Jesus Crisco, I’m tired. I slept like a lead weight last night, sinking deep into my mattress, my eyelids sealed shut and my arms splayed wide in exhaustion.
It’s a good tired, though. The kind of tired that comes from staying up ’til 6 a.m. drinking and talking about things that there’s no time to talk about unless you stay up until 6 a.m. to talk about them.
Billy, Jimmy, and Theresa came into town Friday to visit Phil, so I stopped by to hang out after work Friday and Saturday night. I watched the boys battle it out on Guitar Hero, and Theresa and I girl talked our way through the weekend. And then last night we watched Black Roses, starring a younger Vincent Pastore, about a leatherbound heavy-metal hair band that turns to demons and brainwashes the local high school kids to become evil too. Or something. I left before it was over. I couldn’t figure out if it was a Christian propaganda film or a porno. Or maybe a Christian porno. Actually, it wasn’t really either. You should just dust off your VCR and rent it and decide for yourself. It’s ridonkulous.
It was good to see everyone. I haven’t seen Billy in a looong time, and it’s been at least a month or two since I’ve seen Jimmy and Theresa. I miss being around Phil’s phriends in their element, together, boozin’ and cracking each other up.
But here I am sitting on the computer when Nick will be here in a few hours for a visit and my apartment looks and smells unwelcoming. I’m a bad host so I’ve not planned a damn thing for us to do, but I’ve got a stocked liquor cabinet and cable TV. I can’t imagine we’ll need much more than that.
I know nothing of you or this Nick character, but I do know that Collin had a friend from Denmark stay over for a little more than two weeks in February, and I managed to keep him entertained with junk food (might I suggest shells and cheese), US television and heavy drinking (and conversation) for the majority of that time.