Isn’t it always the case? Just when you think you’re going to get to perfect your pity-party routine, and perhaps actually catch up on your sleep, you become a social butterfly.
I arrived home last night from volunteering, called a co-worker, and met her and a friend for Thai food. They were calling it a night, but there was a message when I got home from a dear friend explaining that he was inviting the “gang” over. I was out the door again.
And, by the way, I looked great in my new boots and motorcycle jacket. Everyone commented on the jacket, from the co-worker surprised to see “another side of me”, the host running to his closet to produce his similar version, to the friend whose eyes lit up and exclaimed, “you still have that jacket? You were wearing that the first time I met you!”
(In fact he said I looked exactly the same as I did when he met me, except then I had bangs. We all lamented over how horrible they were. Someone said they had wondered if I was going for the Cousin It look.)
We had eggnog and cookies. We made plans for the Return of The King premiere. We discussed cats and careers and then watched Pirates of the Caribbean. I got home after my bedtime.
Now I’m up way too early for another fun day volunteering. I’m urging the coffee through my veins, debating packing a lunch, and looking forward the dinner plans of homemade tortilla soup tonight.
One reason I’m looking forward to it is that someone mentioned last night another friend’s very stressed right now and it was pointed out to him that he has two wonderful masseuses available to him – one of those being moi.
I hope he’s at dinner tonight so I get to show off a little. Because I am good. But also, what would make this weekend perfect would be to satisfy that itch for human contact. I’m getting antsy to pull my feet up under someone and get them warmed, have fingers linger in my hair after a “hello” hug, or make a crude joke and have someone pull me into a headlock then keep their arm around me.
So I’d like to get my fix in a perfectly respectable way, helping out a friend, before I start standing too close to strangers in the check out line.