Work Hard, Play Hard, Party Hard (At the Last Minute)

I'm of the belief that I should get to celebrate my birthday for a week. Big E is the opposite. "No party," he said a week before. "No party," he said a few days before. He finally caved at 11:30 the night before. (Probably just to get me to stop pestering him.) No problem. I can whip together a party in 18 hours, right?

Possibly. Except I'd forgotten my car would be in the shop all day.

No problem. I can whip together a party in 18 hours with no car. I have a bike. Four of them....and a backpack.

So, after work, I threw some flat pedals on Gracie, rode to the grocery store with my backpack and swerved all the way home since I was loaded up with potatoes, meat and buns. Thankfully my car was returned an hour before the start of the party. Two cases of beer and a bottle of Jamison would've been much harder to manage on the bike.

Despite the fact that he didn't really even want a party, I think maybe Big E had a good time. I judge the good-timeness of a party by whether anyone ends up 1)naked, 2)arrested or 3)on the roof.

Of course, it would've been the ultimate party if the birthday boy had ended up naked on the roof and then narrowly escaped arrest, but hey, the boys went on the roof so I'll call it a good time.