Friday night, in seemingly typical fashion, I texted not one, not two, but three whole people to see if they were down for dancing, but not a one of them was up for it. I had intended to go to the End Up, but nixed that after seeing the steroid injecting, tina-snorting circuit queen who was spinning that night on their website, and had hoped instead to hit the 'Stro. Instead, I hit the hay, and called it a day.
Saturday, Shelley, Dascha, Tommy, and I went all the way out to Redwood Shores to celebrate Roze's birthday at her new place. It's always odd to get out of the City and into suburbia for me. I nearly had a panic attack. But it was good times in abundance in her Alice in Wonderland themed party, and the place was gorge. Unfortunately, I made the egregious party foul of forgetting my phone there, and Roze called us as we were nearly halfway back. I could hardly believe it, but at least it was there (on the welcome mat, no less. Good thing we weren't still in the city, otherwise that sucker'd be gone and sold.) By the time I was deposited back at home, it was 3:00 am-ish, and I conked right the hell out.
On Easter Sunday, the day of our lord and savior's resurrection, I took a drunken power walk as far out towards the Mission as I could before the incessant sprinkling vexed me past the point of insouciance. I called a cab and waited in front of a store for it to pick me up, only to be joined by a woman with a stroller who too was looking for a cab. As I saw my cab begin to near , she asked, "Are you waiting for a cab?" And I said, "Yeah, I just called one." Then I felt guilty that I was sort of stealing a cab from a mother with her child on this holiest of days, so I said, "Do you have your phone on you? Just call 333-3333 for Yellow Cab. They're pretty good." And she did. And I felt less guilty.
And as the Bible would say, And it was good.
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