No Regrets  Oh god, two tumultuous days, and I feel miserable.  Lemme give you the good stuff first so you can have something to read before I start whining and you have to close the window.      I had a pretty good day yesterday, after having been up all night cleaning house.  I got a little shuteye and took a luxurious shower and prepared for the party.  Went to the airport to pick up the husband; the plane was late.  He looked twice his age, the jet lag and worry had so taken its toll.  But I got him home safely and struck out for Charlottesville.      By then, it was well after nine at night, and the sky was pitch black.  The rain fell in torrents, yet I was so pleased to handle the van so well on the curvy hilly back roads that comprise about 50% of the journey between here and there.  Sometimes I doubt my night driving, but I had no problem, nor was it hard to follow the MapQuest directions to the town, nor the very clear directions I had to Kappa Mutha Fucka.  No wrong turns, no doubling back.      When I got there, the police were leaving.  The narrow street was so choked with cars, it was very hard to get out of their way so they could back out.  I knew I had the right place.      I opened the door on a crush of bodies, and a widely variegated bunch at that, and I smiled and sailed right on in.  Didn't give myself a chance to get nervous.  I made straight for the kitchen, bottle of vodka in hand, passing the band getting warmed up again in front of a bank of mattresses and furniture cushions meant to absorb the sound headed outward toward the neighbors'.  There was a river of people flowing to the back porch, so I joined it, and found the beer.      I thought about looking for the Gus, and Firedrake, and the Mayor of Bethesda Avenue, but decided I should acclimate first.  There was plenty of friendly company around the keg, so I stuck there awhile.  Greeting me warmly were John, an ex-Navyman and web designer with a gorgeous face, Ben, with delightfully curly hair and a conspiracy theory involving the net, and Jessika, full of quiet curiosity and profound calm.  After I had consumed a few beers, she kindly pointed out Firedrake and the Mayor for me, and I now felt like introducing myself.      How friendly they were, and easy to talk to.  A knot formed around the refrigerator, composed of all the "net people" (and there were quite a few of us) and those interested in why we would drive all the way to a party thrown by someone we had not met and populated by people we did not know.  I got a quick introduction to the Gus, noting the borrowed camcorder, so I assume there will be pics.  My cup at one point had a couple screwdrivers in it, and then some wine.  Don't ask me how much or many of anything.      After the police came again and the band had to stop, a bit of musical experimentation was starting in what would ordinarily be the dining room but kind of defies definition.  A guy with a ukulele was strumming out a rather compelling rhythm, and a trombone was being passed around.  I zrrbtt'ed into it a few times, quite drunk by now, and was hysterical at the results.  The Gus came striding through with a green guitar and an amp, and some very attractive riffs began to sizzle out from the kitchen.  Well, my dancing feet hadda go.      Wish I knew enough about music to describe the rhythm and what was being done with it, what I also was doing with it, but it was a dance kind of cha-cha-like, but flamenco-ish, I guess.  Oh well, I was clapping the same beat that my feet were stomping, and we were gradually joined by the ukulele guy, then Zach with the trombone, then somebody I don't know on pots and pans with spoons, then somebody else I don't know on the cabinet doors.  It felt like this song went on for hours.  The musicians swapped out a few times, so that Gus disappeared and the chick with the dreadlocks got the ukulele at some point.  The vocals were stirring, and every time the music started to die down, somebody would keep the beat until everyone was ready to gradually bring it up to full crescendo again.  It was magic.  It was music.      Next comes a long stretch that I don't remember much about, except that Angela and Matthew Hart were moshing and Jamie, one of the net heads I had felt chummy with, had to leave.  I got to pat Shira the dog several times during the night, though she was too excited to hang with any one person.  Oh and I got to pat Nicholas the cat in between my snoozes on the office chair on the upstairs landing.  I suspect that this scratch on my hand came from one of the wrestling sessions.      I sank to one of those fold-out chair-bed thingys you can get at Wal-Mart, and noticed that the crowd had thinned considerably.  John sat next to me for awhile and we talked about god knows what, but it got cozy, with his arm around me and my alcohol heated fingers warming his cold ones.  But he had to leave soon, invited me and a few others to crash at his place if we wanted.  I wasn't ready to go yet, so he held me very nicely and kissed me goodnight.  Deliciously.      There was more dancing and talking, and someone put on a tape of the blues that sounded very Harry Bellafonte to me.  A pipe went around, and I now feel kinda bad that these nice people wasted their weed on me, cuz I was far too drunk to likely notice any effect, and it was unlikely I'd have gotten an effect anyway, as it was my first time.  But at least I am probably now "primed".  I have to amend my confessions page.      I awoke on the sofa in the almost-dining-room, under somebody else's jacket, next to Shira.  The sun was streaming in everywhere, and Matthew and Angela were giggling about the company upstairs.  They offered me McDonald's and I accepted a sausage biscuit gratefully; they retreated back upstairs.  The downstairs was left to me, Shira, and the sound-asleep Mayor.  I felt bad about leaving without saying goodbye to our hosts, but I realized the husband was stuck without transportation at home, so I left a note and took off.      Random impressions:  the Gus is a way popular guy IRL as well as in cyberspace (hey, you never know); the scans of his paintings don't do them justice, you really gotta go look at em; whatever might or might not be wrong with Matthew Hart and Angela, it wasn't showing last night cuz they seemed to be pretty fun, alert, and personable people; I actually like punk rock music (that one was a shocker); things that look utterly useless can artfully be made into something, if not useful, at least fun to have; the box springs in the middle of the living room was the coldest place to try to sleep, the sofa was better by far; the kitchen cabinets have excellent timbre and pitch; John gives great hug; the Gus probably doesn't dislike me, as I had feared, but is probably uninterested in finding out whether he likes me or not, what with the kajillion friends he has already, so trying to strike a friendship with him is likely to be a waste of time.      The drive back was lots and lots more enjoyable than the way down.  The hot sun hit all the lovely rolling hills and I got to see all the scenery I'd missed in the rain and darkness before.  I drove through town a bit, just to satisfy my curiosity.  It certainly looked friendly enough, several streets I would love to stroll on a lazy day, inviting shops, nice ambiance all around.  Nothing like Cleveland, Mississippi.  I will tell about that some other time.      The instant I got home, it started.  How dare I make him worry, though I'd left a message on voicemail, which he hadn't even checked.  How dare I be a quitter, and want to leave now that he was finally ready to go to marriage counseling and actually try to do something about his behavior.  More of the same.  He hadn't slept in well over 48 hours, due to jet lag, so I told him I didn't want to discuss this until he had rested, but he blew that off and kept going.  I just shut up; I knew there was no winner here.  He decided that we needed to separate all our stuff up in the bedroom, move all my office stuff into there, and half the bedroom furniture into the office, thereby making separate bedrooms.  So that's what we did, in between his snide comments and his blasting at the children.      He fell asleep on the downstairs sofa as I made a goulash kinda thing for supper, with rice.  I left him there as the kids went upstairs to watch TV in my bedroom while I got caught up on my email.   They fell asleep watching gorillas groom one another.  I was kinda glad cuz I didn't feel up to explaining the next segment, which was about a species of chimpanzee that is even nutsier about sex than we are.      They have sex for everything.  As "thank you". As "excuse me".  As "I'm so sorry".  As "I get the feeling you are a bit tense today".  The only sexual taboo they have is between adult females and their sons who are 6 years old or older.  Any other combination of ages, genders, and familial relationships are perfectly ok with them.  And any time of day, any excuse.      Whew.  Writing about my past two days made me feel better, am not miserable anymore.  See, that's why I keep a journal, right there.  Aquarius party according to: the Mayor of Bethesda Avenue Firedrake the Gus -- Spring