03 March 2002 - 11:18 a.m.

I know it's only Sunday morning, and things have the potential to get really fucked up and cancel out the wonderfulness of the last two days, but barring fire, flood, and people I like getting killed in freak accidents within the next 14 or so hours, this weekend has rocked hard core.

Friday night KT, her cool friend and I drove out to the sticks to see KT's best friend direct You Can't Take It With You. It was awesome, and featured one of my favorite people from my high school drama club, so, you know, bitchin.' It did, however, make me miss Harvey, but so does, like, the white sock lying on the floor next to my bed. So what are you going to do?

Afterwards, we went to Applebees for dinner and drinks. Please, please, please, if you are of age (unlike our designated driver, hoo-ah) try the Hawaiian tea. It is, as the great Maggie Smith might say, yummy yummy. Also, if you ever get the chance, go out drinking in a place like Hermitage, PA, where there are stores called The Amish Outlet. It just felt so sad and lame and cool at the same time. I hope that doesn't mean I was slumming. Maybe you had to be there, but sitting at a bar while the Amish are romaing around outside was effing hilarious at the time, particularly because we were surrounded by a group of people who LOVE BEA ARTHUR.

Maybe you will resent this, dear readers, as I have never necessarily been the arbitor of style or coolness, but, you guys, Bea Arthur is the new black.

Oh, who am I kidding? Bea Arthur is the old black. Bea Arthur has been hip since Mame and Maude and any other one-syllable, starting-with-M endeavor she may have undertaken. After all these years, I don't understand why people even bother with black anymore. They should just sell thier clothes and leather couches and use the money for reconstructive facial surgery that will make them look more like Bea Arthur.

Where was I before I went off on that Bea Arthur tangent? Oh, yeah. So we were all sitting around, talking about Bea Arthur when we decided we were drunk enough to call people. I considered calling the ex and telling him I was really drunk and horny and to come over to my apartment right away. Which would, of course, mean he would be standing outside my little carriage house in the freezing cold, because I was too busy imbibing, playing with cell phones, and lauding Bea Arthur in Hermitage, PA to make good on my promise of hot lovin', registered Democrat-style. I decided that would be a mean thing to do, and left him alone, and felt satisfied that I was not a mean drunk. Or at least, only mean enough to think about evil pranks, not mean enough to carry them out.

After returning home and getting too little sleep, I discovered that I did indeed have the best boyfriend in the world. A bit of background: in preparation for the mad debauchery that took place at my apartment last Friday, Gus and I did a lot of cleaning. Gis was in charge of doing the dishes and putting them away, which he did in a rather precarious fashion. As I was getting dinner together before the party, I opened up a cupboard and a few Fiestaware pieces tumbled out, narrowly missing my head. But worse still, a casserole lid took out the one totally irreplacable item on the shelves: my pink-and-white Betty and Veronica fashion show juice glass, which shattered into so many pieces that it was impossible to tell the whimsical rich girl apart from the teen queen supreme. Everything else was, of course, fine. Grr.

I am doing my best not to get hung up about material things. But I love, love, loved my Betty and Veronica glass, and so I compromised by keeping my immature rage at Gus' lack of dish-stackign ability to a period of under 30 minutes.

Well, yesterday, after waking up at 7:30, Gus rolled over and asked me to bring him a glass of water , "I don't want a big glass, just a small one. I think there's one next to the sink." Well, before the words, "Get it yourself, asshole" could cross my lips, I thought mabe he wasn't feeling well, and I stumbled into the kitchen. Next to the sink, in its usual spot, was a Betty and Veronica fashion show juice glass. Which threw me off, not because I remembered that it had broken, but because I couldn't believe it was clean. It wasn't until I was almost at the bed that I realized that Gus has somehow obtained a Betty and Veronica juice glass, and planted it on my counter while I wasn't looking. Ladies and gentlemen, the best boyfriend in the world.

Of course, Gus had not been able to find just the Betty and Veronica glass, but had had to purchase the whole set of Archies juice glasses, which include such treasures as "Archie Takes the Gang for a Ride," "Sabrina Cleans Her Room," (before the teenage witch began to explain it all, of course) and "Reggie Makes the Scene."

I can't say it enough. Best. Boyfriend. EVER.

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