I was reading a Calvin & Hobbes book today. There's one strip where Calvin is waxing wrathful on the nature of Sundays. "I can't enjoy Sundays," he says, "because it's my last chance to have fun. Every second of Sunday I should be able to say 'I'm having the time of my life!' And I'm not!"

All I have to say is, sing it, brother. I'm finally at the point in my meds where my weekends don't make me scream with frustration - but it hasn't been very long since the screaming stage.

This is one of the reasons why I enjoyed my weekend so damn much. It was actually fun, not just supposedly fun. On Saturday I betook myself to Poison Ivy for some long-overdue beauty upkeep and spent waaaaay too much on my hair. It was almost worth it, though: I shine blackly, I sit softly, I bounce smartly, I curl demurely. Well, my hair does. I, um, don't so much.

In the evening the Boy & I met with Stacy for dinner at Coco Peanut. I expanded my culinary horizons and actually ordered a dish with "spicy" in the description. Yum. We ate hugely & gabbed incessantly & sang along with the bad background music, and then we went to the big birthday party down street. Spent a fruitful hour talking to Opera Sarah about personality types and career options, then Q hustled us out the door and down to Darkrave.

This was my first Darkrave, and I have to say that it was a good time. It was way, way too crowded and the music was more 'rave' than 'dark'...but there were many good people there and some nice moments in between beats. I saw the Baron for the first time since Montreal, and I was able to show off the pink studded collar I bought after asking him for advice. The Boy walked up when the Baron was hanging out with his arm around me; I smiled at my husband and said something like, "I belong to the Baron now." The Boy, being used to me by now, took this as seriously as it warranted, which is to say not very seriously at all.

Saw Bee for about 3 seconds, dancing with a group of her friends and looking vaguely pissed off. I am now completely baffled as to why she goes to these things. I mean, I suppose that people go out for many different reasons, and I happen to be heavily invested in the clothes and the people & (to a certain extent) the music. Maybe she's just making her friends happy. Lord knows I've done that as recently as a month ago (Zen Lounge, anyone?). I should probably do more of it.

Stacy was the first to express her boredom with the "more rave than dark" music, and the two of us skeddaddled across the street to enjoy the last hour of the Garden's Saturday night. Man oh man, was I ever ready to hear actual songs with actual words. I mean, I like dancing to relentless beat as much as the next girl, but there's a special joy to hearing "Brother My Cup Is Empty" and watching a dozen strangers sing along. I think my favourite moments include being continually whipped by some girl's ass length hair as she thrashed her way through Pop Will Eat Itself (she just looked so damn happy. "She really loves her hair," I said wonderingly.) and seeing Stacy get up and dance through a set of stitches like the pain-defying ballerina she is. The two of us sat, smoked, gossiped and danced as much as we possibly could, finally leaving when they swept us into the street like so many black-clad hobos. Suddenly tired, we went across the street to grab her coat and my boy, the over-crowded room and our wide-spread friends spawning a full 20 minutes of French farce ("He's gone to look for you - She just went off to find you!" etc.)

On Sunday I was able to mark in relative peace, having sewn my wild oats decisively. It was a good weekend, even if I wasn't hurtling around on Sunday, having 'the best time of my life.'

2 years ago today: foreshadowing the woe of teaching