I am staying in this evening, as evidenced by the fact that I am writing this right now instead of going out. I must confess, I am not the biggest fan of fireworks. In fact, the noise from them is driving the cats and I insane at the moment. Anyway, I went out last night, and am still in recovery mode.
In case you were wondering what my midyear resolution that I made yesterday was... WELL- It was to move more slowly in order to avoid faceplanting so often, and also to stop dating boys I know full well are terrible just because I think it will make a good story. This may result in my being significantly less interesting, but I feel it is for the best. However, I've already failed. Why? Because last night, after we went to the Burlington, I thought it would be a swell idea to stop by Flatiron. Because going to a four am is always a good idea, right?
Long story short, my friend did not see, but I did in fact have a minor crash. I toppled off my heels and right into some hideous couple that decided that right in front of the ladies room was an ideal spot for the making out. Boy, were they wrong. The funny thing is this: they probably thought I should have been embarassed by the fact that I fell, but shit, I'm so used to it at this point that it just doesn't even phase me anymore; I felt that they should be embarassed for making out in a bar, you know, because it's a rather tacky thing to do, but they probably were not embarassed by this as they were drunk, and probably tacky to begin with. How O. Henry of us all.
I realized this morning that if I had been clever enough to use this tactic on the couple who had confused my locker with a Lover's Lane back in high school, that I might not have been late for class so often. It certainly would have been more effective than muttering snarky things under my breath. By the way, the guy in this pair bore an uncanny resemblence to Beavis. Not that this has anything to do with anything, I just thought you might like to know.
The fireworks are still happening. Oy. Even when I was a kid I was never fond of them. Fireworks belong in the same category as acid trips and laser light shows. They all lack a plot line. I don't have the patience to sit and look at something for an hour if it doesn't have a plotline. Especially if it's making loud, headache inducing noises at me.
It's hot, and I considered getting ice cream, but the last time I went to Dominick's on a Saturday night to get ice cream, the Muzak actually started playing Celine Dion's "All By Myself" and, well, that's just embarassing. We can't have that sort of thing happening again. That's cold, Dominick's. You don't know me. Stop judging. Just because a lady prefers to stay home and have some ice cream on one Saturday night, it does not make her Cathy... Honestly!