Friday: In

It's 8:07 on a Friday night. Most boys are home from the office, eating steamed chicken and broccoli and doing their Friday Night Enema, ready for whatever might come their way.

Manscaping. There's probably a lot of manscaping. Fresh balls attract fresh meat. Isn't that the saying?

It's A saying. That's for sure.

Me? What am I doing tonight? I am sitting up in the bedroom of the house I'm staying in (my friends are gone for the weekend) and I'm trying to decide what to do. Maybe I should go and get an enema from Ralphs. But right now I'm in my Andrew Christian underwear that my friend Marc got me years ago. They were packed away in my trunk. I found them when I had to clear my trunk to put my portable plastic bins in. This is what happens when you don't have a permanent residence. You have things in compartments in your trunk. Well organized. Ready to pack and unpack at a moment's notice.

So I'm in my undies, which - Thank You Marc - make my ass look amazing. I will be keeping these on tonight. Well...I'll be keeping them on so that I can maybe take them off later. Ha. Ha.

I just had three separate frozen meals for dinner. Just being lazy. It's hard when I don't have a kitchen. I really want to cook something, but my friends' have a full refrigerator and I don't want to infringe on them. They're being really great for letting me stay here. It's not my house. I don't have my own olive oil. Trust me, to a cook, these things matter. Not my own pans...it's difficult.

I can hear the sounds off the street. It sounds like Friday night is roaring. People are getting ready to start their evenings.

It's now 8:16. Still no decisions have been made.

I had a Stouffer's Spaghetti w/ Meat Sauce. The noodles were one big lump. Overcooked. The Schechuan noodles weren't any better. Although, at least those were cooked well. And I had some left over roast chicken from the other night that I bought already cooked at Ralphs. It's like that scene in the SEX AND THE CITY movie.

New Years Eve. A Cup o'Noodles.

I feel like that right now. Especially as I type on my laptop and recount all of this. The difference is that I don't feel like I'm answering any of life's or singlehood's big questions. I'm just exhausted from a long week of wrapping up one job and waiting to start another. It's frustrating to be completely in transition. But I haven't really looked for a place yet. So that's my own fault. Although I did say a few posts ago that I really was enjoying the transition. I probably was.

8:19. How fast am I typing? Better question: How fast are the thoughts coming out?

8:20. Not that fast.

Something that is making this evening a bit better is listening to Robyn on iTunes. I can't believe how good she is. It's dance pop electronic music with real feeling. Anyone remember Robyn from her first incarnation? "Show Me Love?" "Do You Know (What It Takes)?" Classics both.

And then we have new Robyn. "Dancing on My Own." I'm in the corner watching you kiss her. Oh oh oh./I'm right over here. Why can't you see me? Oh oh oh. I'm giving it my all. but I'm not the girl you're taking home./I keep dancing on my own.


Unrequited pop goodness! That's how I knew I'd feel if I didn't go up to my ex last Friday at Fubar. I'd create this whole drama in my head. Billy Francesca would put this song on, I would get up on the dance floor. Turn my head in his direction. Then look away. Then turn. Then away. Then stare straight at him, with my arms in the air. Lost in the ecstasy of the moment. Giving him what for. Look how good I am now!

I'm still dancing on my own.

But I didn't do that, if you recall. I just confronted and went about my business. That might be why I'm staying in tonight. Or thinking about it. I don't want to run into him. There's another club that I might go to where I know I won't run into him. It's totally not his scene. But I love Dance Bitch at Fubar on Friday nights. And tonight it's Gaga vs. Christina. And as much as I like to think I'm grown past all of that. I just love to dance.

I'll even go out by myself. I don't care. As long as I have the music, it doesn't really matter all that much.

I keep dancing on my own.

What am I going to do? Stay tuned. Either it'll be more posts. Or more posts tomorrow. 8:29.