Friday, June 23, 2006

The Weekend Can Only Get Better From Here...

The day is off to a bad start, with the morning taking a tripartite hit.

1. I have remarked several times on some of the niceties of my living situation. Lately they have focused on the pool, but another reoccuring theme had been the relative quiet of my corner of the neighborhood. So of course, last night some tanked-up dim-bulb mellonheads decided that June 22/23 was July 4th and decided also that 'round midnight they were going ot let it all hang out by setting off fireworks. Worse, being old and (usually) responsible I was already in bed by this time, so they were able to wake me up with the fireworks rather than keep me from going to bed. I don't know about you , but I'd prefer to just put off going to sleep than get an hour of sleep and then awakened.

2. Then, at 5:30, I wake up, without the aid of alarm clock or fireworks. It's too early to get up and stay up (oh sure, I could go to the gym, but that would require my keychain/scanner to be in perfect working order, and it's not) so it was back to bed for another fairly useless bit of (un)rest. The end result being I had a breakfast of Cheez-Its and RockStar Juiced becaue I was too out of it to make anything resembling a real breakfast (and I think I fell asleep in the shower.)

3. Two bad-but-not-that-bad-by-themselves facts also managed to pop into my head shortly after midnight: A. All my former chosen roomates (I don't count dorm roomates, I never particularly enjoyed that part of college life) are either married or have found thier soulmate (sub note: none of us have really kept up with Anfo that well, so it's possible he's tied the knot too.) Not satisfied with just that, my memory elaborated. At then end of 2003, my second (and more enjoyable) senior year, a gathering of my friends I had known the longest while at UGA consisted of mainly 9 people (I'm not counting entourages and hangers-on. Or the roomate no one really liked at the time). Of those nine (which includes myself), six are now married, leaving me, Schuber and Ryan as the trinity of non-married folks.
But it gets worse: it also hits me that I haven't been on anything that could count as a conventional date in about ten months. (Note: if you expand your definition of "date" to "spending one-on-one time with a possibly interested member of the opposite sex, that starts sober" then it isn't as bad. But in the traditional, call-and-make-plans, go-out-somewhere-or-stay-in-and-cook, candles-possibly-involved sense, I'm in a ten month plus dry spell. And far more of my old friends than not are now married.)
Happy friday.

2 comments:

Jamie said...

Sounds like you got it too: the funk. And not in a white guy dancing kind of way.

Will Mosher said...

Actually white guy dancing is just: bad.