I did it. I really did. I got out of bed / off the couch / away from the computer, I showered, I picked up some beer, and I went to a house party. I was a touch intimidated at the prospect, because I had become comfortable with my funk and my sweatpants and my returning chin hair. My fall into filth felt like a heated comforter against the outside world, but I pep-talked myself through the necessary steps to affect public decency and went out into the night. Hoorah.

Armed as I was with both several bottles of beer and my trusty Lumix FZ20, I am surprised that as many of my photos came out as they did. While taking the following shot of Mr. Head, Red, and Captain Periwinkle, I had my elbows braced against a windowsill in order to steady myself, but I still managed to make Mr. Head look as though he were disappearing into the ether.

Mr. Head, Red, and Captain Periwinkle

I quickly learned to step away from the bottle before hitting the shutter button, and Captain Periwinkle learned that if you don't act fast, you get stuck with a name like Captain Periwinkle on the internet.

And here is a grouping of some lovely Cityvillians who, when I introduced myself into the group by sliding snake-like on my back along the kitchen floor between them, camera in hand, simply greeted me and leaned in to be photographed, no questions asked.

Abigail and friends

This woman, L, is a good woman. You know why? Because she didn't kill me while I swayed drunkenly with my camera three inches from her face. She didn't even do that thing that most people do where they pull their faces into awkward shapes when they know the camera is trained on them.


I finished another scarf. I made it narrow and long, and I call it my Spring Scarf. It was worn by many an attendee at the house party over the course of the evening, because it is great. The greatness of that scarf was born from my hands, which means that I have the power to impart greatness, so I must have much greatness in me. I am great.

Huck Finn wears my scarf, lomo edition

And lo, the night drew on, and inebriation grew tiresome. Knuckle Toes, Jukebox Hero, and I poured ourselves into a taxi, and I was ferried to my home where I cuddled with the Palinode and watched our cat, Onion, attempt to eat a glass bottle by grinding his teeth into the neck. It looked painful. I love a stupid cat.

If it isn't surprising enough that I was able to pry myself out of the apartment on Saturday night, I am going to do it again tonight. I know. It's impressive. Although to be fair, I won't be stopping off at home before the meeting, so I will already have some forward momentum and won't have had any time during which to be lulled into slack ass couch melding.

As an added bonus to today's post, here's a cactus: