fabulous!

So, last night I was a part of a birthday celebration for Dr Chair. It was in a bar! That is a house! It's a bar that's a house! Um, yeah, nevermind.

Ms J and I headed over together, with our Papyrus card and bottle of Syrah complete with new label fashioned by the incredible Ms J. The bartender's nice and the drunk guy at the counter was better left ignored, as far as I was concerned.

The first time I saw J take a glance at her watch, I asked her the time. We'd already been there an hour. That went quickly. The second time, I was sure she'd say another hour had passed, but only half that had. What? Of course, there was an explanation for this sudden inability of time to passat a normal speed, as J pointed out. So, the reason? Our very own fabulist.

'I have a friend who only sleeps every other day, and then for only five hours.'

'How does he get by?'

'Oh, he does...of course, he's kind of crazy. He made his first million before he turned nineteen. He did that with his own money, although his parents are millionaires [of course]. For graduation, they bought him an island in Alaska. They had visited and he had liked it. [Oh, mm-hmm, yes, of course.] Then, he went on to work with a Nobel Laureate in chemistry. [More fantastic stories of Sr Insomnia here.]...in China, which is where he lives now.'

I believe this was after the story about a former girlfriend of his who, at thirteen, was being sought out by Princeton. She wasn't ready to leave home so she stayed local. However, she's now earning a number of Master's degrees in some mathy thing and planning on continuing on to a PhD in sociology. Apparently, prestigious institutions are constantly calling her to woo her away from wherever it is she is now.

J actually asked him if he wasn't lyin' when he should be truthin.' [Okay, of course she didn't really phrase it that way, it's just that Nancy Sinatra, singing about her boots, was piping through Savers today.] Our very own fabulist assured us that he was telling it like it T-I-Is. Finally, people started leaving, and because we were sitting in the back corner near the (house's!) back door, we were interrupted.

Hugs were exchanged, plans were tentatively made. Food was eaten (the chicken, which probably barely registered spicy for anyone else, burned my lips and throat...I'm a spice-wimp) and 'Happy Birthday' was spontaneously sung at one point. It was nice and most of the people seemed nice (note, J and I mainly stayed in our back corner, so we didn't actually meet everyone). Y'know what else is nice, though? To come home, bearing bruschette from the party for Cardo and tucking a still-awake Pic to bed.

Oh, one final note. As J and I were discussing the evening on our way back to her place, we both said, 'I'll have to blog about this.' Yes, we've drunk the koolaid and caught the fever. It's beyond official now.