Weekends are always fun. There should be more weekends in life. Monday is such a terrible way to spent 1/7 of your life. In fact, even Sunday nights can suck. The anticipation and all. But not a good sort of anticipation. The "aww, shit" kind. Maybe that's why they have Desperate Housewives on Sundays? We are all desperate b/c the workweek is about to start? (Though last night did not suck; I went out to dinner to one of my favorite restaurants with my soccer team and harassed the cute waiter, who was somewhat overwhelmed and easily flustered, having to deal with 8 girls. We tipped well though).

Friday was typical Friday night drama. I said to my one friend, I've been relatively drama free for a while (for the most part) and I guess that I had been bottling up all that drama, and put 6 weeks of drama into one week. Mostly just a few days too. Excellent. Boy, am I tired! (Though not all the drama was mine. Official pronouncement: boys are stupid. Three girls, three boys who are stupid in three completely different ways.)

One of my oldest college friends came to visit me on Saturday. What was particularly great about that was that on Friday night, I was most depressed and felt all homesick for college and my college friends. Not that my friends here aren't great, because they are. But I need people around me who will be brutally honest with me, who will call me on my shit, and she said. The peopel who knows who I am and understand who I am working to become. (With old friends, it helps b/c they remember who I was as well.) And again, who will be honest with me and not try to spare my feelings because they don't want to hurt me.

So she came up here Saturday afternoon. We went to the football game (we lost. Shocker, I know. Though we played close. The score was 15-15 with 4 minutes left; they scored and we had about 45 seconds left but we were unable to score in that time. Though the ref gave us an extra 1 second on the clock I think. Maybe not, but it was questionable.) We went to the bar afterwards during which I drank and worked myself into a state of aggitation because of men. (OK, one man in particular, but whatever.) After that we went with a group to Dave and Busters. Where I console my hurt feelings with alcohol, games, and other men. (Does innocent flirting with one man you are not interested in b/c you were rejected by another man make me a bad or evil person? Probably. But on the grand scale of "evil," am I more like Darth Vader - who ultimately turned good again - or the evil Stepmother from Snow White? To Harry Potter geek out on you, am I Malfoy, who wouldn't have killed Dumbledore, or Snape, who did kill Dumbledore? How evil am I?)

Anyway, we leave the bar when it closes, and get home at 3 am. Walk up to my door. It's locked. This is most interesting to me because, in the year and a half I've lived at my house, the door has been locked a grand total of one time. And, incidently, it's this instance.

Now, normally, this is not a problem, b/c I carry a purse, so I'm carrying my car keys, which have a house key on them that I've never used. But unfortunately, a purse didn't really go with what I was wearing (read: I wasn't in the mood to carry it) and so I had my spare car keys with me - which do not have a house key attached. Which means, no, I'm locked outside my house. Visions of never being able to get into my house again, my 17 pound cat slowely starving to death, dance in my head.

But wait! We are in a garage! My garage is full of useful things. Footballs and soccer balls and baseballs and baseball gloves. Frisbees. Gold clubs. A lawn mover. A kiddie pool. And, yes, my tool box (which actually I normally keep inside the house.)

My friend goes to work and takes a screwdriver to take the door off the hinges. I never knew this was possible, and the fact that my pretty pretty princess, foo foo (she had a dust ruffle on her bed in college!) knew how to do this scared me. If *she* can break in that easily, who else can? Umm...anyone. (Except, evidently, me.) Anyway, she gets all three of the hunges off, but we can't get the door to open that way. There isn't enough room. So we contemplate, and decide to go to my dad's. he lives 5 minutes away, so that's ok. I tell her, "he won't even know we are here until the morning."

Famous last words...

We walk in (he doesn't lock the door either - but I had his spare key in my car. Don't ask why I keep his spare key in my car, but not mine. There is no positive answer and you'll just be disappointed in me.) We walk in and immediately get attacked by dogs. I think I whispered something profound like "dogs" to my friend - as if the yipping wasn't clue enough. That speaks more of my intelligence than hers. What I meant to say was, "Why are there dogs here? My dad doesn't HAVE any dogs." Anyway, my dad's girlfriend's dogs were spending the night (so was she) and thus,t he whole house woke up. Excellent.

Lesson of the week: fuck men, I don't understand them anyway so why bother trying. And make bloody copies of your key to keep at your dads, hidden in the garage, or hidden in my car. (Or, go wild and crazy and do all three...) Here's my qusetion- does that count as last week's lesson - since it occurred on Saturday? Or can I count it as this week's lesson, since Sunday was involved??

(Oh, if you were curious, in the morning, my dad went to my house with some took and opened my door in 30 seconds. The tool he took was bent so he was able to open the door. We had done the work stuff. So all's well that ends well. Though I didn't sleep much Saturday night.)

I'm going to the Bon Jovi concert tomorrow. And I paid for it. And I'm excited for it. Oh, I set the standards of coolness quite high, don't I?

Finally, today, one of my favorite poems is speaking to me. I know I've shared in the past, but this is my blog, and I'll repeat myself if I want to.

lesson of the moth

i was talking to a moth

the other evening

he was trying to break into

an electric light bulb

and fry himself on the wires

why do you fellows

pull this stunt i asked him

because it is the conventional

thing for moths or why

if that had been an uncovered

candle instead of an electric

light bulb you would

now be a small unsightly cinder

have you no sense

plenty of it he answered

but at times we get tired

of using it

we get bored with the routine

and crave beauty

and excitement

fire is beautiful

and we know that if we get

too close it will kill us

but what does that matter

it is better to be happy

for a moment

and be burned up with beauty

than to live a long time

and be bored all the while

so we wad all our life up

into one little roll

and then we shoot the roll

that is what life is for

it is better to be a part of beauty

for one instant and then cease to

exist than to exist forever

and never be a part of beauty

our attitude toward life

is come easy go easy

we are like human beings

used to be before they became

too civilized to enjoy themselves

and before i could argue him

out of his philosophy

he went and immolated himself

on a patent cigar lighter

i do not agree with him

myself i would rather have

half the happiness and twice

the longevity

but at the same time i wish

there was something i wanted

as badly as he wanted to fry himself

-archy