12:55 a.m. This is going to be one of those feeling-no-pain Saturday night wonders. As it should be. I've had a few brews and a few wines and I have had a whole heck of a lot of fun. Yes, indeedy.

All I really want to do is to say hello without making too many typographical errors and you should see how many time I've had to backspace and ty[e these sentences over. I reaallly shloud leave some of the earrrors in place, so you can see ...

... but I'll clean it up, so you won't think ill of me. It's Saturday night. I've had some fu. Fun. In fact, we got to go to one of the local hot spots, Hama. A sushi place. Yay!

Usually, we creep by the place with our little plastic bag of movies for our private Saturday night viewing. In the bag might be something manly for Igor (full of bombs, Bruce Willis, and lengthy courtroom scenes), or something girly for me (full of wedding dresses, fine-looking boudoirs and even finer all Gagganau kitchens), or something in between in the science-fiction vein.

We swing our little plastic bag and wonder about the stacked up limos, fancy silver sports cars, and cool range vehicles valeted and waiting, and we would always wonder: "Who's cool enough to go to Hama on a Saturday night?"

Well, now we know. We were there tonight. We ate raw fish and miso soup. We are the cool range people.

All young women must wear shoes with their toes hanging out, right? The toenails must be painted, right? Sometimes the person must be hoisted up on the platform of the shoe and the whole foot will go sliding down painfully, but that's what you have to do, right? It's in the code.

Also, bellies must be exposed. Aren't these girls ever cold? It seems that the smaller the outfits on the girls, the bigger and baggier are the outfits on the guys. How fair is that? While the girls are shrink-wrapping the produce, the guys are allowed to pleat and conceal.

Ah, it's a harsh world out there. I've been out there tonight and I have stood in the bathroom line and I have seen it with my own eyes. And why is it when you've had some beer and you don't go to the bathroom for hours and you're fine and then suddenly you go and then you have to go again each time you have another sip of beer? What's up with that?

Well, I'm going to bed. I didn't earn it, but I'm going to do it anyway. It's Saturday night, the parties are still going on across the street, and I really did do some work this afternoon. Consider this as a progress report. I woke up on Saturday morning, I didn't go to the Hidden Gardens session as I'd planned, and I worked, worked, worked instead.

Then I partied, in my own way. It happens.

I dance off into the night now. It's Saturday night and I am happy.