Possibly the only good thing about having to work on Independence Day is the fact that all the roads are completely empty and you can zip rapidly over normally very crowded junctions. And parking is a breeze, I didn't even have to parallel park, reversing and re-reversing like I normally do, just swish-fwoosh and I was there, all parked and ready to face the day.
We had an Independence Day party last night (or Pakistan's birthday, take your pick). Luckily, the weather has been phenomenal, or at least it was yesterday; today is still horribly sunny. It stormed several times, but by the time the party started it stopped, except for a few bolts of lightening every now and then. There was quite a bit of booze--Small and Lily (who, hmph, DON'T have to work) bought Old Monk for me, and a bottle of Fuel (Seagram's new vodka that comes in this really cool bottle. It's fairly new, so everyone thought it was foreign stuff, avoiding it and sticking to the Smirnoff, until one girl shyly asked me whether it was okay to open it. Little do they know that it costs about one tenth of the Smirnoff, but it just looks fancier. Packaging is everything, I realise). And Filmmaker Friend (FF) had recently had a party so he brought over oodles of booze--at least ten Breezers and three other bottles. So, clearly, we're sorted for a WHILE.
Anyway, since all three of us had fairly hectic weekends, we looked ready to pass out by the time the party started. And it started really late, too. People in this city have no concept of time. Though I suppose I shouldn't be saying that, seeing as I have sashayed grandly into an eight o'clock party at eleven. (Although, I WAS the first one there). I don't know why we think late entrances are cool entrances. Who made up that social rule anyway? Why do we think we're going to look like losers if we actually show up on time? Alternatively, since I am never on time, this works for me, because then I look exciting and busy, like someone with a happening social life. Punctuality, said my good friend Evelyn Waugh, is a virtue of the bored.
Boy Next Door (no, really, he lives next door) who has this excellent terrace-balcony area, looked somewhat alarmed to see his home invaded. We had invited him, and sort of subtly asked whether he could leave his terrace door open. At first, he took it like a trouper, coming in every now and then to refill his drink (the rent, I guess, for his balcony) but then I noticed how he was increasingly retiring to his house, a bewildered expression on his face. So I told Small and she ushered everyone back into our house, leaving Boy Next Door alone with his terrace swing. I wish we had a terrace swing.
Anyway, so since last night was mainly Small and Lily's friends (where ARE all my friends, I wonder? Do I need new friends and no one's telling me? Am I suddenly unpopular? Is it my breath? Grah) I lurked in corner with FF and drank a lot, only I realise I'm not getting drunk anymore. It's quite sad. At one point, three drinks, no TWO drinks used to be it for me. I remember when I was with Golfer Ex (who was also present at last night's party, only much later) he used to call me a cheap date, because with one rum and coke, I was giggling into my glass and with two, I was all wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee! here we go! Last night, I think I had some four or five drinks, and not mild ones either, but still I sat soberly, having sober conversations about work and playing pool and movies and books and love lives and all through this I was wondering why in the name of fuck I was still in a space where I could HAVE this conversation.
It wasn't a very eventful party, as in, no great romances were formed and no secrets told (well, none that I heard at any rate), but I enjoyed myself. There's a certain sort of well-being that comes when you know all is right with your world, and your friends are gathered around in your living room and affection is being given and received and everyone knows you and is, essentially, looking out for you.
It's nice to be alive some days.
ps: A good friend recently confessed to me that she had started a blog too. The virus is spreading, my friends, and I'd like you to join me in welcoming Fortunata. Oh, and here's a post about me, too!
Oh, and also, while (whilst?) I'm pointing out new links, must show you this blog, from someone who commented a few posts ago, but whose style I really like.