Still wretchedly, bitterly sick. Wednesday was my only day off. Teachers, by their very nature, are usually at work when they're sick, because it's less work to go in and preside over the bare minimum of seatwork than it is to write and fax lesson plans for a substitute. I had hoped that the weekend would give me a chance to regroup; instead I'm simply sicker with fewer responsibilities. Which is, in itself, kind of nice.

On Friday the Boy & I went out for Fast Eddie's birthday party at the Red Room. It was two hours of insane overcrowding, with barely enough space to get at my drink and dessert (Tym baked cake, of course). Met some people who know the Boy through Tea and myself through this diary, and chatted myself voiceless. Of course, with this cold, it's a very short trip to voiceless. We hung out until I started feeling mysteriously ill, then we got in the car and sped off to the Zen lounge to meet Little Spider & her gang, with the idea that we could jet at any time to rejoin the Eddie party.

When we arrived at Zen, still smarting from the $5 cover, we immediately found Morgan in the process of getting leglessly drunk...and realized that we wouldn't be going anywhere soon. It was a pretty good night, full of whispered confidences and hot sweaty dancing and random anonymous acts of kindness. I was wearing my PVC pants as a shield against the perils of Canadian winter, and by the end of the night I was soaking. ("You're squishy!" said Grey Owl as he hugged me goodbye. "You're lucky I like you," I laughed. "If anyone else had said that I would've punched them.") Many people asked me intelligent questions about my profession, and for a change I was happy enough to answer them honestly. A stranger in the bathroom line offered me a couch drop by way of greeting, saying that she had noticed me, "eyeing them hungrily." I was moved to laughter, wheezing in my busted-up Stevie Nicks voice. Shortly after that, Little Spider & her best friend Coraline hauled off into the bathroom for some refreshing gossip. I got distracted by the Pixies on the way, recalling my intention when I saw Little Spider's head poking out the door of the loo. I walked in and leaned against the sink.

"Is there anything you need to do?" Little Spider greeted me like a hostess welcoming a guest to her own personal lavatory.

"I was just here," I said in my no-voice voice, crunching on my cough drop. "I've been to the bathroom. I've put on lipstick. I'm good."

"I don't have any lipstick," she replied off-handedly. It wasn't until the nest day that I realized the momentous import of her words. Little Spider was out in public without a tube of lipstick!! This would've been unthinkble to the 16-year-old I first befriended. Spike and Coraline have been very good for her.

When Coraline returned, we set about the gossip. I can't remember the last time I felt that female.

We left shortly before they kicked us out, but not before another stranger had dragged my life story out of me in 5 minutes without anaesthetic and suggested the name of an alternative school in Toronto that would soon need an English teacher. Out on the street we were greeted by the makings of an entertainment district fight. Morgan's boy stopped to rubberneck, and as the only stone sober person, I had to make several forays into the swirling crowd to grab my friends and haul them in the direction of the car. Squeezing through a particularily thick section, a strange boy got the wrong idea.

"Are you trying to pick me up?" he said.

"No, I'm married," I returned in the brisk tones of someone who is getting tired of wrangling fully-grown drunkards.

"Your loss," he sniffed.

"No, I think it's yours," I snapped back smartly. (Hanging around teens has really shortened my response time.)

A few metres down the street, we became aware that some one was shouting "boom!" at the top of his lungs. Sure enough, within seconds a rather friendly stranger was jumping between us and screaming "BOOM!" in our faces. "Oh my God," he continued to me, "I think I just spit gum in your clothes." We looked for the rogue wad, and he took the opportunity to beep my nose. "Where were you guys tonight? Savage?"

"Zen," I said, still trying to find the gum.

"What? Zed?"

"No, ZEN. I have a head cold."

"Oh my God!" he blurted, "You gave me your cooties!" He ran off to the corner.

"You spit gum on me!" I shouted vainly. He rushed back and picked up Little Spider, swinging her around on his shoulder and threatening to pile-driver her until losing interest and wandering away.

We were just resuming our walk to the car when Morgan fell down, clutching me like a straw.

She wasn't terribly bothered by it all and eventually we got everyone home and in bed. I like being the sober one; it means that I can be the most beloved friend at the end of the night. "Wanna drive?" is becoming my catch phrase.

"You don't remember him?"

"No!"

"I introduced you at the Rock!"

"Is he the one who told you that he wanted to sleep with me?"

"That's the one."

Yesterday the Boy & I went out to celebrate my cousin's 16th birthday. Gulp. Wasn't he supposed to be the baby? Wasn't I the one who had just celebrated a 16th birthday? Oh hell. The day after my 16th birthday, several lunatics called me up and invited me to the zoo. One of those lunatics was Little Spider. That means that we've been friends for over a decade!!!

All wrong! All wrong!

It was a lovely gathering, despite my misgivings about the source of the occasion. The older I get, the more I have to talk about with my extended family - and the fact that I was sick added an interesting "leprosy" element to the night. I lost track of the number of people who gave me a wide berth as soon as they saw me honking and snuffing between potato chips. Kinda fun.