Birthday Bash

I actually don't like weekends very much, partly because I pretty much work every day, and it's much harder to work when everyone else is having fun. This is what made weekends at the firm particularly grueling; not only were you working, but most of the time you were doing pointless, mindless tasks like document review (where you review boring litigation documents) or due diligence (where you review boring corporate documents) At least now when I'm working, I can do it in my sunny bedroom with the Kept marathon in the background. (As predicted, my interest in this show lasted as long as my interest in any show--six episodes. I don't even know who she picked. I'm sure they're quite happy). Office politics are limited to which cat is currently thrashing the other, and whether I can take an extra dog walk in the evening.

Still, I get considerably little work done from Friday afternoon through Saturday. Sunday, being the day of repentence, is a very productive day. I pretty much wake up a bad employee on Friday--hungover, behind schedule, procrastinating here, there and everywhere. I suppose it evens out in the end because of Sunday, but still. Freelancing is feast or famine; last week it promised feast, but this weekend is famine. Which means I will worry about spending too much money, usually followed by my actually spending too much money.

However, the plans for Saturday night are particularly good--The Horse and I are throwing a joint birthday party at the Horse's apartment. He has purchased tiki torches, which I envisioned as those big Hawaiian flaming suckers, but now sound only like rather tall candle holders. My contribution will be introducing random groups of people, none of have really met each other, into a crowd of his more mellow friends. We will do some mighty fine repenting on Sunday, but hey, your 21st birthday only comes around six or seven times in your lifetime.

Thank God for the tradition of the houseparty, by the way. For the price of a medium-bodied cabernet, you can buy your way into someone's house, be supplied with a drink, lots of munchies and a comfortable place to sit down when necessary. Which makes me wonder why we even go to bars anymore. Well, other than the fact that I don't think I could get the memebers of Satanicide to do a private show in my apartment. (Or could I....? That would certainly teach Evil Cat Woman.....) Relying on being supplied with booze simply because of the charm of your company--another necessary to be a freelancer.