Boy, what a weekend. I bought these slacks, 'cause my friends T and C were hosting a dinner party, and there were no jeans allowed. So, Mark's in kahki Farah slacks and an untucked "Hai-waii floweredy shirt" with parrots on it, and everyone thought he looked fine, 'cause he did.

T and C prepared and served to us, nine of us, a five-course meal. Spicy Thai soup! Albacor tuna served on mushrooms! Peach sorbet with mint! Fancy-ass ravioli with an assortment of tomato sauces! Cream puffs with blackberries! Beer and wine! Good music! Conversation about nipple sweat! It was one of the best meals I've ever had. It even came with a horoscope: "You came to earth in a pod as a baby."

Then we had to decide what to do next: Redneck kegger, or local metal-grunge-stoner band Glasspack? After dancing to Elvis for about an hour, we decided on Glasspack. That was great. Very close, very loud, very quick. Just how I like my balls rocked off.

Then we hung out at "our" bar, The Backdoor, with most of about four local bands, and cheap vodka drinks. We got in around 4, then we all slept, but not very much or very well.

Breakfast at Bob Evans was good. So many old people in polyester... The waitress, Bridget, reminded me of an Amy Sedaris character. Such a great drawl, so friendly and sweet. If she had had a filthy mouth, I woulda been all over her.

Then Willow and I went to get her some new tires on her car. We read comics while we waited. I love having friends that read comics in public with me.

Finally, I made it home. With all the fun I had, getting an e-mail from Amelie is still the highlight. She's home, and she missed me, and I'm sure I'll talk to her soon.

I Am Exhausted. And so are you, if you read this far.