Why can't all weekends be like that?

By which I mean: four days long and packed with fun.

Thursday I went for the usual Thanksgiving meal with my family. I did take Hot Med with me, which went fine. He accidentally left the gate to the highway (my sister lives on a farm) unlatched, but fortunately realized his error and was able to convey it to me in time for us to corral the dogs (me) and sprint to the gate (him) before any damage was done. Whew. That could have been ugly. Other than that...we ate a lot of food. He ate pretty much everything offered him, and then reclined his seat back and slept most of the hour drive home. Typical American Thanksgiving.

Friday I had plans to meet up with some of my college friends who I last saw when we had a mini "reunion" over the summer. (No Hot Med this time--he had to work.) With kids in tow, we spent several afternoon hours roaming the zoo in some seriously beautiful weather, then had an early dinner at my favorite pizza place. (Note: be prepared, if you ever go to a zoo with someone who WORKS at a zoo. V: "Enjoy that cheetah now--they'll all be gone in about ten years--the gene pool's gotten too limited." Me: "Hey--he's right there. He can HEAR you!" Hee.)

Then the kids were parked at grandma and grandpa's with dad, and the girls went out for an evening of karaoke at a smoke-filled dive bar I'd never been to. We didn't plan to stay long, but...plans sometimes change.

We had ourselves quite a time. There was beer drinking, tequila shots (I wisely abstained from those), some good singing, some bad singing that was nonetheless exceedingly entertaining, some bad singing that was, well...just bad, some of it done by a man I dubbed the Casey Kasem of Karaoke. After each song that he butchered, he had to stand there, mike in hand, and tell us the sad tale behind his choice of that song. Serious downers--dead grandparent, crib death--"and that's why I had to sing this song...to dedicate to her." Come on, dude--my sympathies for your loss(es), but...wrong time, wrong place. We're all here to have fun, and there is NO appropriate way to respond to that. You can't clap, you feel obligated to stop your laughter for a moment and you end up just casting your eyes down, hoping he'll be done soon. And then you start up your raucous good time again, and, according to one of my friends, his wife turns around and stares at your table and mutters something about the need to "kick some ass." Fortunately, she restrained herself, and anyway, I think we could have taken her. The rest of the bar loved us--cheering, asking us to sing backup for them...and one decent-looking guy even hit on me. Not that I was looking to be hit on, mind you...but still. Good times, baby...good times.

Saturday morning I did my usual housecleaning, albeit in an at-most-quarter-assed fashion, had lunch with Hot Med, and then went home and crashed on the couch.

Sunday morning, went to church, grabbed a yummy bagel for lunch, and made plans to pick up Hot Med that evening to accompany me to a friend's birthday party. (Happy birthday, George!) Which took place at my favorite Indian restaurant, and involved selecting, adorning, addressing and sending out postcards, as George feels strongly that the world has gone too far in the direction of cybermail. Snail mail all around! Plus aloo gobi, garlic naan and a smidgen of the restaurant's version of birthday cake, which involved the particular Indian delicacy known to most as Gulab Jamun, but which will always be "scrotum balls" to me, thanks to my old friend Nora. (In all fairness...that IS what they look like.) (And now I can look forward to some interesting google searches, can't I?)

I finished off the weekend by watching the Hallmark Hall of Fame movie about the dog. Don't you just love a good Hallmark Hall of Fame movie and its attendant sappy commercials? I do.

I hope you all had equally wonderful weekends. Now...back to the old grind. Argh.