The other night, I was taken to a typical hipster bar, where I played $20 worth of music on a jukebox. Boys were treating me like a shiny new toy (and I was like a kid in a candy store). I was bought many, many, many, many drinks. So many drinks were bought, in fact, that I lost count somewhere during those hours and didn't realize how hammered I was until I laid my head down on a pillow. I wake up, I have a crap load of phone numbers in my phone with no names, or names completely misspelled because my hammered spelling isn't so great and a boat-load of new friend requests on Facebook. I wake up with the worst hang over in the entire universe.
I wake up to dumb drunk texts to a large number of boys I've dated. Booze is a terrible truth serum. As a hard-ass, I don't trust talking about my feelings and I'm terrified of showing vulnerability. So when I wake up to read text messages pouring out my most intimate feelings...?... yeah.
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| Boozy dancing on Friday |
However, the other day, I did get the chance to get up close and personal with my first horse. It took me about a half hour - forty minutes to warm up to this monster beast. With little itty bitty baby steps, I approached this monster closer and closer until I was right next to it. Listen, I would have rather of been riding a glass elevator to the 100th floor at that point. A friend took my hand and gave me a horse brush -- the only thing I could think was, oh hell naw. Getting into brushing the horse, I thought, hey this ain't so bad... until the damn horse made that horse-y noise and put it's monster long face into mine -- I am surprised my pants were dry.
And I've never been camping. I'm a city girl -- I clutch my purse tight, I carry weapons, silence is a strange occurrence, I wear high heels because I can hail a cab at any time and the bugs I'm used to are roaches and centipedes. Being in the deep woods does not sound like a good time to me. I mean, the only time I'd think being in the deep woods would be fun if I were staying in a cabin (with electrical outlets and a toilet) with a significant other during a romantic getaway. So, when I'm in the deep woods wearing TOMS shoes, with mud up to my ankles, spiders crawling on me, hearing snakes slither in the grass and being bit by a million bugs... it's not a good time. I'm not a fan at all. At one point, I saw people coming from the woods with flashlights and my automatic reaction was to RUN, BITCH, RUN because I thought it was the police breaking up the party.
The next night, I would check myself into a hotel room, and trade mud in for a jacuzzi.
Anyway, a lot happened the last few days and I'll update here and there about it. The whole experience road-tripping is pretty hilarious.
This was from my boozy weekend, but I'm only posting now:
I always said I believed in you. And with every kiss I resented you because your feelings never seemed to get in the way. I dig down deep for forgiveness, but still you're always busy placing the blame. This isn't about right or wrong now, not about wasted time. No, my love, we can't be friends. In fact I liked you much better when you'd just pretend. You'd tell me the things you've never told a soul, the things that keep you up at night. I always said I believed in you. And I know that you never cared at all. I just liked you better when you'd pretend.
