if you're crabby and you know it clap your hands.

Some days the weather throws you a bone and acts the way you feel. Thanks, Gainesville. For once we're on the same page. Your dark gray torrential downpour lifted my heart, kind of, in at least not being contradictorily sunny when I'm in a foul mood.

Ugh, what a day. With no warning signs, my laptop's begun flaking out in a bad way. Nothing - almost nothing - is more stressful than an expensive piece of technology you depend on practically all day, every day, threatening to up and choke. Except when you've been waiting with baited breath on student loans that should have been disbursed 2 weeks ago while the rent looms heavy on the horizon and you're using credit cards to buy milk and eggs.

Not that there would be any surplus in these loans for a laptop, should Sparky McFlakealot give out on me. Worse comes to worse, the prostitutes on SW 13th seem to be doing okay. And they don't have to sit in lectures learning that the tests they'll use throughout their career appear to measure nothing significant. Oh dear, I just read that paragraph over. Has it really come to this?

But I'll balance out the angst-fest: I had the best weekend ever. It started surreptitiously enough with Trivial Pursuit at Maude's over jasmine tea. Power Team #1 (Lisa & Shannon) scored the most wedges, no thanks to my discriminating knowledge of dead rappers.

Saturday I didn't even want a beer at my favorite bar, because there was GUITAR HERO on the big screen. Power team #2 (Shannon and Eli, a ten year old kid in a hoodie) rocked it out on cooperative mode... over and over... and over.

Sunday night finished off with a fantastic (and cheap!) group dinner at Tapas 12 West. Perfect cap to a perfect weekend: collapsing just this side of a coma, full of scallops, empanadas, sangria and chocolate souffle. Mmmm. Why was I crabby again?