Slip Sliding Away

(Hey there, I hate the new beta version Blogger Shanghaied me into. I'm having a hard time leaving comments on your blogs, muchachos. I can't find the photo upload buttons or the linky buttons, and I just got damn tired of making all of the "a href" doodads. Sorry, kids. It's just a big bunch of words this time. But I do talk about my boobs--all the way at the end of you want to skip.)

Apologies, my pretties, for having a life. It felt weird to be away from you for TWO WHOLE days, but it just makes me appreciate you that much more. Have you been working out? Seriously, you look good.

I spent most of the weekend here, living the good life.

And by good life, I mean drunk and engaging in deep, meaningful conversations with Adelka, Justin P. and all of their lovely friends while eating a lot of fancy cheese. Also, there were a lot of dogs around, so that made me happy. It's refreshing to know that there are rich people in this world who are kind, welcoming and warm, who also burn some herb and can drink me under the table. That's what I aspire to be--friendly, rich and perpetually drunk.

That desire to stay cuddled in the lap of luxury among friends led to a little, what I like to call, emotional ickyness this weekend. See, I'm a very "in the moment" sort of person, meaning I enjoy where I am in the moment.

Which is a great, Oprah-approved way to live life. Ordinarily.

But, you may recall that Megan Jane had a birthday recently, for which I am eternally thankful. And her wonderful boyfriend Har Har Harwell spurred plans for us to go ice skating at the Sculpture Garden rink in downtown D.C. on Saturday night, followed by drinks and merriment and mirth--a fantastic idea that everyone has been looking forward to for weeks. Weeks, I say.

But, then this whole "hanging out with good friends in a castle" thing showed up. And also the memory of Megan Jane saying, "Meh, I don't even want to do anything for my birthday this year. Don't even worry about it."

Okay, my pretties, when someone says something like that, especially someone you love, don't believe it. Even for a minute. Even if that person really, really, really, really means it, don't believe it. It's a slip-slidery slope if you do.

But, I was born without the normal birthday-sentimentality gene (honestly, I can't think of the last time I gave someone a birthday card, and I don't eat the cake, even though it's bad luck). I also have an overabudance of selfish genes, in general, so I tend to forget that typically birthdays are important (hey now--mine included. I'm an equal-opportunity anti-Hallmarxist).

Taking Megan Jane's birthday comments at face value, which again is a BAD IDEA, I called Megan Jane from the castle and basically said:

"Megan Jane, I'm having a great time with Adelka and Justin P. I want to be two places at once. I can't. Can you tell me if you'll be hurt if I don't come tonight?"

The tests are still out to determine if I'm actually a dude. I might be, but if I am, I have the smallest penis in the world. That's not true--that belonged to a guy by the name of Ryan. In any case, this is one of the many, many, many, many times my honesty has come back to bite me in the ass.

Long story short, I hurt Megan Jane's feelings, for which I am forever sorry, and obviously was not my intent. Especially right before a birthday celebration. But, I went--of course I went because--I wanted to go. It's just that sometimes need to hear things said explicitly that ya'll take for granted as common sense, such as, "When you have two very dear friends that you equally want to spend time with and enjoy, but for time and space reasons they can't be in the same place, always choose the friend with the birthday celebration."

So, on my way to the Birthday Bruhaha on Ice, I was feeling so sick and distraught at hurting Megan Jane's feelings that, during a sharp turn, I distractedly slip-slided off the side of the road and managed to get myself stuck in a ditch. I promptly had a melt down, cried for 20 minutes then called AAA to come get me. They did, and thanks to John from Master Towing and Transport, I arrived to meet the gang only two hours late! Way to go, 123Valerie.

Walking up to meet all of our friends, I felt unbelievably awkward and shaky and regretful and kind of puffy and snotty from the crying jag. Hey Candy Sandwich (who gave me a box of chewing gum that read: Oh, God, I am so totally wasted. Did we make out? I ask that at least once a day). Hey Brokekid and new girl-toy, Erica. Hello Miles and Ferny. Hi Sean P.K. and the lovely Miss Taylor. Hola, Kimberlicious.

Awkward. Awkward. Awk to the ward. Then, Megan Jane and I started talking about her period, and suddenly all seemed right again. And we skated our hearts out, kids. No, really. Scotty took a dive and probably broke his heart, or at least a few ribs.

We had such a great time slip slding around on the ice, holding hands and making fun of people. (Grateful Dead on Ice--hello, you do NOT wear tie-dye T-shirts and long hair to ice skate, okay?)

Then we went to Solly's and proceeded to drink. Most of the time at Solly's was devoted to showing people the mystery scratches on my breast and wondering how they got there (JennyJenny8675309 has a declawed cat, I have no fingernails due to the guitar, and goddamnit I haven't had any sex).

All in all, I give the the weekend a solid 9.8, with a few points deducted for emotional ickiness, a severe lack of triple sow kows and the fact that Adelka and Justin P. are now on their way back to Connect-I-Cut.

In the Comments Section, tell me how glad you are the usual 123Valerie grandiose, text-heavy, ziggy-zaggy, what-in-the-hell-is-she-talking-about kind of posts are back. Or, you know, also what you did this weekend. The winner gets to examine the scratches on my breasts.