Divine spontaneity

It's been a week. Not just a week, mind you, but one of those weeks that seems to take more than five days hard work out of ya.

There's a woman in my office who always feels the need to edit my stuff, which would be fine except she likes to make changes for the sake of making changes. No, my copy's not wrong, she just likes to make her mark. It makes me want to rip off her head and spit down her neck.

So when Thursday night rolled around, I really needed a margarita. I also really needed to work out. How fortuitous that Cute Brian could meet me at Fuego, but not until around 8?

It felt good just to walk into the place. Some day, I want to hide in their bathroom until after the place is closed (gee, that sounds familiar) and just drink my way through the tequilas behind the bar. Bottle after bottle of perfect goodness! We ordered margaritas. Well, I did - CB instead ordered the girliest thing on the menu, a Rosa Colada. It's pink and shake-like; where'd I find this guy, anyway? So he proceeds to order this and then proclaim his deep desire to watch Ultimate Fighting on the television to the left of the bar.

To say the man is an enigma s a gross understatement.

We ordered nachos (delish!) and relaxed into our easy friendship. I love this guy. Laughing with him, telling each other what's going on in our lives ... it offers a distraction from the tough stuff and support to get me through it. It's also something we give away pretty freely, which is a good thing, because at 9 p.m. Shakespeare called, and we told her to join us.

She's smart, so she did. By now, CB and I were on our second 'rita each and Shakepeare quickly caught up, and ordered some mole-drenched goodness to boot. The conversation flowed, trains of thought were derailed and hilarity ensued. We laughed ourselves silly talking about the important and the mundane, and came up with a few important rules.

1) You can't choose where the magic is.
2) We're just some f#(%ed-up intergenerational not-for-profit.
3) Sometimes, to Choose Awesome is to Choose Commando.

When we all finally stumbled back to my place - because we were laughing so hard we could barely walk, not because we'd had a few too many - everyone came up to Chez Mags for more conversation, more laughs, and a nice coating of cat hair. I don't think any of us were quite ready to say goodnight yet, but soon enough it was time for them to head home and me to head to bed. But I couldn't drop off to sleep without thinking to myself how incredibly lucky I am to have friends who are willing to give in to my impulses and get their spontaneous groove on with me. The best of times are often made without plans.