Sleep. Sex. Spa. Repeat.

It's the Tuesday after a looooooong weekend. Everyone is fumbling, stumbling around the office and half-heartedly inquiring about how your weekend was. Keep in mind that they don't really care. Keep in mind they're really wondering if that'll leave a mark, or if one can get deported for doing that thing with that one prostitute, keep in mind that they're secretly wishing it was Friday again. Well . . .

It will.

You can.

It's not . . .yet. (T-minus 4 days, kids.)

So I'm going to share my vonderful weekend with you, MySpace, because I can and obviously blogs are, like, my thing. Here goes, hold your breath and dive in:

Those of you that are close to me know that I've been hemming and hawing (do people still do that? hem and haw?) over a certain someone. You've all been very patient with me. You all are wonderful. You all have let me know that

a) he's not good enough for me anyway. . .
Marina says it best "He has no car and lives with his parents" and then there's my godmother who unflinchingly proclaims, "He must be gay. And his name, _______, is certainly not as cool as yours. He's gay, princess."
b) if he treats me like this NOW imagine how it'd be if we were (gasp) together? Not good. . .
c) he's taught me a lesson. You can't meet someone off of the internet because they (we as a collective) are passive-aggressive by nature. As a Scorpio female I need someone who'll grab my by the hair and tell me what to do.
d) he's not good enough for me and he's gay. Did I say that already?*

In the words of the great Dalai Lama, you can't get over a man until you get under another one. Or is that Dolly Parton from 'The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas?' Ah fuck it, who can tell? So I go to Barney's on 3rd St. Friday night. I see a familiar face - an oh-so-good looking blast from my sexual past who's celebrating receiving his brokering license that very day. Yes! Bottled ambition! Yes! Upwardly mobile! Yes! I'm remembering that his equipment is HUGE!

Well, long story short (that's a lie it was long story, longer . . .and thicker . . .and painful. The good hurt.) I'm feeling a hole lot better about the aforementioned situation. Coupled with a slightly out of character Irish Goodbye**, I'm feeling a little more at peace. Nothing like a brain shattering orgasm from a newly minted broker to put things in perspective for you. Ladies, I recommend you find a (insert white collar profession who's only true release is banging the creative type here) and do the same. Obviously my weekend is off to a fantastic start.

Saturday morning I have an appointment at the Burke Williams Spa. I'm scheduled for a full body massage and a mud bath. I'm padding around the lavender-scented space in a bulky white bathrobe, sipping lime flavored ice water, reading Vanity Fair and feeling very worldly and accomplished. On my massage . . .I have NEVER known a stranger's hands to be so on point. The massage felt so good, in fact, that I found myself holding back purrs and moans from the very depths of my soul. I found myself wishing, praying, for him to suggest a happy ending so I could thank him properly. I was near tears, I was near orgasm, I was near Nirvana. I thought I was in love. Naturally, I tipped him $20 and put my clothes back on. . . just like the nuns at Moreau Catholic taught me.

Of course, I slept for the rest of the day a mischievous smile playing on my lips.

Sunday I missed church, but I did make it to Baja Cantina in time to thwart a fight between a friend of mine and Arissa from the Real World Las Vegas. I wasn't able to stop her (said friend) sister from puking on the sidewalk but, I did get tons of compliments on my t-shirt and hair so it all works out.

On Monday I found out, through trial and error, that small dogs are just like children. You have to feed them and make sure they don't run in the street. Also, it's generally frowned upon if you kick them. I did go to a great BBQ though. Then I promptly returned home at 8pm and fell asleep.

Sex. Spa. Sleep. Repeat.

p.s. I REALLY want Dave Chappelle to be okay.
* I've learned that when getting kicked in the ass by actual emotion, it's those you don't see coming that hit you the worst. While I've yet to reach the "fuck you, nigga" mentality about _________ - I working to comprehend that, while his words and actions were wonderful at the time he's "just not that into me." This is difficult because, well, it just is. No amount of brokers, real estate agents, accountants, or lawyers in training can change this. But they DO help. =)

**The Irish Goodbye - Stealthily removing oneself from an intimate situation without the proper goodbye, or any goodbye at all really. Also known as the 'Pump and Dump' or the 'Hump and Dump.' Morally reprehensible and karmically damaging, but sometimes required.