what the?

Hey. It's Thursday? How did it get to be Thursday? I've got a full day tomorrow then it's the weekend again and this week has just breezed by.

But I suppose it's easy to lose track of time when you treat Monday night like the new Friday.

RMJ left me a voice message early Tuesday to recap. It ended with "Boy, how do we follow up with a Monday?"

Monday was Klaus' last night in SF, and of course, Saint Patrick's Day (I was wearing the bright green, but not all of it). I so needed a green beer in the afternoon, but stayed late to get more work done. PeeDee was up for some happy hour so I arranged to join him, but wound up just watching him and Hunter snarf pasta at the Sausage Factory (Really? People still go there?).

After that, we finally got to the happy. But the sun had set and the beer wasn't green (but it was Guinness) and the hour wasn't qualified as happy but it was intensely entertaining.

Hunter is always a ball of energy, and having him and PeeDee together is like having a private show. Add an 80s soundtrack and it's ON. We hit the Bar's Monday/Eighties night and had a blast. And met up with a bevy of random buddies including Jason (shout) and his crew and Michael (big shout) and his. RMJ & Klaus joined after their dinner and the night became just a silly bucket of happy for me.

Michael and I shared plans for the weekend, and his included a bunny-themed costume event (You know how we are with costumes). He and his fit friends are backing up Susan Revah (The Original Fag Hag) as Gym Bunnies. Michael is creating a huge bonnet with supplements and a bunny injecting steroids. I ran through a list of possible costumes for me (gym bunny obviously being out), and settled on Bunny Tyler and a Total Eclipse of the Heart thing. I might wear this shirt again with bunny bits.

As a note-to-self to ask Michael about the bunny details, I left a mark on my hand.

Soon everyone wanted a bunny.

And got one. Uniball micros don't work too well on sweaty skin. Next time I'll bring a Sharpie.

Later, RMJ twisted my arm to go to the 440 Underwear Party next door. Among us all, Klaus is a freaking underwear model, but he decided to crash and prepare for his flight. Apparently there's only so much trouble that boy can get into. Three days is his limit. How so appropriately Easter-ish.

And as much as I would like to say about the Underwear Party is as much as I can't even consider blogging about it. But man do I feel pretty this week.

I did save a cocktail napkin on which I jotted a couple of lines from The Bar---

RMJ, on noticing a large influx of young, annoying, and very tacky bar patrons:

"Oh look, BART is still running..."

Me, expressing the hots for a librarian:

"I so want to explore his vertical file, if you know what I mean."

Flickr set.