*N.B. This post is kinda out-dated. I wrote pages more and it all got deleted and I just don't know if I have it in me to recreate all that brilliance...But here's what's left...
Now that the ashes are beginning to settle, I'm beginning to peel the layers of disgust and hate off of me, I've garnered an apology from M and lots of emails of patheticism from Bad Stephen (further reinforcing my decision to turf him back to the reject pile in hell) and I'm starting to feel better. A lot better. So, none of my other prospects are panning out, so there is absolutely no one on the horizon (which always makes me, a whirlwind dater (this is actually a personality type/dysfunction in the book All the Good Ones Aren't Taken - a stellar read)), so what. As I am beginning to discover, I just have to go out there and be who I want to be, do what I want to do, regardless of who is watching, who approves or disapproves, and who is getting to share my fabulous life.
This weekend was a stellar example: Friday night I went tango dancing. Daniel, the insane Argentinian remnant from last summer was supposed to come with me. Oh, but guess what? He cancelled at the last minute. As expected. Who gives a shit? I went on my own and had a fabulous time. I danced more than ever, hardly having a moment to catch my breath or rest my lancinating feet. And everyone thought I danced like a dream, that I was beyond beautiful, and I lapped it up. Who cares if none of these men are remotely interesting, twice my age, and look a bit like trolls? If they can dance, not I. Of course the ones who can't, get none of my time or patience...
Saturday it was time to celebrate Reyes with my spanish friends, the epiphany (ironically), their version of xmas. It involved lots of chocolate and strange spanish floury pastries, and meeting new friends, really phenomenal, real people I could see myself hanging out with. All women, of course. Well, there were two guys, both coupled, one had even met on the internet (they confessed this after my rant about how the internet was the refuge of the emotionally impotent). We headed off to Central Park for the most bizarre, glorious, terrifying summer day in January. It was 22 degrees. Seriously.
We ended up skating on Wollman rink in shirtsleeves!! Skating was so liberating, gliding over the ice, almost like flying in a way, though I'm no skater! And that fear of falling was always there, my tottering ankles and shin splints barely holding me up.
Then it was on to dinner with B at a little sushi joint. I hadn't seen her in ages, which really saddened me, since we had become really close over the last year or so. I was also saddened to learn that she had finally ended things with her long-term serious beau. I really thought those two were going to be the first to make it to the red velvet cake, the real deal, forever and ever and all that. But he proved to be yet another man missing a chip - my new favourite phrase.
Afterwards we headed to a local bar to play boardgames and ostensibly hit on boys. The former happened, the latter...not so much. There was nothing worth having there anyway.
Sunday it was back out with my spanish friends, brunch at my favourite place, Fred's, and then I treated myself to something I love. An indulgence that was more than I could afford, but something that is so soul-satisfying, so intense and wonderful and awe-inspiring...I went to the Butterfly Conservatory at the Museum of Natural History!
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