Friday night shenanigans...

Imagine, if you will, the luxurious Friday evenings I enjoy on a nearly-weekly basis.

Take tonight for example.  After lounging on the puffy couch for a few hours, laid up by bronchitis and exhaustion but still optimistically watching old episodes of Northern Exposure, your hero sits.  She tires of netflix instant streaming and wanders into the kitchen, looking around for intruders.  AHA!  Sneaking along the edges of the countertop, sidling down the wall and across the floor- a trail of suicidal ants can be plainly seen.  Upon her knees our hero plunges, bravely smashing ants by the score, roughly rubbing them out onto the paneling, smearing their innards on the tile.  Meanwhile, her brain wanders to other tragic acts of slaughter, and how humans had to pretend their enemies (humans) were insects or vermin so they could justify their wonton slaughter or genocidal removal.  How different is it to smoosh or spray chemicals (vinegar) on an ant than to eradicate a people with bombs or chemical warfare?  Deep thoughts indeed.  That's just how intense Friday nights are around these parts.

Next, the chore of digging up more bags of cough drops so our hero can luxuriate on the poofy couch some more, idling time away on the interwebs.  She idly unwraps another cough drop and plops it into her mouth, longing for the days when she can breathe deeply without coughing up not-enough-phlegm-to-satisfy again.

How different from last week's Friday, wherein our hero had some friends over for dinner and drinks, then went out to watch, shoot, and dance to her friends' bands that were playing at two different bars.  Our intrepid hero had to deftly maneuver between bars that were blocks away, struggling to ensure that she caught at least two of the five bands she meant to witness.  All the while avoiding annoying flirtations from drunken frat boys who thought it was okay to touch or grab at the photographer while she is shooting pictures of the band.  Alas, two bands ended up being missed due to the strain.  Such is the life of me.  Of moi.

I peter out and can't finish my anecdote.  Boo.  Oh well, maybe I'll edit the paragraph above and fix it tomorrow when I'm feeling more chipper and have more ant carcasses on my soul.  Or maybe I'll leave it be.  But the ants, they must continue to die.