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loungin’

This is not my original blog post. Once again, this piece of shit publishing system ate my words… evaporated… gone. Even GMail has an applet that auto-saves every few seconds. This hunk-o-shite that I migrated to from the last hunk-o-shite is the touchiest system to date… well, maybe it’s on par with MoveableType. FUCK that pisses me off. The gist of what I wrote (in about one fifth the space and one tenth the detail) was that I had some plans for the weekend and Eclair was coming home tomorrow. I am going to Mike’s costume suaré tomorrow night in Clear Lake as a very pregnan nun. My “date” for the party is my friend Georgia who is going as a priest. We talked about coordinating costumes quite a bit and there were some cool ideas, but I just didn’t want to wear something that I would end up having to explain all night. “Hey mang, what are you supposed to be?” would get excruciatingly old. Ted, Jenny, Miranda, and I are going to Avenue Q on Saturday and I had a Rennesance Festival invite for Sunday, but I’m going to pass this time. It’s really cool, but I have a lot to do this weekend before my trip (business). Eclair gets to come home tomorrow after three pee emm. Henry will be ecstatic, I’m sure. Barrett, Jennifer, and Georgia are coming to my house for Halloween evening to pass out candy. Barrett is dressing as a giant taco this year which will either amuse or completely scare the shit out of the little kids. Georgia and I carved a pumpkin for the event since I have no other Halloween decorations to put out. Not bad for a first “real” attempt, eh? (at the bottom) Anyhoo, I’m really tired. I stayed out way too late last night and was up too early this morning. There was a big get-together at Front Porch Pub for Barrett and some of his ex-coworkers. The weather was really nice, so I drove down and met them after I got off work. Sam showed up on his way home and one thing led to another… late night. We ate somewhere in there at Cyclone Anaya’s with the intent to go to Sammy’s afterwards. The jazz venue was closed, so we cabbed it to Pub Fiction and ended the evening at the bar. I think the buckets of beer, shots, and frozen screwdrivers at FPP were contributors, but the straw that broke the camel’s back was the Crazy Mexican from Cyclone’s. Holy shit that is a strong drink. My entomologist (and good friend) neighbors are heading to the valley tomorrow for the butterfly migration. I wanted to go, but already had RSVP’d the Mike thing and the off broadway deal, so I’m going to get to hear about all the fun later. It’s late and I’m headed to bed. I still can’t believe I lost that post… AGAIN. Seriously, there is just something wrong with that…

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