Thirtysomething

Friend on the phone last weekend: When I was in my twenties, I was networking . . . I was out, at the bar, part of the scene. And now, well . . . I'm lucky if I remember that it's Friday night. Remember last week? When I wondered why The Emory was so busy? What happened?

Tomorrow is Friday. And I am looking forward to the following:

A union Christmas party that I am required to attend. At Jack's. The fifty year old divorcee bar. And my buddy isn't even the D.J.. So I can't request ridiculous songs, like "Gold digger" or something from The Smiths.

From there, a visitation at a funeral home. An acquaintance's mother died yesterday and the viewing is tomorrow. It is near the party . . . and I can't imbibe at the party (lest, I tell people what I think . . . of them), so I will stop by and show my support. Her mother was ninety, so it was not a surprise, but still.

After that, maybe I'll vacuum. Definitely will do laundry. And I have to take apart my toilet, because it has gotten to the point that I cannot ignore the fact that it is running all the time.

So yeah, my Friday night plan is to disassemble my toilet. And hopefully, reassemble it to working condition. All before ten o'clock, because that is when the Depot closes, in case I have to buy a new one . . . in the worse case scenario.

So yeah. What happened?