Mariposa, mariposa

It was my mother's birthday, so I went with my parents to TriviaBar. They have a rather nifty birthday offer: your entire party gets x% off of the check (including alcohol), where x is the age of the birthday boy or girl. Rumor has it that once, a 102-year-old man was feted there, and not only was the entire bill on the house, management gave the antediluvian old feller 2% of the bill back in cash. How nice. So anyhoo, we got sixty-mummph percent off our bill. And we won the trivia. The Friar joined us, and brought gifts for my mother. He's the elegant, personable ideal to which I aspire.

After the trivia, I went over to Hangout, where Friar and K already sat around listening to some dreadful amateur comedians. Well, a couple of them were okay, but mainly they were jaw-clenchingly, embarrassingly, bad. It was kind of pathetic, really. One started a riff about being in a town called Welfare and how it was a metaphor for his future. Silence. So he starts mocking his patient, stolid audience, imagining that we don't know the difference between metaphor and metamorphosis. Silence. "Oh, you didn't get that one either, huh?" Yeah, we got your intricate wordplay there, buddy. It just wasn't funny.

And unfortunately for my entertainment expectations, Skullfuck wasn't there.

I said hi to Waitress W, dropped K at her place, and on the way home got a call from Friar's wife Palfrey asking where he was,. So I drove back to Hangout again and told Friar, still schmoozing long after closing as is his wont, he'd better stuff his ass into his car and get home.

My neck is almost better, thank Krishna. I was afraid it would be another month-long period of slow recovery and debilitation.