Ah, the weekend. What's great about the weekend is that it's always there for you. No matter how crappy the week has been, the weekend is there waiting for you - our memories of the weekend past, and our hopes for the weekend to come. They are like the really hip bookends for the crappy required reading texts that are the weekdays. Big fan of the weekends. Days off come up pretty huge too, but they really don't hold a candle to the weekend ('specially when you just have a day off in the middle of the week. That's bullshit. We should just push that to Friday, and have an upgraded weekend. The two day weekend is good, but as far as it goes, more is better than good.

I mention it because I had a pretty good weekend, and I have great expectations for this one coming up. Friday night consisted of... well, to be honest I can't remember what I did Friday night. Which usually means that it was a really good time. Wait, I remember. I went out to dinner with Sean and Amy - margheritas and burritos down at Harry's Burritos (on Thompson, right by Washington Square Park). And that's always a good time (by 'that' I'm referring to eating burritos at Harry's, the $3 margherita happy hour, and talking with Sean and Amy. They are really smart people with interesting opinions about things). And from there we headed to H&M for some shopping, which would have been really fun if I looked good in hip clothes. Unfortunately I don't. I didn't think that what I was wearing could get across the phrase "I'm just kidding," to onlookers, but I definitely felt that way. Of course, maybe I shouldn't have even thought that the jumpsuit was for me. I should have known it was going to go nowhere good when the zipper was on the wrong side. Premonition from the fashion gods, I suppose.

Saturday kicked the weekend up another notch. I was a little disappointed that a picnic I had put together didn't go off, but it was probably for the best (since I was just waking up in LI 10 minutes before I was supposed to be in Central Park). Ended up driving into the city to help Ben pick up a futon and bring it to his new place on St Marks Place (which I'm pretty stinking psyched about. I've been gathering some empirical data, and I've discovered that there is something like a 78% chance on any given weekend night that I'll be walking by his apartment drunk on my way to the train. Did you know that the word "futon" is actually Romanian for "Kennyb's bed"?). Parked the car in alphabet city, and ended up at a party in Brooklyn (what with my busy social calender, I had to be in two places at once: one party in Brooklyn, and another on 150th street in Manhattan. That totally wasn't happening, and I figured that since I hadn't taken the L train since that last ride from Halsey St., it was time to get back on the horse. Or IRT. Whatever). And the party (a relatively small one, for a friends birthday) was a really good time, with all of the usual party goings-on.

And then Sunday. Which involved lots of stairs. LOTS of stairs. Helped to move Ben and his girlfriend Arin into their new apartment (mentioned above. It's actually above St. Marks Comics, which is really funny). Wouldn't have minded this at all, except that they both were living in separate apartments, each of which was on the 5th floor of their respective buildings (Actually, I believe Arin was on the 6th floor, but who's counting?) On the upside, at least their new apartment was only on the 4th floor. In any case, there were a whole bunch of stairs. On the upside, there were about half a dozen people helping out, so it all went pretty quick.

My point is the following: New York City is a really funny place. You hear the phrase "moving up in the world" a fair amount. But that only really makes sense if you are already doing really well financially (and therefore live or work in a tall building with an elevator). For the rest of us, "moving up" in the world sucks. It just means more stairs to climb whilst carrying a ficus.