Strange days have found us, and through their strange hours we linger alone

Today was a day of recovery. Went to Karen's 40th birthday party up in Nashua last night and because I hitched a ride home with Janelle, I allowed the drinks to flow right down my gullet, freely and without fear of ill-consequence. I didn't get plastered - no trip to the ER for me - but I wasn't about to dishonor the Mardi Gras theme of the party, either. To do so would have been a crime against humanity. Or something like that.

I had a great time; I usually do with this group of people. With a few notable exceptions, the turnout was impressive. Music was played, conversations were had, dancing was done, and, even better, no stupid, drunken fights (I kept my explosive temper under wraps this time around). Nope, this party was entirely festive and the sense of kinship was palpable. I love my friends.

I can think of at least two very funny incidents that occurred that I won't be sharing here so as not to embarrass anyone out of hand. Nothing too outrageous, mind you, but as you've become aware, I'm ultra vigilant as pertains to not sharing too much information, or TMI, as the youngsters like to call it. Unless given permission, I can keep secrets with the best of them. On that note, allow me to present a detailed and explicit telling of the "dirty diaper" incident that involved Frank, Scott, and Pat. Nasty business, that, but you'll be glad to read about it.

Ok, I'm kidding. Unfortunately, there was no diaper incident, at least not one that I know about. And if there was, I'm not even sure what it would entail. Alright, how did I get on this absurd train of thought, all this business about diapers? Time to move on.

So I've established how much the party rocked. Or have I? Well, if I haven't, allow me to continue to strengthen my case. Around two in the morning, there was still a solid group of people left. I don't know who started it - probably Rachael - but the music was turned up and the living room became a dance floor. Everybody let the funk out -- well, almost everyone (the one or two abstainers know who they are) -- and it was so fun that trying to articulate it won't come close to doing it justice. Sheer exuberance is all I can say. That, and also to reiterate the fact that I love my friends.
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I took my car to the garage to have a leak in the transmission fluid basin fixed and to see if there was anything amiss with the handling of it (lately it has been wobbly, like a ship on the high seas). I got off easy. The wobbly performance turned out to be the result of one of my tires needing air and I ended up needing a new gasket for my transmission fluid basin. The damage: Eighty five smackers. Based on recent experience, I was expecting to shell out substantially more. The mechanic next to the building where I work, the one I've only ever gone to as a last resort, had quoted me $400 to take care of the leak. Needless to say, I'm glad I didn't have him do the work. Fucking grifter!
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My computer was hijacked again yesterday. I got on top of it as quickly and efficiently as I could but I ended up losing access to Firefox for some reason and, consequently, have lost all my bookmarks. It's like my computer had a stroke.
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It's Valentine's Day and I'm not too upset over the fact that I don't have anyone to celebrate it with. Traditionally, I've been single on the holiday, so I'm used to it. This is not to suggest I'm bitter -- in fact, I'm perfectly fine with it. Especially today, when I'm nursing a hangover and enjoying being a layabout. After the party last night, I feel anything but lonely.
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I picked up several cd's at Newbury Comics yesterday that were ridiculously cheap. I got Strange Days by The Doors; Eat A Peach, by the Allman Brothers; Blind Melon's debut; It's A Shame About Ray, by The Lemonheads; and Moving Pictures, by Rush. I've owned all but Eat A Peach at one point in my life. Good to have them back.

And that's it for me. I see a nice, hot shower in my future. I'm surprised I had the energy to offer another full and ultra-satisfying, almost transcendent, post. Ah, but would you expect any less? Feel free not to answer that.