Moanday II

The anticipation of going into this weekend certainly outweighed the reality of what was to come.

The Man finally called at 4pm on Saturday. I didn’t have my phone and thus, didn’t answer. He left a message. “Hey I didn’t realize that we had a date last night. My flight came in late, and I had another meeting this morning. I am just going to lay low and pack today. I pulled my back moving something in the garage, so I am just going to take it easy. I’ll call you later.”

I returned his call, “I am glad to know that you got in safely. I completely understand that you want to lay low, however I’d still like the chance to see you before you leave. Give me a call.”

He never called back. He is currently on a 14 hour time difference and shant return to the states for a week and a half.

I shouldn’t care. I should walk away never to look back. Peace out, The Man.

My heart hurts too much to do that.

There has got to be more to the story, but I shouldn’t have to deal with the shitty end of a stressed out couple of weeks.

If he cared he would call.

So I did what any normal person would do, and spent the weekend getting wasted.

Saturday we drank all day, I passed out for about three hours, awoke at 10:30pm, and went into our living room, now filled with people. We were having a party, I had no idea. I started drinking again, then headed down to Ren’s apartment (she lives below us) to go grab some ice (we had gone through all of ours, and another neighbors already.)

When I got into Ren’s apartment she and her boyfriend were chilling and drinking. I ended up not returning to my place, and vented my frustrations about The Man to them. They both rock. Her boyfriend, SB, decided to leave the two of us to do some more bonding. We sat, drank, talked, and drank some more. Ren looked at me and said, “I may throw up.” She proceeded to run to the bathroom, hurling, while I continued to channel surf yelling, “Are you okay? Get it all out honey!” She finished, brushed her teeth, and filled up her glass and began to drink again. I think I’m in love! That’s my kind of girl.

As always, I decided it would be the most appropriate thing to head into my house and dress up. Ren donned my French Maid outfit, I put on my lacey black panties, matching bra, and my thigh high fish net stockings, and heels. The party (still going on at my house) quickly moved into my bedroom, and the men couldn’t get enough. I almost broke one guy’s video camera as he decided this was more exciting than anything else to film.
I need to get that tape….

(Not remembering anything past that point) I apparently decided that nothing would be better than a 3am jaunt to the beach. Ren convinced me that I couldn’t wear what I had on to go there. I agreed and returned outside, still in my bra and panty set, but flip-flops instead of fishnet stockings and heels. Def. beach wear.

I carried my beach towel in a bag on my back, and we headed down. Apparently I gathered the sand on the ground in front of me, creating a sand-pillow, and passed out still carrying my towel on my back.

I awoke on Ren’s couch yesterday morning… sand in my hair, bugs bites all over my body and craving a bloody mary… I downed nearly an entire one (sans ice, as no one had reset our machine to produce anymore… mmmmmm) and proceeded to fall asleep for an extended nap before joining Ren and SB to go see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

So now I spiral into the recesses of girl-dom… sitting in my cube, pondering if a phone call was so difficult, is an email equally as difficult? What is this grey area that we are currently? Are we even a ‘we’ anymore? If I call TM (whose father was in town from Europe for the weekend and he still found a moment to call me) will I ruin everything that could have been with The Man?

Is any of this even worth it?

I thought last Monday sucked… the last time I saw The Man… I hate hate hate Moandays…