1.23.2005
I'm A Mess!
Just had the best day ever. After waking up early and being generally productive around the house, the EH called and we went to breakfast at the New York-style deli across the street. Had a delish breakfast, and during said breakfast the Puppy called and invited me over...to watch football. Wha? The EH and I came back to my house, had a bloody mary and made progressively more awkward small talk as my phone rang and rang - the Puppy was like "are you done yet?" Ah, his sensitive side. Anyhoo, so the EH leaves, I grab a six-pack and head to the Pup's, and when I get there Just Joe calls. He's actually going to venture forth from his North Scottsdale Siberia and visit me in the hood!
So it's up off the sofa for me and the Pup and back to my house, where we have another beer, hang out in the Arizona room for a while and then head out for Mexican food. This is 3 in the afternoon. Long story short, we then hit Durant's for a vodka martini, then a gay sports bar for a Captain and Coke, then hit this unbelievably kitschy and decadent ice-cream shop for a drive-thru Suicide sundae, which we bring back to my house. it was inside jokes and flirting with bartenders and general foolishness for 6 straight hours. And then, they left. I was punch-drunk from day drinking and laughing all day long, and then...THE MOMENT...Bridget Jones' Diary was on tv. Now, I've seen this movie dozens of times and have liked it an awful lot, but tonight it made me cry.
Yes, I cried at the end when Mark Darcy came back from New York for Bridget Jones, and my pathetic heart pounded when he kissed her for the very first time. My eyes produced big, fat, silent, run-down-the-cheeks, "I'll be alone forever," divorce-imminent, single-imminent, sitting-on-the-couch-with-no-companion-but-a-pug tears. Oh, it was something. I haven't felt that kind of sorry for myself since the fifth grade when some girl told me I looked fat in my Calvin Klein corduroys. And they were brand new. Didn't even make it through the day. My pants had been knocked - my thighs, mocked, and therefore, the dream was sullied.
Yep, I definitely feel like that tonight.
LET'S NEVER SPEAK OF THIS AGAIN.
So it's up off the sofa for me and the Pup and back to my house, where we have another beer, hang out in the Arizona room for a while and then head out for Mexican food. This is 3 in the afternoon. Long story short, we then hit Durant's for a vodka martini, then a gay sports bar for a Captain and Coke, then hit this unbelievably kitschy and decadent ice-cream shop for a drive-thru Suicide sundae, which we bring back to my house. it was inside jokes and flirting with bartenders and general foolishness for 6 straight hours. And then, they left. I was punch-drunk from day drinking and laughing all day long, and then...THE MOMENT...Bridget Jones' Diary was on tv. Now, I've seen this movie dozens of times and have liked it an awful lot, but tonight it made me cry.
Yes, I cried at the end when Mark Darcy came back from New York for Bridget Jones, and my pathetic heart pounded when he kissed her for the very first time. My eyes produced big, fat, silent, run-down-the-cheeks, "I'll be alone forever," divorce-imminent, single-imminent, sitting-on-the-couch-with-no-companion-but-a-pug tears. Oh, it was something. I haven't felt that kind of sorry for myself since the fifth grade when some girl told me I looked fat in my Calvin Klein corduroys. And they were brand new. Didn't even make it through the day. My pants had been knocked - my thighs, mocked, and therefore, the dream was sullied.
Yep, I definitely feel like that tonight.
LET'S NEVER SPEAK OF THIS AGAIN.
