S & J perfected Cafe Cubanos yesterday in order to serve them at the coffeehouse (which entailed consuming about 10 espressos half packed with sugar-- he & J were talkingsofastbungholios) and there's no way I'd avoid a heart attack if ever I drank one.

For dinner we ate bbq'd pork chops and spicy beans and rice, and I made the interesting discovery that my cat likes spicy pinto beans. I was giggling about her devouring the fourth bean when S leaned over, amused, and reminded me miss kitty sleeps by my head.

At this same time the phone rang. My friend M had gotten home that afternoon, found her stupid lying pendejo porn-addict-alcoholic C halfway to drunk, told him, "I love you, but..." and got her girl L to take her out. They were celebrating M's new-found freedom, deciding on a plan of action, and discussing C's accusation that M wasn't willing to help him through this difficult point in his life. I think 6 months with absolutely no effort on his part to quit drinking, 6 months of putting up with rude lewd and hurtful comments from some drunk asshole, that's when it's time to say "There is some sh*t I will not eat" and thank you, ee cummings.

So the red-head M-my-belle and the tall dark wild-haired L called us from this cool old basement bar that's beneath a restaurant down by the railroad tracks, smoky mirrors, funky nooks and crannies, well-worn seats. M & L had managed to get a booth, which was really this secluded little grotto in the wall with a deep make-out seat, small table, candle, and its own light switch.

We all got nestled in & S ordered me a whisky sour, got himself a vodka & tonic. We chatted about SARS, about health care or the utter lack thereof in Oregon, about Iraq, about God, about where M should move, and about how she should spend the night with L rather than go home.

M showed us how she can tie a knot in cherry stems with her tongue. Damn.

We stayed for a few hours. We stayed long enough for the late night crowd and the schmaltzy jazz band to arrive and fill the place. From our secluded little cubby we could see everyone, but no-one could see us. We exited our booth single file between songs, first M, then me, then L, then S. He said all the old guys in the crowd were watching us lovely young ladies as we walked down the crowded path, and then raised their eyebrows as he walked past. On the way home we joked about him being hidden away with the red-head, the blond, and the brunette, and what a hardship it is that I have pretty friends. Quite tipsy and happy. He makes me laugh.