I must be getting older

Liz has been out of town since Tuesday. Of course I miss her, but for the first time ever, the prospect of a weekend with absolutely nothing to do and no one to see didn't bother me. In fact, I looked forward to having two full days to myself.

In the past, when Liz was away over a weekend and I was unable to find anything to do or anyone with whom to spend my time, I lamented my solitude. I would see couples on the street or at sidewalk cafes, groups of people enjoying themselves at bars, and think that my weekend was a waste. If I had more friends, or different friends who weren't busy doing other things, I could be one of those people living it up instead of sitting at home watching TV like I usually do during the week. Weeknights are for vegetating and feeling my ass grow; weekends are for partying. That's what I used to think. Woe be unto me if I spent my weekend evenings inside, while revelers and partygoers carried on outside my windows.

So here's how my weekend went: On Friday night I got a giant sandwich from the pizza place on the corner and watched my DVD of Pirates of the Caribbean, followed by Bob Costas' HBO show and a few other things I'd been saving up. I woke up Saturday morning to a beautiful sunny day, so I enjoyed a long bike ride in Central Park. In the evening I went to Times Square to see Hellboy, which was a good-time fun movie to see if your spouse doesn't like the comic book films, but you do, and thus you're by yourself. I went home, ate a giant burrito, and watched Silent Rage, a terrible action/horror B-movie starring Chuck Norris and Ron Silver. ESPN.com's Sports Guy loves it, but I can't understand why. It sucks big, hairy ass. Even with the thunderstorm raging outside and me alone in the apartment, it wasn't scary in the least. Stephen Furst as comic relief was just dumb, and the love scene with Norris and his girlfriend set to bad disco music made me want to claw out my eyes and burn out my eardrums. The only bad thing about watching a terrible movie like that on your own is that there's no one to hear you make fun of it. Maybe the cats liked my jokes, but since they didn't laugh, it's hard to tell. Today I spent my morning watching "Meet the Press" and cleaning the apartment, finally getting rid of most of the plaster dust and dirt from the electrical work a few weeks ago. So Liz will come back to a clean, or at least cleaner, apartment.

I'm not quite as grown-up and domesticated as my friend Chris has become (scroll down for the story about his garbage travails), but I'm getting there.