Ow.

Jogging with the parents - never a good idea, primarily because, on a good day, I may be able to last 25 minutes on the treadmill. Meanwhile, my parents regularly do 35 minutes, three days a week. And waking up after a night out drinking with friends until 2? Well, let's just say that's certainly not going to result in a 'good' day when it comes to physical exertion. And yes, my family bonds in weird, and nauseating, ways.

This is what I love about being home in Chas - it's a small enough town, and there's little enough to do, that when people visit over the holidays, it really doesn't matter whether you were actually friends in high school or not. If you're within a vague 20-ish-something age range, you're going to be invited to whatever party is happening. And as a result, you end up hanging out with all sorts of interesting, random people. For instance, tonight, this boy walks through the door, and I think, why do I know that kid? So I follow him into the kitchen, and he says, Megan! and I, never being all that shy or lacking in bluntness, say, why do I know you? Turns out it's Rich(ie), one of my brother's best friends from sometime around junior high school.

-totally different topic-

During an afternoon showing of The Family Stone, I found myself initially rooting for a character to get on a bus and leave the dude who was asking her to stay...but then I realized I had this other voice wondering, but why not do what feels good? To hell with whether or not it's a 'good' idea, just make yourself happy in the moment. At which point I started wondering...well, something more complicated than a mere second half of a sentence will really cover. So here's the thing - for a long time, I was a hopeless romantic. Sappy, mushy movies, books, tv shows, and songs with completely ridiculous plotlines - I was your girl. There was no limit to my suspension of disbelief. Somewhere along the line, presumably as a whole growing up thing, I became both more reasonable and more cynical, and started rooting for the unhappy ending...supposedly not just because this would be more realistic but also more interesting and original. And then today I had this little pendulum swing back moment, which sort of ties in with things I'm covering in therapy, and now I'm wondering - am I about to enter another hedonistic phase*?

*our first summer at Belmar Estates we referred to as Our Summer of Hedonism...there's really no need for further explanation.

Duh.

No wonder my subconscious has been percolating Dan back up to the top lately. Mom and I finally did the math today (while making cookies - we're like the Cleavers) and figured out that the last time we spent Christmas at home was the year I brought Dan home with me for the holidays.

I've been wearing Dan's ring lately. For the past couple of days, I've had outfits and occasions that called for gold jewelry, and I have this ring he gave me, and a gold chain, so voila - I traded in my usual silver tree of life* for a gold necklace. It's weird. Wearing it as just another piece of jewelry...when...well, when in all probability it would have been his wedding ring.

*I'm not sure I've ever told the story, or how many people notice that I always wear this necklace (on the rare occasions when different jewelry is called for, I still always have it on me, in a pocket or my purse). Jennings and I may have known each other forever, but there was a distinct time, at least in my mind, when we became particularly important to each other. We were in college, had been growing closer...and were both going through a rough time. A friend of his had 'woken up dead' (as he put it at the time) and I had recently broken up with Dan...and we were there for each other. Several months later he gave me the necklace, both as a birthday present and as a way of saying thank you. I consider it one more thing - a reminder to be there for people, and to let them be there for me. I'm not very good at the latter, but the tangible daily reminder helps a bit.

Things I forgot to mention this morning...

What made last night so fun is that it was like those nights out at Thursday's with Frank DJ-ing - just a really fun, completely unpretentious time. Everyone dancing and everyone looking normal and dorky and no beautiful people preening for the masses and being there to 'be seen.' (they should advertise Saturday nights the Clermont Lounge as "Dance music for old people.")

Sure, the ladies and I got moderately dolled-up, but it was part of our ladies night fun, a whole stereotypical evening of make-up and frou-frou drinks (ok, the alcohol content in the last round of apple martinis and rum and cokes was clearly not frou-frou, but you get the point) and cheesy 80s music*.

So that's what we were doing upstairs in my room, while, also in a freakishly stereotypical way, the boys got drunk in our living room and kept a tally of how many times each other farted.

*April - honey - we thought of you and played your excellent Jelly Rolls mix! Twice!

Ladies Night

So tonight I poured myself into a pair of jeans in which, literally, it was difficult to sit. And the girls did my make up and I remembered just how much fun it is to dance and dance and dance and that boys will always give you a dollar to tip the stripper because they think it's hot to see a girl tip a female stripper and I did that old school dance move where you hang on to your partner's hand and lean back and touch the floor behind you with the other hand, despite my knees feeling like they may be 40 years old and I may have trouble walking tomorrow...er....later today. And I kissed that boy goodbye despite the fact that he looked about twelve years old because he and his friend were hands down the best dancers in the place. And we waited in line (in line!) at nearly 4 am for a table at the Majestic and then waited even longer for diner food, but it was good and tonight was perfect and how could I possibly have gone this long without a night like this?