Okay, just to set the tone, the weekend sucked. A list of details follows:

Friday night my plan had been to go to the Atomic Cafe and debauch myself. I got to the club around 10, having given the place time to get hoppin'. I showed up; there were maybe 12 cars in the parking lot. Not a good sign. I thought to myself, "Self, maybe it's one of those slow starting nights. They happen sometime." I gave the door flunky my ID and went to the window to pay the $5 cover. Guess what, there was some kind of "special event" involving cyalume sticks (those glow sticks you snap that shine for half an hour or so. Cover was $20 for the "special event". I suddenly developed a big case of the Fuckits. With fewer than 30 people there, I knew from past experience there was nothing happening that night, not to mention the fact that nothing worth $20 cover ever happened at the Atomic.

So, I went to my neighborhood bar, had a beer, looked to see if I knew anyone there other than the flaky bartender. I didn't. I left, rented "Mallrats," went home and watched it, had a couple of beers and went to bed.

Saturday, I noticed my bonsai tree was starting to brown. It's been so resilient I couldn't give up on the little bugger. I grabbed an old hand towel and tacked it to the patio railing to give the tree a little shade. The plastic cover on one of the thumbtacks I was using came off, but I thought, "Hey, no biggie." Of course, as I was pushing the tack into the wood, the head of the tack popped free from the little brass disk around it and drove about 3/8 of an inch into my thumb. Leaking a pretty steady stream of blood, I finished putting in the tack, not much caring anymore if the tree lived or not.

Saturday afternoon and evening were fun. Kristine and I went to dinner, hung out at a coffee shop, read, went to another neighborhood bar and had a couple of drinks. Dull and unexciting, but easily the best part of the weekend.

Sunday I had to cancel my rock climbing engagement because I had a date at 6 p.m. Trust me, after 3 hours of rock climbing, you're in no shape for any kind of social interaction, even at the most platonic level. You become monosyllabic man, kind of like Captain Caveman on thorazine. I was supposed to make dinner for this girl I used to work with and we could catch up on old times and new events while I undermined her attempts to get back together with her old boyfriend, thereby freeing up her position on the playing field. Simple, good clean fun.

I got to her house at 5:45. Not home. I waited around until 6:10. Still not home. I called, left a message that I was going to go grab a cup of coffee and would try again in a few minutes. I called again from the coffee shop at 6:30. Not home. I headed back over to wait a while longer. At 7:30 I called again and left the "I don't know what happened. Call me later and let me know what went south. I hope everything's okay" message trying to keep the fact that I was absolutely livid out of my voice.

Kristine was getting ready last night to leave for an install in New Jersey today; so she was downloading application files all night, tying up the phone line even if the girl did call. I had dinner (far less opulent than the meal I had planned). I downed a beer, started reading a new novel and went to bed, nearly grateful that a workday was at hand so I didn't have to deal with another weekend disaster.

That's it. Some you win; some you lose; others leave you scratching your head in the dust.

M_