I went out into the world this weekend. More than once. And had fun?
It happens so rarely. I'm trying to process.
First there was sushi Friday out with my college roomie, and last night was the birthday party for a close friend's new boyfriend, lover, life partner, live-in concubine, manfriend etc. (What? I don't know the inner workings of their relationship, I'd hate to leave it too open to interpretation...) He turned 25 a few days ago, and the two of them just got their first real world adult jobs and an adorable apartment in South Pasadena together, so the theme was...being classy, essentially?
Which meant lots of cute boys in suits, and a chance to wear heels.
I drove to The Married Couple's place in Woodland Hills and the man of the house DD'd for us classy ladies, which was very much appreciated. I drank copious amounts of sangria, chatted with a hot guy in a tie, and reunited with my core group of peoples. Definitely glad I dragged my lazy, homebody ass out on the town. I crashed in the Couple's adorable guestroom, played with their pup, then drove to the office to get the last of some bullshit stupid physical labor done.
And now I'm home.
On my ass. With the cat. Social-ed out.
Fun makes me tired.