Three Four Into the Middle of Next Week

It's Friday night and that means a couple things as of right now. Or in this moment in time if you prefer.

First, the weekend starts (at the time I write this) in approximately one hour and eleven minutes. This means I won't have to listen to the opinionated, bone-smoking and random topic discussing shit weasel that sits within obvious and painful listening distance from me for a full four days. He talks too fast and sounds like his tongue is morbidly obese. To sweeten the situation, I get away from my main, full-time, bread and butter job. I've got to work my part-time record store gig on Saturday, but aside from battling boredom, stupidity and not being able to sleep in late it doesn't really feel a job and will hopefully be over before I know it.

But what's got me giddy is this weekend. Saturday's got the aforementioned work. Five hours, I get to harass my co-worker, maybe pick up The Wackness on DVD, possibly get a nap before my wife and daughter get home from the in-laws and maybe my wife will make dinner. Nice, nice, nice. But what I'm looking forward to is Saturday Night. And I'm not talking the TV show either. Going to Borders with my friend Diane* and seeing The Day the Earth Stood Still in IMAX. I'm not particularly excited for the movie itself and there are a few reasons behind this perspective. First off, it's a remake. A remake of one of the quintessential classic sci-fi movies with a gooey social commentary center I'd like to add. Can't be topped. Second, Diane already saw it. And it's usually a drag going to see a movie with someone who's already seen it. Unless they absolutely fucking love it, but going by her three-star review on Flixster.com I know this not to be the case. But since its in IMAX and she hasn't seen anything in an IMAX presentation, she's only too willing to pop her IMAX cherry. IMAX slut. But honestly, I just want to see Gort. In IMAX. Say it with me, IMAX. Good. Very good indeed.

What I'm looking forward to (and its entirely possible that I may be writing this after the actual event itself) is having possibly offensive but definitely personal conversation at the Borders cafe that may or may not make people wiggle.

Like a few weeks ago when Diane and I loaded up on caffeine before going to see a midnight screening of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. I with my egg nog latte (pretentiously gay** drink but I'm a sucker for the nog--and yes, I am abundantly aware of the possible double entendre, thank you) and Diane with her... tea, I think. We were shooting the shit/killing time before the 11:55 show and discussed people we've had sex with in our respective pasts out of sheer boredom. We didn't name names or discuss any gory details but a small Asian woman looked up at us briefly, smiled and looked back down at whatever book or magazine she was perusing without missing a beat. Diane and I both laughed, not giving it too much thought and left it at that.

Then movie time rolled around and we got twisted*** in the parking lot of the theater. We made our way inside and because of my chattiness when under the influence*** I started a Mystery Science Theater 3000 version of the movie. We giggled much at the very off-color commentary I made not only through the trailers (Gran Torino was especially fun), but all throughout David Fincher's masterful and exceptionally saddening epic.

Then when the movie ends we're all tired because we're getting old. That and it's 3AM. Then we go to our respective homes.

Now things start to get a tad complicated. I write this a couple of hours after the part you may or may not have read mere paragraphs ago. An e-mail stating that Gran Torino from Diane might not be a bad way to go hits my inbox. Legend has it that this movie will be the last time that Clint Eastwood will act in a movie and the previews make his character out to be a crusty old version of Dirty Harry. Not Dirty Harry exactly, but if I get to hear some old people racism that never fails to make me laugh my ass off I'll be very happy. But time will tell. Or at least Saturday night will.

Sunday will likely be no big deal. First off, it's Sunday. What the hell happens on Sundays? I don't go to church, there's shit on TV. But my sister is coming over to cut my hair and my wife's got to work. I get to hang out with my daughter. She likes to run around the house and yell, but Sunday might be the day I introduce her to either Looney Tunes or the Marx Brothers. Or Last Tango in Paris. I haven't decided yet. Oh, and I've got to move my car over to the other side of the street between 4:30 and 5. The life I lead. The fucking life I lead. But then again it could be worse. My wife could be home that night and I could be forced to watch Desperate Housewives. Oh yeah. I said it.

Monday. My birthday. The big Three Four. I actually don't have any feelings about this particular (or the last few) birthday. I learned years ago that it doesn't matter and the only people who stress about or give much thought to their birthdays (it's okay to freak about ones that start a new decade. ex. 30,40, 50, etc.) are the ones who never let go of their teen angst. Either that or they've got such a high level of self-importance that the gravitational pull of their personality alone (don't even think about their ego--it's like looking into a black hole...!) could suck the very marrow out of your bones. Look it up--its a fact.

So its no big deal to me. I'm guessing my wife's got a chiropractic appointment, I better get to take a nap, we're probably going out to dinner at the restaurant my brother-in-law works at and later on I may or may not be going to my best friend's house. He's kind of bummed lately so maybe the level of idiocy that can only be attained when we're in each others company will be just the thing to not only serve as a great way to celebrate the only 34th birthday I'll ever have and get him out of his funk. We're like those glowing stones in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. Except instead of mystic heat we generate the most enjoyable level of stupidity. Plus his girlfriend makes some great eats and when the conversation gets raw she doesn't get her panties in a knot.

Tuesday. The only reason I took off Tuesday is because my wife got a speeding ticket a few months ago. It just kind of worked out that it was the day after my birthday allowing me a 4-day weekend. My daughter and I are going to head to my grandmother's house and hang out with her. She's got the early stages of Alzheimer's and is starting to slip. My wife gets paid by my aunt to go over there a few hours a day to make sure my grandmother's not doing characteristically old woman things like using the oven to heat the house and not taking her meds. So I'm covering for my wife on Tuesday. And I pray to Gahd that my grandmother doesn't put ketchup in her chicken noodle soup like my wife says she does. I never heard of it before my wife told me about it and I've been trying to put it out my mind ever since. Have you ever heard of ketchup in chicken noodle soup? I want to die just knowing that someone thought that hellish combination up. Fuck me...!

Just for the record, I'm going to make every attempt to not fart out some contemplative, maudlin blog about turning another year older as I reflect on unattained goals and my own mortality as Monday gets closer. I'm generally way too busy to think about how I fucked up let alone figuring out ways to turn it all around. I don't work 3 (soon to be 4) jobs because I like fresh air and getting out of the house. Like I said, I'm going to try not to spout this crap out but this sort of thing has a way of rising to the surface anyway.

Oh, and the weekend started about 2 and a half hours ago for those keeping score.

*Not her real name

**See first blog

***Not saying on what