Groggy

Oh, man. One of our co-workers turned the big three-oh earlier this week, so last night, a bunch of us went out for after-work drinks at the always lively Rio Grande. Much fun (and many margaritas, and bottomless bowls of chips and salsa) was had by all. As perhaps the youngest in the group, at one point I declared, “I’ll never turn 30!” Uh, yeah, that got a few unsympathetic headshakes that seemed to say, “So young, so naïve.” Heh. Hours later, we finally stumbled out of the place into the brisk, light rain. “Happy hour” is an almost euphemistic misnomer, of course; I didn’t get home until past midnight. Good times.

I woke up a few hours ago, not quite hungover, but still groggy. Now that I’ve had lunch, what to do? Maybe catch up on Netflix acquisitions, or go back to sleep. Speaking of movies, as I write this, I received an e-mail from my mom. She and my dad rented Liam and Enigma. Glad to see their tastes are leaning away from the cheesy blockbusters, and towards the indie and art-house.