Hey guys. I have no idea what to say to follow-up that last post.
The rest of my weekend was great. I’ll just tell you about that.
Saturday, after I left the Dr., thrilled to bits that I didn’t have fucking breast cancer, Leah was good enough to meet up with me, bearing orange juice and Wheat Thins, in case I was woozy. But, I felt okay. Or, the orange juice made me feel okay. Either way, I was solid. We leaned against a bank window for what felt like an hour and stared at passing traffic and didn’t say anything for a long time. Then, we talked a little. Then, we walked, found a couple of doughnuts and strong coffees, talked a while about foreign currency we’d each forgotten to exchange, international adventures and life lessons that suck ass to have to learn.
I drove her to her hair salon, thanked her for meeting me (oh man, was I happy to see a familiar face right then) and headed home, tidied my apartment a little, then set out for a great adventure that eventually led me to Pitchfork, which was wicked awesome, low-key and I had such fun just hanging out, watching hipsters follow each other around and shout things like one more metaphor, randomly.
Every single thing about Sunday was wonderful. Bliss, even! I slept really fucking late, I lounged, I thought about the day before, did this and that, ordered Thai, then went to meet Irish Ho and her mama at a softball game with a perfect view of the skyline. Loved her moms. Oh my, she was a riot. Perfect fun to end a perfect day.
As for today, work was the name of the game. Work, work, work. Ah, and I did find out that my way foxy BFF, Schwartzy, and I landed on a short list of potential VP running mates (though alas neither of us made the cut)… uh, but, don’t overlook that yours truly is also the sidebar model of the week with tinfoil in my hair (super hot, I know) which you’d think would have counted for something and I found a really horribly hilarious fansite for Richie Sambora. And I bought a new sports bra. And talked to Mermaidhead. Not a bad day.
Anyway, I guess that’s it. I guess we’re caught up. A super thunderstorm is blowing in. I sleep like a mofo when it’s thundery, so I’m going to hit the hay. Goodnight, my dears.