It's fingerlicking good, y'all

The weekend is squeezing out its last drops.Tomorrow it's back to work, but only for a couple of days; a short week it will be. I hope it will play out the way I envision it: a relaxing, nourishing, love making, romp through days of sunshine briefly interrupted by overcast, rainy ones, which will engender A-ok scenarios like nap taking, reading and writing and the aforementioned love making. If the week is filled with terror, helplessness, and despair, it will certainly suck and I will know (finally, for sure) my soul is damned. Best not  play with that possibility lest it come to pass; I can't profess to the potency or spells or whether they actually exist, but I don't want to risk the effects of an unwitting invocation. Ah, let's move on.

Yesterday was Mike and Kristen's cookout. It was rife with merriment, kinship, slurred speech, drunken mentations, meat eating, flirting, and mischief. It was a treat being with my people, some of whom I hardly see. I drank a six pack of Newcastle and a few other other beers offered up by fellow revelers and it's possible I inhaled something many times that, coupled with the occasional tug from a bottle of maple whiskey, provided a cozy warmth that coated my mind and body. Under the sunlight, we ate and conversed in a manner that would make civilized people nod in approval, but debauchery was inevitable. When the sun withdrew it's light, we soon comported ourselves like moon-addled wolves. At times interactions were symmetrical, others they were sloppy. The later it got, the more we descended into savagery, though of a much tamer sort than, say Dionysus and his cohorts. Still, we made a good showing.  Around three in the morning, Kreg grilled up some hotdogs. We ate like wild dogs tearing into a fresh kill. It wasn't only my base instincts urging me on, I was following a plan; eating fatty foods and drinking a ton of water after I moved on from alcohol saved me the hangover I would have awoken with this morning and been annoyed by all day.

Those of us who stayed over went out for breakfast. At the diner, our party was divided up because of insufficient seating  Mike, Andy, Kristen, and me got a table inside (I devoured my hash and eggs like I had just boxed a few rounds). Kreg and Kate sat outside and Frank, Michelle, Emily, Pinky, and Ryan ate at the diner across the street, not wanting to endure the heat of the morning.

I left around one and stopped off at a used bookstore in Nashua. I picked up Mark Twain's The Mysterious Stranger, Joseph Conrad's The Secret Agent, Jennifer Egan's A Visit From The Goon Squad (which I've already read a few chapters from - so far it's delightful), and The Matrix on DVD. I only spent eleven bucks. Finding a bargain is like having an explosive orgasm. Not really, though. I don't know what I'm talking about. I'm going to go read or something.

Namaste, b-boys!