The boyfriend is out of town for work all week, which means I’m getting drunk every night. This is not to say I’m partying till I puke (not with no one around to hold my hair) every night, but I’m certainly not sitting home in a bathrobe while mudmasking either.
On Monday night, I went out to a wine bar with my sister, we drank a bottle and a half of red wine. I discovered a love for deep fried shrimp heads, it could be the brains. I might be part zombie. Also, love Bordeaux and waiters that recommend them. As we were heading toward her condo, we had to run across six lanes to get to the other side of the street, I saw a cab coming so I moved a little quicker across the way. My sister decided to slow waaaaay, way down, to the point where the cab stopped and honked at her, even though there were SIX lanes and it could go around her. The cabbie started shouting “Fuck you!” So I started shouting, “Fuck you!” My sister was shouting, “Fuck you!” And it was a big fuck-you circle to end the night.
Tuesday, I went to happy hour with my sister at French restaurant, we split two bottles of wine then met up with her friend at another French restaurant for more wine. My sister is a fun drunk up to a point, and then she splits into one of her many drunk personalities. This night was Ms. Paranoid. She decided her friend invited us out to pimp us to her work associate and his two friends, like we’re their drink escorts. So before we could say a proper good-bye, my sister wanted to leave in a huffy, and I followed behind without dropping any lame excuses. Some days, it’s just not worth trying.
Yesterday, I wanted a night in with a nice bottle(s) of wine that I didn’t have to share. Then I thought, because I am a refined whine-o, if I’m drinking bottles of wine alone, I shall pair it with some fine cheese.
I got to the grocery store, walked near the cold beer aisle and panicked. It’s the panic of: what if I get home and I needed a cold beer right away (it was only 3pm at the time, I was refined enough to wait till 4 to open the wine) and I have none because the case of beer I have in the car isn’t all that cold yet. So this is what I got to go with my wine:
When the boyfriend gets back, I could be all like, “You totally missed out on holding all this hair,” while laying amidst a pile of empty bottles.
This is the longest we have been apart in over three years (the boyfriend, not the beer, beer and I are always together, don’t you imply that we would spend time away from each other). Having a week apart from someone gives you a glimpse of who you are as a single.
Single me loves: wine, reading and Camembert. The only time I got up to turn on the television was to watch something that the book I was reading recommended. I should just get a cat now. And a good hairclip.