I love how I have a bad week at work and by Saturday I don't really wanna go out. And yet I have a contingency plan in case I do.

Said contingency plan is to go to the Pub, which I do. It's been a while, so I forget the drudgery that is the Pub -- the same-old, same-old -- and enjoy myself there. It's not Philly, it's not hanging out with one of my best friends in the world. It's not Philly, it's not seeing two of my other best friends in the world.

It's old, it's familiar, it's what I like. It's close to home. It's nice, it's cheap. It's refreshing, after over twelve Saturdays at the same place.

I get what Heather says, when she says she doesn't wanna go to the Pub. Too much of the same wears you down. It's like working a job you despise. Eventually you'll hate it so much you'll just drop it cold turkey like a smoking habit.

The Pub isn't so familiar to me anymore. I don't know anyone except the close friends I'd made years ago. But it still feels like returning home, as a prodigal son does. It's homey, and I missed it.

I also miss Sal's, and the bar, and the red-tiled floor, and the brick walls, and the DJ mixing 80's music on a hyped-up Winamp, and the most gorgeous hostess you could ever wish for. Just hanging out, enjoying the company as friends do, enjoying the night.

I had a bad week this week. Physicaly draining, and I could barely walk after Friday's excursions. I'm so glad I have options and alternatives, and such awesome friends wherever I go.

To R&R, you guys are so much more awesome than I realise, but I'm learning every day. To Emily, you're a great friend and I love you for your friendship, and if I don't see you on Wednesday, I'll see you in two weeks.

R&R, see you on Friday.