Charming, but single

A journal in dates and drinks


Weekend Update -- Belated edition

Re: The lateness of this round up of my weekend -- Hello, it's March Madness. How can I be expected to blog regularly when there are so many great games on all of the time? (Did you see Kentucky vs. Michigan State? Double OT? I don't even LIKE either of those teams and I was biting my nails.)

Thursday: This counts as part of the weekend because I didn't have to work on Friday. I went to the newest, hip, trendy, oh-so-cool restaurant in town with a buddy from high school and some other people. (This city so fickle. Almost a two-hour wait now and it'll be dead in six months, I'm sure.) It was really good, albeit a touch pricey. (A friend treated, though, which was unexpected but nice.) The weather was perfect and we ate on the outside terrace with a gentle breeze and beautiful stars. It was awesome.

I bailed on plans to go out afterwards because I was very, very worn out from work. (Meetings and reports and two hour conference calls, oh my!) I had a great time at dinner, but you know how you have old friends that you're friends with just because you are? You don't have that much in common with them anymore, but you've been friends since you were 16 and you figure, "Hey, what's a dinner now and again when you're in town and a few e-mails?"

Um, yeah. That's what this was like.

Friday: Attempts to sleep in were futile, as my body will not let me sleep past 8 a.m. anymore. I tried and managed to force it to almost 8:30, but I still was up almost two hours before the alarm was set to go off. Growing up sucks.

Shopped and lunched with my mom, who also had the day off. I managed to squeeze myself in with our hairstylist. (My mom was getting her hair dyed, and I got mine cut while the dye set. So sneaky of me.) Finished the prep for Birthday Girl's dinner and afterparty, bought a present at this cute boutique, picked up the cake, realized I forgot to shave my legs in the morning, so I did the oh-so-cute trick of shaving my legs whilst in full makeup, with professionally styled hair (I mean, why not have her style it after the cut?) and while wearing a skirt. Miraculously avoided cutting myself.

Dinner was for girls only in a small private room of a Japanese restaurant we love. We had a great time, but I was amazed that some of the people who came did not order food. I picked the restaurant because it served sushi (which most of us ate) and traditional Japanese food (for the non-sushi eaters). I was a bit annoyed that some people didn't order anything but a glass of iced tea or something. Order an appetizer or a house salad or a glass of wine or something, you know? The restaurant is devoting a server just to our party, at least make sure she gets a lot of tip. Anyway, it was annoying.

I had a good time, but I was definitely in PR mode all night. I was interacting with the servers and making sure the cake was served and the bill was paid and the tip was taken care of and no one ran out on their bill. (It only got worse at the bar we went to after dinner, where the cocktail server put 25 people's drinks on one person's tab, rather than taking a credit card from each person. This meant we had to have her break the bill out into 25 pieces, which annoyed her a took forever. She would also bring us bills in groups, so I spent 20 minutes trying to make sure that we had paid out. She finally got frustrated and said, "You know what, don't tip me if you don't want!" So, I had to go smooth things over and explain that I, as the sober PR lady, was just trying to make sure she didn't get screwed over at the end of the night. Also, I tossed a $20 in with someone's bill even though my one beer had been purchased at the bar and not from the server. Between all of the bars and the dinner, I think I tipped more than I actually consumed. Good thing Birthday Girl is a wonderful friend and deserving of a big birthday shindig.)

So yeah, after dinner, we (about 10 girls) headed to a bar, thinking we'd be the first ones there. Yeah, like half of our friends were already there. So, we ended up with between 25 and 35 people, which was exactly what Birthday Girl wants. She bounced around and took drinks and shots and flirted with every boy there. It's amazing how a birthday can make you feel like a beautiful goddess with huge amounts of confidence. (That and four glasses of wine, four beers, an indeterminate number of shots and a designated driver (me!).)

I also had a good time. I played paparazzi and took a million pictures. I hung out with some guys I don't get to see often because they live out of town and generally sat around looking cute.

I did notice one thing. I tend to get involved in (either willingly or not) really serious conversations about not always fun topics. I have really strong opinions about politics and current events, and so I always end up talking about these things at social occasions. I try to avoid it, because I don't want to be a buzzkill, but these conversations just find me.

My mom once told me that women with strong opinions intimidate men. I was pretty annoyed that she was encouraging me to not be so outspoken. I've always wanted to be with someone who could engage in conversation with me. And while I don't go around saying things like, "Hi, my name is S and here is what I think about the government's role in providing health care for the masses," I do tend to get introduced as "S, who's a hardcore [insert my political preference]."

I hate when women play dumb to impress men. And I hate that I'm even worried about all of this. I just noticed on Friday, after three separate men tried to bring me into conversations about Terri Schiavo and other current events, that maybe I'm coming across as too serious sometimes.

(I'm sure my two readers are thinking, "Um, you can barely use an elevator and you expect us to believe that people think you're serious?" Tis true, my friends. I don't talk about politics or current events here because that's not my focus here. But I am news junkie in the purest sense of the term.)

So, yeah, Friday ended at another loud bar. (Remember the Intoxicated Man and the Red Stripe from my last post?)

I managed to get in bed before 3:30 a.m., which was nice.

Saturday:

I worked at the store all day on Saturday. It was okay ... I was tired from work and the party, but I like the ladies who own the store and don't mind helping them out from time to time. (Plus, I get discounts on jewelry and stuff.) I stayed in Saturday night.

Sunday:

Easter with the family. Yummy food. Dyed eggs. Too much sugar. Awesome basketball games. Good times.

Annoyance of the week:

Crazy drivers. Seriously, I was cut off three times in less than five minutes. And I am NOT driving that slow. Forgive me, crazy drivers, if I do not have the presence of mind at 6:45 in the morning (before coffee) to drive 85 miles per hour on Interstate. Also, a little FYI -- you CANNOT exit the Interstate going 75 around a curve. It just isn't a good thing to do. It's how people end up with spinal cord injuries and missing limbs. So, also forgive me for wanting to decelerate on the exit ramp so that I don't die. I am so unreasonable sometimes.

My apologies to:

The little kids who came into the store with the, um, least involved parents ever. I know you are younger than two years of age, but you have a very slim chance of ever having a normal life if your parents let you roll around and lick the gross floor of a store and run in and out of the door and into a busy parking lot with lots of moving cars because they're too busy looking at cheap jewelry to pay attention to you. I wish I could have taken you home with me.



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Charming, but single is 25 26 27(!), lives in the Southern part of the U.S.A. and likes both her drinks and her boys tall. E-mail (listed below) her and she may respond. You can also IM her in AIM/AOL. (If she ever remembers to sign on.)
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Former taglines of this blog: "A Journal in Dates and Drinks" and "A Dateless Journal of Drinking."




Those Particulars
Some Backstory
Memories of the Way We Were
Updates and Towel Snapping
One Year Wrap-Up
Just As She Is
An Open Letter to Myself
After 26 years, she HAS learned something
An Open Letter to the Men Who Message Me Through Match
Sharing a smoke



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