Spring Forward (Alternate Title: I Am A Tool)

The weekend was good. Real good. So good, in fact, that I am a zombie today. I am the sort of zombie today who drops and then breaks things. People will say "Why did you drop it?" "Because I was holding it." "Did you bump into something?" "No, I was just sitting there, holding it in my hand, and I guess I forgot I was holding it or something so I dropped it. And it shattered. Because I'm a tool."

It started off splendidly, with Friday night designated as make-up-sleep night. After Willem Dafoe saw me, I headed home and wrote a song (that I did not record yet), ate some cavatelli (yay new supermarket!), watched Junebug (why didn't anyone tell me it would make me cry?), read for a spell, closed my eyes and was asleep by 11:15.

I spent Saturday morning at the galleries with a friend from my old photography class and her current photography class, and decided that I should never go to galleries with other people. We saw some interesting stuff, but we could have seen 10x the amount of stuff had the pace of viewing been more accelerated. I hope to go back this weekend to check out some stuff that looked rather splendid through windows.

Because of the slow pace, I dismissed myself before they had finished their tour and begin wandering aimlessly around in search of a birthday cake for D. I was defeated by my own hunger, and settled for canolis.

D came over and after I gave him the remainder of his birthday gift, we headed over to Port Authority to meet the kids for his bowling birthday party! We had a lovely time and then headed over to my apartment for a party.

Party! At my microscopic apartment!

I volunteered to host the party because (a) I have more seating and (b) I have a bigger apartment and (c) I have wine glasses and (d) I live near bowling so I figured we'd have more momentum going to my apartment than we would going to D's and (e) I don't think it is ideal for someone like D, who is very neat and clean and organized etc., to deal with the stress of having people over to his apartment on his birthday.

I think there were 11 people there, and apparently 11 people fit in my apartment! Armed with this knowledge, I want to have parties all the time. I'm sure I could cram 20 in, although there would not be room for another dance party to break out.

I danced on the couch. My calves hurt the next day.

Aside from R's fingerprints on my camera lens and the breaking of one wine glass that somehow resulted in my entire apartment becoming sticky and littered with grimey footprints, the party was a raging success. People were very drunk but only slightly misbehaved. We played silly songs on the piano and rocked the old school hip hop. We drank tequila (well, I stayed away from the tequila and drank some fruity Smirnoff thing instead) and told and then reenacted lame jokes.

People left at around midnight and I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned some more. I didn't want there to be a single footprint remaining.

I didn't sleep well. Drunk sleep doesn't count. It's as though I didn't sleep at all. I woke up too early, hung over, head pounding and stomach distressed.

I tried to read but couldn't concentrate. I got out my computer to look for apartments and was confused when the time on the computer didn't match the clock in my living room. I immediately blamed R, who was a mess at the party, so somehow changing the clock. Then I thought "Wait a second... when is daylight saving?"

In the past I've been confused as to how people could not know about daylight saving. How out of touch could people be? How could you not know?

Well, yeah, I didn't know. At all. I had no idea. Hadn't heard even a rumbling. Hadn't read about it. No clue. So embarrassing.

D and I scrambled to make it to the movies, since we were running later than we thought. As we ran, I said "Umm... hey...D... you know how you keep talking about the new apartment that I'm looking for? And how you keep saying where you'd like to live and is it going to be enough space for both of us and... well... are we moving in together?" "Well, yeah." "Like this summer?" "Well, yes, that's what I thought." "Oh." "Are you nervous?" "No, actually, I'm really excited."

I love how boys assume the best.

We ran to see Inside Man, which was amazing. Where has Clive Owen been all my life? I like Spike Lee. D does not. D finds him to overt, but I like the theatricality of his movies. And Willem Dafoe, my new best friend, was in it.

I walked home through the Hell's Kitchen Flea Market but didn't look at anything because it was too sunny. Awesome!

At home, I alternated nap time with cleaning-off-my-hard-drive time. I only have a few gig left and my computer is freaking out. It might be time for an external hard drive. All of these photos really add up.

I then headed to D's, where cheese fondue was being cooked.

It tasted like real, restaurant fondue. Now we just have to figure out how not to burn it.

We watched History of Violence after staring at a for-sale Galaxie 500 on the street and fantasizing about its becoming "the family car."

Before falling asleep, we talked more about the car and money and big, scary purchases and big, scary decisions.

I woke up this morning feeling, again, like I hadn't slept at all. Springing forward is a pain, especially when you are hung over and delirious and turning into a zombie. I am going to go home tonight and continue with the hard drive project, after which I will go to bed at 9:00, which will actually be like 8:00! Woo!!!!