Bullets Are My Friend

• Friday Night: The Librarian and I go to Bamboo52 for dinner. We take full advantage of happy hour until 9 pm. (Holla!). We eat a lot of sushi. We falter while doing the math on the bill. Later on, we are joined by MS and his friends who are in from Boston. We drink more. I freak out a little when the bar turns off the Yankees/Mets game in favor of the Daytime Emmy Awards. I tear up when asked about MS/Groom's pending move to Boston, and then realize it is time to go home.
• Saturday morning: I meet up with HC for brunch. I decide I need a Bloody Mary. We journey up to tha Bronx for the Yankees/Mets game. She's wearing her bright orange 'Mr. Met' shirt. This goes over like a lead balloon with most Yankees fans, including me. We have some really expensive beers. We laugh uncontrollably at the concept that Mr. Met should be called 'fathead'. The good guys win. After the game, we meet up with JP and Buzzkill who only stay for about 10 minutes (Buzzkill strikes again!). Shortly after they leave, we are approached by Shaun, a 22 year old Yankee fan from L.I. and his friends Sam/Jeff (he used both names) and Bobcat (no, I'm not kidding). On the way home on the subway, HC and I wonder why we attract such random guys when we go out together.
• Saturday night: I resist going across the street for a pint of ice cream. I read my book club selection. I watch crappy movies on TBS. I flirt with the idea that I am lame. Buzzkill strikes again! (Oh wait, this one's squarely on me.)
• Sunday morning: I wake up thinking about the ARH. I had a strange dream about him during the night.
• Confession time: (No, not at church. Don't you know me at all by now?) I sent him an email. I'm not sure what I'm expecting from this, probably nothing, but I feel good about what I wrote and about sending it.
• Sunday afternoon: The Jerz. The deck. The sun. The Peanut.
• Sunday night: NJ Transit. The rage. The train delays. The crowded subway. Finally, the apartment. The air conditioning. The bed.