Rally for Randomness

23 Jun

I have officially given up. I am defeated and deflated and have resorted to 2 for 1 margaritas instead of a six pack of swirl pudding.

And I received a email reminder to post from Makeup Text this morning, so I know I have been officially slacking. It was the blog equivalent to curling up in a ball and laying in your bed all weekend. Every post I seemed to write was me being brutally sarcastic and poking fun at my desperateness, as a way of hiding the fact that all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and lay in my bed all weekend.

In real life, I almost did. I slept in until noon on Friday, falling in and out of sleep, hoping that my phone would deliver the message I needed, hoping that it merely got delayed in space.

Then, I snapped out of it. I refused to sit around (for fear I would cry and ruin my West Elm pillowcases), so instead I worked. And then I went to Nordstrom, and paid my weight in sorrow for a new pair of jeans and some tops. Retail Therapy at its finest. I felt better (although my credit rating turned a fanciful shade of puke green as it plummeted) so I retreated to my hometown to hang out with my family that was in town.

To say I appreciated the distraction is an understatement. They knew nothing of Bear, so I got to pretend he didn’t exist all weekend (and by pretend, I mean I had to limit my unwarranted moans and sighs to more private surroundings).

A newly-dumped friend and I went and got mani’s and pedi’s. My family and I gallivanted to the county fair, where I proceeded to stuff myself with all things deep-fried. (Apparently, I wanted a challenge when it came to stuffing my deep-fried assets into my brand new I-don’t-need-a-man-jeans.)

Sunday, I did happy hour and margaritas after playing anchor on my friend’s own retail therapy excursion. And when I least expected it, friends I don’t hear from too often, checked in to see how I was doing and offered their own reasoning and advice. Bails, who you will remember voted drug dealer, changed her hypothesis to deadbeat dad with bastard children in Montana. Kelly followed it up with a string of swear words via Facebook chat and reminded me that time with a boy would merely distract me from spending time with her when she comes to visit in August.

All in all, I am okay. And by okay, I mean I could use a pudding snack.


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