I wanted to get a tattoo so bad this weekend. It came from yesterday and was overwhelming by today. It just felt like one of those weekends where a tattoo would be a good thing and interesting thing. But I didn't get one. My wallet had other plans. Even though my money has diminished tremendously, my weekend outings have not completely disappeared. I was able to sum up a pretty awesome Saturday. So awesome that I was so weak from the outings today to even move. What makes an awesome Saturday for Anita.
One, I had this dance party to attend that I for some strange reason did not feel like going to. I haven't really felt like going anywhere lately. Old age is catching up with me, sort of on the eve of turning 35, probably. But I have just been so knackered. Not in the mood to get all dolled up and make fake conversations with some equally conceited, uninteresting, but opinionated people. So I cleaned the house. I have been doing a lot of that lately. I clean my house obsessively because I spend so much time in it. After cleaning the house, I couldn't get rid of that antiseptic smell, so many candles in the world and an open window still could not get rid of that smell. So to dance party it was. For once, my outfit fell into place. My face fell into place and the shoes seemed right. And I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, not half bad at all. Besides, dance party comes with $5 martinis and broke or not, I could use a few of those.
First I went to dinner and though the food was good and the restaurant blase - rude staff and filled with Mother's day celebrants - just at the end I bumped into this couple who turned things around: A gay guy and his lady friend who was househunting in Atlanta, actually in my neighborhood. She was moving from DC. Isn't it surprising how the nicer people always happen to come from a different state, sometimes up north where it's so "diverse?" You can sit by yourself in a restaurant in Atlanta and I bet you no one will speak to you, not even the waitress who should if they want a good tip, but the people who just happen to speak to you almost always happen to be from up north visiting Atlanta on business and are just the funnest, most carefree people you'll ever meet. They don't want your number, they just want to talk about nothing in particular, the weather, life, bars, food, good food and where you can find it - which is what I ended up discussing with this couple. It was a nice time. So filled with that high, I thought, why not a dance party then?
So I did. Dance party was not bad at all. Conversations and characters abound. Sometimes I wonder how awesome my life would be and the readers of it if I had a Twitter account, that way I can constantly tell people what I just talked about or what someone just said to me. You meet people and your accent throws them off, you can almost read it in their faces. Okay, I just spoke, there are people on this earth who don't speak American. Deal. With. It. So I sat there for about an hour, kept company by my 2nd martini, watching a group of black men stare at me but not want to speak to me (they obviously left their balls at home), and I just enjoyed the 80's and 90's music - the DJ was awesome. Started this conversation with this lady over tattoos and that was it. My night started looking up. Many more conversations later and I felt it was time to call it a night, it was closer to 1am by this time so it was a good enough time to end it, believe me.
So awesome Saturday. Didn't get one guy to buy me any drink. But Lord Jesus sponsored my evening. I don't need no broke ass conceited Atlanta man. He got it covered.
Same time next week, I hope.
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