The latest has arrived:
The day of the anniversary party arrived with gorgeous sunshine and balmy air, gentle clouds leaning into the breezy sky, all waiting for the city dwellers to empty out of their urban caves and into the day’s magnificence. I arrived with an iridescent green bodysuit and snug black jeans on, leaning against the restaurant’s security gate at the ungodly hour of eight o’clock in the morning, awaiting Vito’s arrival so we could pre-make a vast sea of margaritas for the city dwellers to experience the magnificence of agave on a gorgeous, balmy day. It was essentially the middle of the night for me, and while my mood was as cheerful as the morning’s bright sun, my brain was not. Once Vito unlocked the door, I fired up the cappuccino machine, made myself a triple shot iced, kept ‘em coming til my cloudy head cleared.
With my hair piled high on top of my head, held in place with a couple of ballpoint pens, I helped Vito fill five-gallon buckets with margarita mix, and balloons with the helium from the tank he'd rented. As we worked I sucked some helium into my lungs, of course, squeaking things like: “my heart is filled with love for all sentient beings”, sang the lyrics to “Into The Void” like a vengeful chipmunk. Vito, AKA Senór Crabbypants, refused to even smile. He was less filled with caffeine and helium than me, so I forgave him.
By late morning we were ready for the urban masses to descend . . .