I feel like the theme of my life lately has been "famous last words." Not as in actual famous last words that dying people whisper to weeping family members or heroically on the battlefield. No, I'm talking about the much less noble instances where you say "I'm only staying for one drink" but it ends up turning into 12 drinks, a trip to a different county and watching the sunrise from a rock star's patio (legit true story). Or how I convinced Amanda to let me give her a bikini wax last night by bribing her with promises of tequila, a new episode of Real Housewives of New Jersey and a painless experience. (Sucka!)
My month held many "what's the worst that could happen?"s, mostly in conjuction with this guy I started dating, the same guy of "I'm only staying for one drink" fame. I knew the whole thing was probably a bad idea from the get-go, but I had never actually dated someone I knew I shouldn't, and figured "What's the worst that could happen?" Well, internet, let me tell you- there were 3 fun filled weeks that ended abruptly in flames consisting of his angry grandmother, 2 screaming children, an argument in the driveway that could rival the whitest of white trash scenarios on COPS, appearances from several of his unstable exes and a secret life revealed. For the first time in a looooong time, I was speechless. LIKE WHOAH SPEECHLESS. And then I realized one of the biggest reasons why it was a bad idea in the first place- the dude works 100 feet away from me. That's right, I think I may have created my own personal brand of hell. I get to see an ex everyday for the rest of my days. Ah, well. Summer Fling 2010- so glad I got *that* out of the way, and without any prison tattoos or unwanted pregnancies. Score. I think.
My dad called today at work to see how I was and I told him the whole story- how this guy seemed great, even though something didn't seem quite right, how I decided to go for it anyway, how everything seemed all moonbeams and butterflies, and how quickly everything seemed the opposite of great, how I am actually now pretty ok with the whole thing, and how work isn't as bad as I thought it would be. My dad totally understood and was even encouraging- saying that everyone needs to do stupid things to get them out of their system and that I've always done things "right" so he's not worried about me, and then he said something that I think was sweet, wise and should probably be worked into the lyrics of the next Lady Gaga ditty. He said "Christine, I want you to know- you're not a trophy wife, you're not a plaything, and you don't need to wait in line for ANY guy- you're a maneater." And then we high-fived over the phone across two states and I got a little misty because EVERY girl should have someone say this to them and know that it's true.
AAAAAND OH. Em. Gee. As I type this, the cute Justin Beiber-esque window washer that I have been making eyes at all day came in to my office and asked me out.
STILL GOT IT.
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