A Week? A Month? A Year?

Everything ends. Last year, my birthday party sucked. I'll be the first to admit it. None of my friends share my passion for Samurai movies, and all I did was show one or two movies with hot dogs and ice cream. It sucked, but they were there; I was happy knowing that they'd endure my rather strange taste in art, and stick near me anyway.

This year, I planned the thing for a month. I wanted to start a Trojan War role playing game, in which they all seemed to be interested. I bought miniatures, made up rules, and constructed custom scenarios. After the game, we were going to go to the Peruvian restraurnt next to the game store, and get some good food. I was determined not to repeat the rather crappy time of last year. This year, my birthday happened on a Tuesday, so I scheduled the party for the following weekend, this weekend. They all bailed on me, with the reliable exception of Nick Benz. My oldest friend is still my best. Thanks, Nick.

I shouldn't be surprised. I don't drink, and don't offer it at get-togethers I host. In vino e veritas, no? Well, I think I'm gonna go take meds early. Maybe I'll take that tranq I've been longing for all day. Tranq up and tranq out; it sounds good to me.