This weekend was the climatic conclusion of the much celebrated birthWEEK. Celebrating your birthday with your roommate is a good idea if (and only if) you have a live-in maid and are employed by a sleeping corporation (hours slept=dollars banked). Friday was probably the kick in the bucket because after working/running/lounging lazily at home in the morning, going to work in the afternoon and evening, speeding home to go out with friends to my new favorite outdoor patio bar, and drinking the most disgusting drink at my new favorite outdoor patio bar, we invited people to hang out at our house.
Why not, right? We had soda galore left over from our numerous celebrations and tons of easy cheez and ritz crackers from cheap box of wine night. Friends and friends of friends welcome. It was great fun. Roommate, Saturday Night Live, la Senorita and various other characters from my life filled the living room with laughter until the wee hours of the morning.
Around three, our friends were tired and decided to go home. As if on cue, they all stood up dusted off the night's enchantment and re-entered reality, an exhausted reality. Saturday Night Live had decided to stay the night, so she hung back. Everyone else left EXCEPT for Random Fundamentalist Boys that played sports with her a couple of times a week.
Previous to new favorite outdoor patio bar, I didn't know either of the Random Fundy Boys. But they seemed nice enough and RFB #1 had a particular predilection for brit-pop that I found marginally endearing. My "wierdo radar" went beserk when they didn't leave with the rest of the group. And continued to talk about the strangest things.
RFB #1 drilled me on my life story. WHO CARES? I want to go to sleep. RFB #2 told SNL about his gospel singing group (that was the oh-so-intelligent term he used) and how he didn't want a homosexual to join it. I might have responded to him in my post-Irish Car Bomb stuper with "What part of me being a Christian means I want to hear about your views on homosexuality at four AM???" However, I was too busy explaining why I'm not going to discuss stem cell research with a complete stranger at four am. Let's be honest. I don't talk about stem cell research with anyone at anytime. Not even the politician.
Finally at five am, they caught onto the overt hinting (Hey SNL... I'm really tired, aren't you?) and finally left. If they thought they were going to get a phone number out of the whole experience, they should have rethought the whole excessively fundamentalist and backwards opining thing they did until my eyes were so bloodshot that I cried blood.