Operation Mini-Skirt Status: -36.7 lbs.
Mood: I gained 1.2 lbs. this weekend. You'd think I'd be pissed off, but mostly, I'm just too tired and worn out to care. And it's Monday, which is difficult enough to deal with.
Hello, my pretties.
I had a pretty full weekend, which was a lovely reclaiming of my youth. It really helped, if not to banish, then at least alleviate the post-holiday blues.
Friday night was actually going to be spent quietly, at home with Audrey and Bogey, or Audrey and Cary or, if I needed some fuzzy blond action, either Doris or Marilyn. That all changed after I spoke to Fieldgray, who was in the throes of indecision because he was supposed to go to some party he had absolutely no wish to attend. Does he stay and feel guilty and rude or does he go and feel miserable and cranky? (God, I hate it when that happens to me. I don't deal with decision-making well, even if it's as simple as going to a party. The stick of etiquette that I have firmly implanted in my arse tends to inhibit my ability to make choices solely to please myself. Anyhoo...)
I solved the problem by proposing an alternative to sitting at home with his guilt. I told him he could share his guilt with me, and we'd flavour it with a glass of wine. (It was half a glass, people, ok? Half a glass of wine that I spread out over the course of three hours, and yes I'm sure that's where The Bloody Extra Pound came from, so just get off my back, ok? Do you know how much nazi-diet guilt is packed in a half glass of wine? Jaysus, for all the enjoyment I took out of off-holiday-diet-cheating, I shouldn't even have bothered.)
Right, where was I? Yeah, Fieldgray. So, I spent the evening with him, getting a lesson in Brit-pop extraordinaire, and using lots of words to discuss absolutely nothing at all. He's a funny guy, Fieldgray. To look at him, you'd never think he was a go-getter. He's my age, only been in the city for a year and change. Adorably slight of stature, which belies the fact that he's got the strength and drive to always go for what he wants. He's a bit of an enigma; a walking ambush even, because everything he says and does takes one by surprise.
That's very cool, I think. Isn't being predictable the first sign of death? (Plus, he's got a tongue-ring. How funky is that?)
As planned, I went to BierMarkt on Saturday, this bar downtown that serves, like, over a hundred beers from around the world, on tap. Mandy, DQ and I met Sleyefox there, where we snarked, danced, gossiped, scoped and had a fabulous time. The DJ played a varied mix of music between the live band sets. The band was awesome! Sweater Puppets I think they were called. They played everything imaginable, and actually sounded like whoever they were covering! Bizarre? Yeah, especially when the big, burly drummer guy was doing Blondie or Pink! Or U2. Or Aerosmith. Or Neil Diamond. Or The Tragically Hip. I managed to push my way through the crowd, and scored us a fabulous few square feet of space right next to the stage, which was convenient as the bass player was hot and Sleyefox and I were taking turns wiggling our arses for his viewing pleasure. (Common slappers that we are!)
Mandy and I spent the whole of Sunday painting her apartment, which was fun, if a bit reminiscent of medieval torture chambers, as I was doing the bloody ceiling! Still, we had a companionable rhythm going, conducive to productivity, and we got a lot of work done. Not bad for two chicks that had no idea what they were doing!
And that brings me to today, the beginning of a new week. It's a four day one for me, as I'm taking off Friday in order to use the remaining holiday days for the year, as I can't carry forward. I intend to go on a hell-bent mission of retail that day, and see if I can get my Christmas shopping done in one fall swoop.
Yeah, I have my doubts, too.
Right. Have a good day, all.
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