Mango Margaritas, et al.

With my mind on magaritas, margaritas on my mind...

The server dropped our plates, so last night's Mexican debauchery was on the house. After splitting three pitchers of margaritas among the three of us (you do the math), we were more than easy to satisfy with apologies. The non-existant bill made it all the better. Congratulations, folks of Mexican restaurant, your kindness just won you soon-to-be repeat business. Drop our plates any time you wish.

It was the first genuinely warm Friday evening of the year, and downtown streets were thronged with people equally anxious to get outside and enjoy evening air finally above freezing temperatures. The restaurant was full of patrons raising glasses to their lips and, in one case, falling backwards in chairs mid-conversation (no, that wasn't at our table, thank you very much). We laughed and drank and discovered the marvel that is the mango margarita (my new favorite, as raspberry sulkily descends to second place).

After a lengthy dining experience, we walked around, buzzing and giddy to be able to play outside again. Laughter was infectious, conversation alternated between the in-depth and fanciful. We weren't ready to say goodnight to Friday yet, so somehow wound up walking out of a bookstore with bags of new reading material (Beth's observation: "Some people pass out. Others cause mayhem. We buy books while buzzed. Go figure"), including, in my case, the results of perusing the theater section. My own copy of "The Invention of Love" (I still curse myself for not taking up Clint's offer to attend the DC performance during my first national ACTF) an A.R. Gurney three-play collection ("Love Letters" remains one of my favorite plays) and, in fiction, "Get Shorty" and a Nick Hornby-assembled collection of short stories that features a story by Colin Firth. Amazingly, I decided not to pick up Beck's new album because I didn't want to spend too much. Hmm.

On the walk home, we made our predictions about whether the Pope had passed away during our evening revelry. Beth and I both said yes, Chuck said no. We decided to put a wager on it and, upon arriving home, discovered that he continued to cling to life. So Beth and I had to do a shot each. My B52s were deemed a success.*

As I laughed and walked through the evening, occasionally breaking out into a round of "Na na na na na na na na"s from "Catch My Disease," I realized that this is what I've been waiting for - the opportunity to feel young, happy and among friends. And while I continue to work on changing some of the particulars in my life, I felt for the first time in awhile as if I would be content with this for a bit, if nothing else changes in the immediate future. It's all about making the best of things from time to time.

And with margaritas, friends and the promise of continued entertainment for the duration, I can come up with something quite nice to make of it.

*Considering my previous post, the latest on myspace and this reference, I feel the need to clarify that I have the utmost respect for the now deceased pontiff. While I am technically a non-practicing Catholic, John Paul II is the only Pope I've ever known and an extraordinarily resilliant one at that. I have come as close as I ever really come to praying on several occasions during the last few days - always hoping for a peaceful death for him after the sacrifice and suffering he has undergone.