Some of you may have been lucky enough to catch my short-lived post about dinner with the ex Thursday night. For those of you who weren't, suffice it to say you didn't miss anything. Honestly, I took the post down because, although he may not have feelings for me, he still does have feelings that can be hurt, and although I don't owe him anything, it probably was less than cool of me to air more dirty laundry with regards to that relationship. So, moving on.
So, has anyone ever had this happen to them: you're getting an intense massage, and due to the release, or the particular way you are being touched, you start to cry? Saturday morning I attended my usual yoga class, and I guess in the delayed reaction to the emotions from aforementioned dinner with ex, I was the big, fat asshole who started to cry during the closing chants. Yea, I'm lovely. I wasn't crying big fat baby cow tears and boo hoo hooing in an obvious way, but the tears were streaming down my face. It was very definitely similar to the intense massage scenario. Which has also happened to me. Maybe it's just me that these things happen to. Ok, so I'm a freak. Anyway, yea, so at the end of class I grabbed a box of Kleenex and scurried out of the room, ashamed at my emotional state.
Needless to say, I was in a shit mood for the rest of Saturday, that even a shopping spree at Virgin couldn't remedy. Thankfully, I had a dinner to attend at Pylos, and let me tell you, eating there would put a death-row inmate in a good mood, it was the most delicious meal I'd had in eons. So, full belly and glass of red wine later, my sis and I met Kristen at a bar across the street from
my friend Steve's Cinqo De Mayo Party. I proceeded to get jiggy with some Blueberri Vodka, and sis and I started walking down memory lane, comparing who made out with who in high school. I was shocked and amazed at how many of the same dudes we both swapped spit with. It was fascinating and putrid all wrapped up in one.
Next stop, the party. And what a party it was. Margaritas and Coronas aplenty, a mariachi band, and all the guac a girl ever dreamed of. I met a boy. He was totally cute, and cool. I'm not sure if he is age appropriate. I kind of don't want to know. He put his lime in my Corona, and it was love. Sigh. I got his digits. But I'll bet we will become good friends. It's sort of how I've been rolling these days.
Cute boy left, and I realized that I was SHITHOUSED. I remember trying to speak and realizing that things were slurring together and even I wasn't sure what I was saying. My sister was sitting on a couch with a look on her face that said puke all over it. And Kristen had the most adorable red cheeks that complemented her red hair quite nicely. I think we all decided that was our cue to go. We got ourselves downstairs, and I recall getting into a scuffle with some dudes over a Marlboro Red. Nice.
We found cabs, and all I can say is, whoever introduced credit card machines in the backs of taxis is a GENIUS. Last night would have so been one of those nights where I realize I have no money, wander the street for blocks in the rain looking for an ATM, and decide to walk home from midtown because I can't find an ATM nor a cab. It was so lovely to be able to just swipe my little card at the end of the ride and be on my way. I LOVE YOU TLC. You've made my life that much more wonderful.
This morning I woke up feeling shittier than I've felt in a million years. Seriously. Tequila is NOT my friend.
Thankfully, a bagel (10 WW points I'm sure) and iced coffee helped a ton. Because I have a dinner date tonight. Date #3 with Mr Appropriate Aged Person. I keep trying to tell myself that I will start to like him. I know it's hopeless. I think tonight I have to tell him we can only be friends. I mean, when a guy kisses you, and you feel nothing, and have no desire to drag him back to his place and rip his clothes off, that's a big sign? Right?