deja vu

This past Tuesday was my first night staying out in Rockville with Jamie. Let me tell you, after being a bag lady ("bag laaady, you gon hurt yo back") for the last two months there is nothing like sleeping in your own king-size bed. I have slept like a baby this entire week. So, its Tuesday night and Jamie and I are all alone in a gi-normous house in Rockville. What to do?

Well, we started by making rum and cokes. With Bacardi 151. Can you see where this story is going? Then we headed down to D.I.K. Bar for some of that hot karaoke with Gladys. Our girls met us out, there were shots, there were mixed drinks. To say that we were drunk is an understatement. I believe a few fellow bloggers witnessed the chaos that is Jamie in Dupont on a Tuesday night a few weeks ago.

So, I'm standing at the bar in D.I.K. when I turn around and spy none other than Food Court. Awesome. Love it. What did I do? Well, after all the booze I'd consumed I thought it a brilliant idea to go say hello. The gods were with me that night because not only did I manage to pull of tipsy (as opposed to the shit-faced I actually was), I also pulled off an attitude of being nonchalant and happiness that I can never pull off in the face of a former "luvah". We chatted for a few moments, agreed that we would meet up soon for me to get my fucking Christina concert DVD back (yeah, I'll need that, especially with a new album dropping next month) and then I was off again.

It was so satisfying to act like that month of waiting by the phone for his calls meant nothing to me. Of course, after all this, I had a drunk mental breakdown and ran outside to call my best girl in the world. After getting boy-drama calls from her for a year while she was in Greece, turn-about is fair play. She pulled me together and I was right back inside for another drink. Because clearly that was what I needed.

Quick aside, obvi this week was a week of ex-luvahs. At the Nation closing party on Saturday night I ran into Peanut Butter from January 05. I'm pretty sure he was fucked up on something, but he did confess to missing me and wanting to get together again. Meh, we'll see. It is nice to hear things like that, especially when you are fucked up as well.

After leaving D.I.K. Bar, Jamie and I were off to Cobalt for some 80s. I remember being there for a bit and talking to my friend who works there. I believe I danced for a song or two. Suddenly, the bar is closing and I'm being pushed out the door. I found Jamie standing outstide and we got in the car. Not more than one block from Cobalt and Jamie is already throwing up out of the car. We switched places and i was left with the task of getting us home to Rockville.

Yes, it was probably one of the dumbest things I' ve done in a while. Everything was going fine, until we got to 270 and I couldn't remember Jamie's exit. I had to call and wake our girl Diane up for that info. I thought I'd be fine the rest of the way. Only I didn't count on every fucking housing development looking the same once we were off the highway. After about twenty wrong turns I finally got us home at 3:30 AM.

The next morning, when I finally got up at 10 AM, I found Jamie passed out in the basement den on a massage table. He was wearing a shirt and nothing else. Words really can't paint an adequate picture of that morning site. I think I finally made it to work around 11:30. God, am I a stellar employee or what? Thankfully, the rest of my stay out here in Rockville hasn't been nearly as exciting.

I do think that my days as a bag-lady are drawing to a close. There is a 99.9% chance that I am FINALLY moving into a place of my own next weekend, the 29th. Thank God! No more waking up at 5:30 to be at work at 7:30. No more hour and a half commute. I'm really excited to be living on my own again.