Friar had his birthday dinner at Green Margarita with the man himself and his lady Palfrey (now looking very pregnant with their second child); 74 and his wife Zaftig, plus their two children; the museum director Anacreon and his wife (who will have their first in about seven months), who is the school psychologist at an even more Prestigious private school than mine; some guy Friar met in law school; Friar's jovial, rotund cousin; and Friar's supervisor at the law firm, C, and his wife. And little old unattached me.
I'm not big fan of the Green Margarita --- in fact, its only attraction to me is the highly potent, nuclear-green frozen drinks they serve, which are necessary to wash down the appallingly greasy, cheesy food. For the last few weeks, as I noted a while ago, I've been eating pretty healthily, and a big honking plateful of Friar's favorite glop came as a shock to my poor, trail-mix-nibbling system.
And of course afterwards Friar and I went to the Hangout, where I had a couple of rum pineapples. I didn't feel all that well when I got home. I'm not sure I'm old enough anymore to be keeping up with the kind of systematic destruction to the internal organs that Friar seems to have been bent on his whole life.