The b.h. went to visit his folks in North Carolina last week. He left bright and early on Thursday, and I had several long and difficult days at work, after which I mostly moped around the house eating bread and cheese and bemoaning his absence to no one in particular. When I wasn't at work I was dragging the dogs off to the woods or the river (on some days we did both). I knew they were going to be hysterical during the fireworks on the 4th, so after about two and a half minutes of nervous barking and whining and running around the house, I threw them in the car and drove around town looking for a place to park so we could watch them. The problem with being in the house is that they can't see the fireworks, so they have no idea what is happening and why the house is shaking. In the car, they're used to all kinds of noises and lights and whatnot, so they were completely calm. We sat on an empty road about half a mile from the house, windows and music both up, and everyone was totally happy. I can't believe it only took me eight years to figure this out.
After the fireworks were over, we went back to the house, I gave them each a treat, and then I headed out to meet my friend C for a drink. When I arrived at The Black Door, C was with his brother and a group of people I didn't know, as well as another friend, M. We all sat around and shot the shit and had a few beers, A and D stopped by a bit later, and we were pretty much the only ones there. We sat out on the patio, the weather was amazing, and eventually the bartender came out and sat with us for a bit. Good times were had by all.
When they closed, C and M and I went down the the venerable Charlie O.'s, the sort of dive-ey hell hole that you only enter because your friend's band is playing or every other bar in town is closed. There we ran into Harried Manager from the Local Restaurant, who was completely obliterated and invited us to his house for an after hours party. Moments later the door guy started shouting for everyone to leave, so we followed M and HM back to HM's place, which was about half a block away. I should mention that C and M both had a shot of tequila at Charlie O.'s, which I was smart enough to decline.
Anyway, we got to HM's and opened a couple beers, walked around admiring his decorating style (which was the thing that finally convinced me of his heterosexuality, by the way), put on some music, and found ourselves a chair.
Soon half of the town was pouring in the door, and C and I found ourselves rather pressed into a corner. There was a big weird guy kind of hovering over me, and C and I were both looking for a polite way to escape when we realized that the big goofy bastard was bleeding. Not from like, a gunshot wound or anything, but there was blood dripping all over his arm, which he was flailing around in our general direction. This realization caused us both to scramble clumsily out of our seats and to the other side of the kitchen. I even left my beer behind.
We watched from the corner as the Bleeding Guy and some woman took our seats.
"Probably just a ploy," I muttered to C from inside the refrigerator door. "I think they just wanted that table."
When we finally got back to the table a short while later, my beer was gone. The glass was there, but somebody (some drunk, bleeding scumbag, no doubt) had killed off my Guinness. Bastard.
The night finally ended when C and I were too tired to talk anymore and we realized that we were two of only five people left in Harried Manager's apartment. As we made for the door, I was accosted by HM's sister, who started to drunkenly embrace me before I was rescued by C and pulled out the door. Note to self: Never, never stay out until 4am in this town. Never again.

And now for something completely adorable: