, I could almost sense the nosy putz next door inching his way over to my door to find out what was going on. He lurks in the hallways. He did end up making it to my door, said, ďHey, whatís up?Ē to which I replied in the driest of tones, ďWeíre having a party, go AWAY.Ē After that lovely moment, the one I savored as much as I could, the moment in which he tried to figure out whether or not I was joking, met my hard stare, realized there was no spark of fun in my eyes, defeated, he did, in fact, go away. Oh, the sweet, sweet feeling of saying what you mean. Hangovers do not allow me to bullshit. They take away my filter and I become myself, unprotected and uncensored, and not entirely wonderful to be around if youíre someone I happen to not fancy.
But now Iím just bragging about my bitchiness. On to work. Itís MONDAY. Soon, the lawyers will arrive. Time to prepare for the drama.