Sunbathing beauties. Or at least, our toes .
I managed to only fry one tiny part of my body, so the venture can be considered a rousing success. Who really needs the skin on their right shoulder anyway? In between sunnings; I caught up on a lot of TV watching, managed to skillfully avoid any and all housecleaning, got paged into work once (only once the whole weekend, it was a miracle!!), did 4 miles at the gym on Saturday morning, and spent the requisite Insane Amount Of Money that I always manage to spend when I foolishly allow myself to walk into Target.
Sunday, after the sunning and the page into work, The Sister and I decided to hop up to the Cabo Cantina on the Sunset strip for a quick happy-hour libation. We did this for multiple reasons: she had left her credit card there on Monday Funday, the always fabulous 2-for-1 margaritas (we like the Key Lime!), the chance to see and be seen by many a cute boy, and to show off the adorable new dresses that we'd both recently bought. We ended up being able to squeeze into a couple of bar stools (a feat in that joint, make no mistake) and ordered a round of margs from one of the greatest waitresses there. We chatted and suddenly there was our fabulous waitress, with a couple of margaritas that had been extras, since they were our flavor, she figured that we would want them. The Sister and I never turn down free drinks, so we were happy to help dispose of these extras. We ended up attracting a group of three guys, but unfortunately it went in the exact wrong direction. I had been checking out Blue Shirt Guy, so he and his buddy Baldy came over. The problem was, Blue Shirt liked The Sister, The Sister liked Baldy, Baldy thought he was too cool for school. Then Guy #3, Hollywood Poseur, came over and started hitting on me. He was neither interesting nor attractive, so I signaled The Sister that we needed to skeedaddle, and quick. (At a later date, I would like to rant about the pathetic pick up attempt that came from Hollywood Poseur and why it was so horribly wrong) So we made a run for it and went on to the Cat n Fiddle for a little dessert and Sunday night jazz with friends Kenny Flask and The Sister's girl Jam. Jam and The Sister stayed out late raising hell, while Yours Truly was a good child and made it to bed shortly after 10:30.
Where is Tall Guy in all of this, you ask? He's nowhere to be found. Obviously, we left it vague with the "talk to you soon" crap, so I never knew which of us was supposed to call the other. Or if either of us cared enough to do so. And it turns out, neither of us does. I should be more broken-up about it, considering how giddy I was about it in the early days, but I just can't bring myself to get worked-up. I knew last weekend that it was ending, so the date on Wednesday night was just a useless interlude in the middle of an inevitable fade-away. Once I work up the energy, I'm going to leap back into the Internet Dating Pool, and try to catch another interesting fishy. Although, I do have a little bit of annoyance lingering in the back of my mind. Why did either of us waste the damn time, if this was where it was all going to end up? Whose fault is it in the end? Can I please have all those wasted hours back?
Daniel Handler (also known as Lemony Snickett) has a new book out, called Adverbs. It has an amazing passage about just this sort of thing, that I feel I must share with you all. It's more about the end of a real relationship, but I've been obsessed with this sentiment for weeks now and I've been dying to add it to a post:
"And when the love is over, when the diner of love seems closed from the outside, you want all those hours back, along with anything you left at the lover's house and maybe a couple of things which aren't technically yours on the grounds that you wasted a portion of your life and those hours have all gone southside." Daniel Handler Adverbs