Fun.

Saturday was completely excellent. Saturday rocked the party that rocks the body.

treebyleaf was off work at 5:00, and I drove over and sat in Third Place Books for a couple of hours with my laptop and got a little writing done until it was time to give her a ride home. We met up with retcon and debated dinner plans; I pointed out that it was much too nice a day to eat inside, and suggested we grab something we could eat in a park. We talked about picnic-type foods until Riff suggested we get Indian takeout, which treebyleaf and I agreed to enthusiastically. He called and placed an order for pickup at Cedars, our favorite Indian restaurant, and we bundled down in their car to pick it up.

We headed to Ravenna Park, which, weirdly enough, I've never been to. Dinner was lovely, albeit interrupted by bees and a couple of enthusiastic dogs. Afterward, we took a leisurely walk through the park.

Damn. I never knew that there was so much park in that park. Looks like there's hours worth of trails to wander through. Very, very pretty, lots of trees and streams and spectacular bridges overhead.

treebyleaf wanted to go home and write after that, so we dropped her back at the apartment and Riff and I changed to go out to the club. Anticipating this possibility, I'd packed clubwear along with my laptop -- a cute little leather vest that had been a little too tight for me when I bought it, but fits me perfectly now, I was pleased to discover. treebyleaf liked the look of it. A lot. Heh. Did my ego good.

Off to Mercury! Despite my fears, we made it there in time to avoid paying cover charge. Hung out at the club for a little while, heard much good music, danced some -- my increased stamina helps with that, too -- saw people I knew. Not too many, though.

When I commented to someone that it seemed a little quiet for a Saturday, he pointed out that blackmaru's birthday party was tonight, and some of the regulars were probably there.

After a quick discussion with Riff, we decided to go to the party. We set out on foot, since I didn't want to give up our excellent parking space -- we didn't have rock star parking, but close -- and since Jeff's apartment was only a few blocks away. (So was Aurafice, where we stopped to double-check the invitation for Jeff's address.)

I don't get out on Capitol Hill much on the weekends; I usually head straight for the Mercury and straight home afterwards, so the walk was an eye-opener. The whole neighborhood looked like one big party. Pretty people everywhere you looked, out in search of their next drink. Music everywhere. There was a brand new nightclub with a party going on on the roof. Everything seemed so alive and happy and vibrant and more real than life.

Spotted Jeff's building by virtue of the Seagoths sitting out front smoking; found his apartment by going to the right floor and following the noise. So this was, indeed, where everyone was! Jeff tells me I should have been there earlier, when there were even more people. Yikes. No wonder he'd already had noise complaints. "I didn't know Jeff had this many friends," I said jokingly at one point, and he chimed in from across the room, "Neither did I .... "

His apartment looks like the place where pop culture finally popped. A poster for The Kingdom dominates the living room wall, and he has framed art by comics gods like Roman Dirge and Evan Dorkin. His bookshelves bulge with, of all things, a complete collection of Robert Lionel Fanthorpe pulp novels. His kitchen features trick ketchup bottles and bright colorful plastic Japanese characer magnets, like the alphabet magnets you see here in grocery stores. Ichi the Killer, a Japanese film called "the most violent movie ever made by anyone ever" was playing on the TV in the living room, where a handful of people were both engrossed and appalled by it.

I had a fine time, flirted a lot, and discovered that Vanilla Coke and Kahlua makes a fine combination.

As the party was winding down, Riff talked 01flux into coming back to the club with us (after being reminded that she is, yes, actually old enough to do so, now). Rushed breathlessly through the door and asked devilpuppy "Did we make last call?" in much the same way as I'd asked her earlier if we'd made it before ten. "Yes," she told me, "where the hell have you been?"

"Jeff's birthday party," I said. She was non-plussed. Tara is a saint. Tara misses all the good parties since she's stuck at the door at the Mercury on Saturdays. We love Tara. Riches will be hers in heaven.

The too-quiet club had been transformed into a crowded mess while we'd been gone. (For one thing, a Speakeasy party had apparently relocated from the EMP to the Mercury.) It was lovely. Crowds often make me claustrophobic, but not that night. Instead, I just reached a happy place of completely sensory overload, what with the roar of conversation and the pretty people and the colored lights and the alcohol and the music and the dancing and the caffeine and the wheeeeee! I was moments away from ferret-shock at any given point.

More dancing. I found myself at one point on the dancefloor, desperately wanting to hear "God is a D.J." by Faithless, and I didn't even need to make a request -- the lovely and amazing D.J. Hana Solo just simply read my goddamn mind and played it next. "This is my church. This is where I heal my hurt."

When I finally decided, around 3:00am, that I was starting to get a little tired, I checked in with Riff to see if he was ready to go. He wasn't, really, but he effortlessly found himself another ride home, so I headed out.

Swung back by the Lake City apartment to pick up my laptop, and found that treebyleaf was awake, so I was able to spend a little more time with her before heading home, which is always a pleasure.

Got home to see a sky full of stars, and just enough of a haze of bright blue on the edge of the horizon to promise a new day.