*peek*

I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW. I'm the WORST.

As the Biff said, how can she stalk me when I never post?! Only ten posts in October? Pathetic.

Fail.

I just haven't felt any creativity lately. Which is silly, because half this blog isn't creative at all, it's just nonsense. And I should be able to do nonsense. I am nonsensical.

So you know...hi! What's up? How's life? Any stories?

I have stories.

Let's break it down.

Job

I LOVE MY NEW JOB! I was so, so scared before starting, afraid I was jumping in to something I wasn't ready for, afraid I wasn't smart enough, afraid I'd fail, just afraid. But apparently I'm pretty awesome at it, because they set me free to work on my own by the end of the week. Weeeeeee! Everyone is super nice, the offices are lovely, and I actually feel useful. It's amazing how fast the day flies when a) you're constantly busy and b) you're done at 4pm. It's like magic. So yeah, super stoked on the new gig. Go. Me.

Boys

Well, things are not as fabulous in my love life as they are in my work life, but we can't have it all, right? RIGHT?! (Please be to not comment if everything in your life is awesome, yes? Yes.) I had lunch with Vegas last weekend, and it was lovely, but I don't really get the vibe that he's all that interested in like...dating. He's a busy Phd student, it's fine, I still love the fact that we actually hung out after we met that one crazy night, and I'd see him again if he asked. But I'm not holding my breath. As for Nicknameless, I don't think I have to work very hard on giving him a nickname, 'cause I just have this inkling that he's over it. I have barely heard from him this week, and my last invitation to hang was brushed aside with a "oh, very busy, maybe later" text. I'm a little sad, but what can you do? If he doesn't see that I'm FUCKING AWESOME, then I don't need him in my life.

Health

Well, I've been going to yoga! I could complain that I should be going more, but something is...something, right? I really do feel so much better when I have a consistent practice going. As for my diet...not so much. I mean, I'm not totally in binge mode. So that's good. But I'm making poor choices, and going with whatever's easiest, and I'm feeling rather....grotesque. When I'm at yoga, it's hard to shut off the part of my brain that notices how different things feel now that I'm bigger again, and how I look in the mirror. But baby steps, right? RIGHT?! I'll get back to my good habits eventually, and for now I just want to concentrate on yoga, and not what I'm putting in my mouth. 

Happiness

I'm trying. I'm really trying to let everything good in my life be my focus, and trying so hard not to let the darkness in. But it's hard. I feel like there are two parts of me, the part that is living an amazing life right now and knows it, the part that is making friends and making changes (however small) and moving forward, and that part knows I should be happy. But then there's the other part of me that just...can't be, the part that berates myself for my flaws and failures, the part that doesn't want to leave my apartment, the part that needs to be medicated. Heavily. The part that thinks I'm worthless. But...I'm trying. 

And that's what matters.

Back to the Blog

I'M HERE.

I didn't die. I didn't abandon you all. I just...had not much to say. Which is weird, because life is happening, and you'd think I'd want to talk about it.

But maybe my narcissism is dwindling and I've realized...no one cares.

Regardless, you're getting a summary of my life. Starting NOW.

• I have gone back to yoga. YES. YES I HAVE. I knew the second I renewed my physical practice I'd feel a million times better, and I do. I don't know why I ever stopped, probably your basic mix of insecurity and laziness, but the important thing is that I'm back, doing something for myself and my soul, embracing the love of yoga. WEEEEEEE!
• I'm auditioning to be an intern at my yoga studio in mid-November. DOUBLE WEEEEEE!
• Third date with the new nicknameless boy...siiiigh. I like him. Lots. Only hangup: he's my height, about exactly. And I am not tall. This is not HIS problem of course, he is hot as shit and has a six pack I want to lick, attraction is definitely not the issue and I don't judge the shorties. The issue is my self-consciousness about my size, and feeling bigger than him. I have issues. I know I just need to get over it, but it's hard when I'm larger than I'd like and feeling particularly vulnerable.
• So, adoring Nicknameless, but I'm having lunch with Vegas on Sunday too. It's only our second time seeing each other since we met, but I feel like I owe it to myself to see if there's an equivalent spark. And he is TALL.
• Tomorrow is my last day at my current soul-sucking job. @#&*$^*#&%$^*!!!! I keep having second thoughts, wondering why I'm leaving such a chill, easy position where I can do whatever the fuck I want, but then someone asks me to do something absurdly stupid and I'm like, "Yes. Get me out of here." I'm so nervous to start the new gig, but I know it's the best thing for me. I think my new, strict schedule and you know...using of my brain, will really have an influence on my life. I'm looking forward to a total lifestyle overhaul.
• I am optimistic about the future. For the first time in awhile.

Organix

If you've been reading this blog for awhile, you may have noticed that I don't have many romantic entanglements that don't start out on the Internet. It's a sign of the times people.

And a sign of my total isolation?

But this past couple of weeks, I have had two suitors that have appeared rather...organically? And it's just NICE. Something about them feels more exciting, somehow. Authentic.

And in addition to that, on Sunday I randomly met a guy out in the world, who seemed to take a liking to me.

WHAT IS GOING ON, UNIVERSE?!

I had a date with Suitor #1 last Thursday, this guy. Yeah, sure he found and messaged me on OkCupid, but I know him. Sorta. Well, I've met him once before. That means he's real!

As for how it was? Well...as he walked me back to my car, he said very plainly, "You know, I have to say I'm really happy with how that went." And when I voiced my agreement, he slipped his hand into mine.

Awww.

He's suuuuper handsome. That's definitely the word for him, handsome. And funny, and smart, and has varied interests, and a lot to say, and he looks at me...in a way that I like. Like he finds me interesting.

We had another date last night, which was even more fun. He picked me up, and we went to a wine bar, and there's mucho chemistry, and we will definitely be seeing each other again.

Boy needs a nickname.

Suitor #2 was on Saturday night. Vegas. YUP.

I texted him last week. You heard right, I grew me some ladyballs and made the first move. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? And I really wanted to see him again, so I figured...why not? Worst outcome would be no reply, and I could survive that.

And he actually responded right away, lo and behold. And a few days later, after a little texting back and forth, he asked me out.

WIN.

It went very well! We definitely had fun, or at least, I did. There were grilled cheese sandwiches and cocktails at a little hipster bar, and witty banter and flirting. I teased him for not texting me, and it's clear that he's just a shy little PhD student who didn't know if it was okay to do so, and it's really quite adorable. I like his beard and his little glasses and yeah...he's really fucking cute. I think he likes me but I'm not sure and those little butterflies are deliciously torturous.

He did text me to make sure I got home okay, and he also texted me the next morning too. So...good signs? We've chatted once since then, but he hasn't asked me out again.

We'll see.

Suitor #3 may not really be a suitor...WE'LL SEEEEEE. On Sunday, I went to brunch with the yoga girls, and one of them brought along two of her male friends. One of them has been chatting me up via text and FB for the last couple of weeks, but it was the other one who I hit it off with. After brunch the girls all left and my drunk-on-mimosas self was going to go home and veg, but the boys started a very persistent campaign to get me to come hang out with them at their house in the Valley. I ultimately gave in, and the new guy drove me and my car out to their place. The other guy got...delayed...on the way to the house (I'm shortening up this story for the sake of propriety), which resulted in an afternoon spent with this new boy, who really did seem to fancy me. But when the other guy finally arrived at the house along with a group of his friends, he just...disappeared.

It was weird.

And then I was left to deal with the increasingly obnoxious advances of one of the new people, a tiny little man who was getting all up in my personal space and would not leave me alone. Awkward.

So since I wasn't having fun, I left.

My guy texted me later like, "Where'd you go?"

WHERE'D YOU GO, BUDDY?!

So, I don't know if I'll hear from him, considering I left without saying goodbye, and he didn't seem to like me enough to you know...stick around.

But regardless...I have enough other men on my plate to deal with.

Clearly.

I QUIT

It happened Friday after I got home from work.

They offered me the job.

THEY OFFERED ME THE JOB.

But I waited, you see. Waited to tell you all. Not because I don't love you, but because I didn't want to curse it or fuck it up by revealing it to the world until the actually employment letter was in my hands (or on my hard drive) and I had officially quit my current job.

Which I just did.

It went a little something like this...

I start the new job two weeks from today.

HELLS YEAH BITCHES.

It's October 3rd.

Life, Disinfected

Guys.

I'm on a spree.

I'm so proud of me.

Last night, I left my laptop at work for the first time in ages, and when I got home I actually...did shit. I turned on some stand-up on Netflix (Aziz Ansari, Louis CK, Jim Gaffigan), and I went to WORK. You would not believe the difference in my apartment between, oh, six and eleven last night. It's like magic elves got their fucking magic on. 

Let me walk you through what was going on in one particular corner of my humble abode over the last few weeks, the hallway where my closet and bathroom are located, my little "dressing area". As I've traveled to Vegas and then San Francisco, as I've slowly run out of clothes due to my shortage of quarters and thus inability to do laundry, and so have needed to dig out every old piece of clothing I could find that would fit me...it has devolved into a state of brightly colored carnage. Clothes and shoes and purses were spilling out of the closet. The floor was barely visible. Hangers dangled haphazardly from each other. The cat would often be found perched on piles of clothes, smirking. It looked, quite frankly, like the spitting image of my closet in high school.

I guess I had devolved, too.

AND NOW. It's beautiful. All clean things hanging neatly and color coordinated. All shoes lined carefully in rows. Everything in its place, and the floor? VISIBLE. 

So that was last night. A full on closet reform, plus finally unpacking my suitcase from Vegas and organizing my dresser and doing a single load of laundry with quarters discovered hidden about the apartment. Then today, instead of rock climbing like I'm brave, I went to the grocery store and a) filled my new crazy pills prescription b) bought cleaning supplies c) got quarters and d) got groceries for the first time in months.

WHO AM I!?

TONIGHT: I plan to scrub the everloving fuck out of my kitchen and my bathroom, and do ALL THE LAUNDRY. I have made playlists, and I am READY. 

I kinda feel like I'm disinfecting my life. 

This has happened before. Emotions make me want to clean. I remember it starting way back from when I was fourteen or so, living up in the Bay Area, overwhelmed with something or other and feeling the intense need to organize. And I think, maybe, this is the sign of something good.

A fresh clean apartment, a fresh clean start. 

Because who can feel like a real, productive member of society whilst living in their own filth? No one. 

AWKWARD CITY

I mean...of course.

My life is a constant series of random clusterfucks and ridiculous coincidences, so why should today be any different?

Remember a few weeks ago when I mentioned getting a message on OkCupid from a guy I made out with in college? He was a friend of my Biff's, and we met at her 20th birthday party, oh...six years ago? I'm so old.

We ended up chatting a bit, then he asked me out for a drink. At the time, I was theoretically trying to make things work with Thumper, so I said we could meet for a friendly catch-up as I was seeing someone, and he was fine with that. Well, now I'm not seeing anyone, so tomorrow's drink is in this odd date/not-date zone, depending on how he's changed after you know, six years.

That is not my story.

This is my story.

So, this boy (nickname as yet to be determined) works at a rock climbing gym in addition to being an actor-y sort. A gym where, quite coincidentally, Thumper happens to climb. Yeah. Yeah. He actually just started a month long unlimited pass this week. Mmhmm.

But that's not the story.

No, the story is that today's SUPERFUN team building event, which I did not plan? Guess where it is?

Uh huh.

I'm apparently supposed to go rock climbing, at his job, with my co-workers, when I have not seen him in SIX YEARS.

AWKWARD CITY.

I honestly don't know if I'm going to go, not because of this awkward shit, but because I already tried rock climbing this summer (on da boat!) and I'm at my capacity for adventurous things, apparently. And I just don't WANT TO. But I texted him to warn him I may be showing up at his job, with the insistence that "I am not a stalker!"

"That's what a stalker would say," he replied.

GOD.

My life.

Back In The Saddle

Whelp, here we are.

It is October 1st.

Another month. Another chance to start again.

Let's just put it out there: I weigh 162 pounds. I have gained 20 since my lowest. I have not exercised in...awhile.

And I am not happy.

It would be one thing if this was just my normal weight and I was living a lifestyle where I was nourishing my body and taking care of it and exercising and loving myself and all that good stuff. Because I don't look bad. Much?

But I am not taking care of myself. I am not nourishing. I am not loving myself. I am abusing. And this is no good.

So...I just have to DO IT. I have to make healthy choices. I have to track my food. I have to put in the effort to take care of my body, and make changes, and move forward. Otherwise this will just keep getting worse.

I'm going back to basics. But I'm not going back to overwhelming myself with insurmountable goals and challenges. I'm not going to fulfill the definition of insanity by doing the same thing OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN.

Small changes. Baby steps forward.

This week:

• Go to my new psychiatrist and change up my meds cause CLEARLY SHIT AIN'T WORKING. (This happens today.)
• Clean my apartment because living in filth makes me feel even more depressed. 
• Track everything I eat because when I don't I can pretend I'm not eating that much.
• Get to yoga at least once. Just once.
• Write instead of eat when I'm feeling overwhelmed.

Okay, October. Be kind to me.

The Bachelorette

This past weekend, I made a whirlwind trip to San Francisco for less than 48 hours for a combination bridal shower/bachelorette party to celebrate one of my high school friends. I went back in the archives to see if I discussed her engagement when it happened last summer, but I only mentioned it briefly in the context of a whine about being single, so here we go: she's marrying an Aussie she met on New Year's Eve in Budapest---very romantic! He was living in London, she was living in Spain, they fell in love over Skype and while traveling together to many exotic places. They've been living together in London for the last few years, and they're just adorable. I love her and am so happy for them.

I was stressin' about the weekend, as you know, but of course I ended up having a fabulous time, as I knew I would. I'm so glad I got to celebrate with her, as I can't make the wedding. SINCE IT'S IN FIJI. You think I couldn't really afford a weekend in SF? Try a trip to FIJI.

The weekend began, well, not as planned. I set my alarm early, giving myself plenty of time to shower, and finish gathering my shit, and get to the Buff's so we could carpool to SB, meet up with the rest of the crew, and head to SF. Except...it didn't go off. Because I set my weekday alarm. I happened to wake up exactly at 6:50am, which was precisely the time I needed to leave to get to her house by 7:15. I literally knocked on her door exactly on time. No shower for me.

We got to SB early, met up with the girls, and crammed ourselves and our stuff into one of the husbands' bigass SUVs. Thank god for married folk and sharing! We had an awesome time road trippin' up the coast, gossiping and laughing and singing along to the weekend's theme song. We stopped at Denny's for a wholly unhealthy feast of pancake bites and breakfast burritos and milkshakes, then immediately all fell into food comas once back in the car---except, of course, the driver. Before I knew it, we got to our classy hotel in San Francisco (after we looped around the block once when we missed the entrance, blasting Miley and Kanye and dancing our asses off for the amusement of strangers on the sidewalk) and the staff treated us ever so nicely. Like we were adults or something. Seriously, highly recommend the Stanford Court, they practically encouraged us to party.

We freshened and prettified, and the bride arrived, and off we went to the bridal shower. It was held at a beautiful, amazingly decorated apartment on the water, right near...one of the various piers, 30something, with the following, unedited view from the roof:

The bridal shower was so sweet and wonderful, with delicious food and lovely conversation and fun games and copious wine and it was all very, very classy...just like me.

After all the older and younger and more conservative of the guests went home or back to their hotels, those of us with naughtiness in our veins changed our attitudes and our clothes and got ready to go out on the town. There were shots. There was face paint. And we were ready. 

Of course, the bachelorette was a vision in white as is customary, from her dress, to her veil, to her sparkly white wig, and we her loyal maids (not all official bridesmaids, but maids for the night in spirit) were bewigged in neon bobs.

Like SO:

And me?

I LOVED HAVING PINK HAIR. I was so sassy. I got to be someone else. It. Was. Fabulous. I never wanted to take it off. Now I know why Katy Perry dyes her hair so much.

We went out and danced and made friends and drank and squealed and were generally obnoxious. It was a grand ole time. I don't even know what we did half the time, but it was splendid. 

At the very end of the night, as we waited for cabs, I was standing off by myself on the side of the street. An extremely drunk British guy came up to me and said, with what seemed like complete sincerity, "Is that your real hair?"

"Do you think this is my real hair?" I replied with equal sincerity. 

"...no?"

"Good job!" It was like I was talking to a puppy. A drunk puppy. 

"What color is your hair?"

"What color do you think my hair is?"

"...brown?" His hopeful guesses were pulled out of his drunken brain verrrry carefully.

"GOOD JOB!"

This went on for a while. I could not stop my playful bitchiness, until my friends found a cab and I ran off with a screamed, "Bye, I love you!"

The cab took us past Taylor Street, which of course made my narcissism very excited.

Once back in the hotel room, we ordered a 3AM pizza, feasted on Doritos, and then passed out happily.

Of course...the next morning, not so happy. But that doesn't need to be recapped. Eventually we all made it home safe and sound, including the bride, with our memories to comfort us when...other things were not so comfortable.

I hope my friend greatly enjoyed her American bachelorette. She also had a British hen party, and will have another in Sydney. Such the melting pot wedding, this is.

So...who wants to buy me a ticket to Fiji?

Failure To Launch

Okay, breakup was a no go. Didn't happen.

Originally, Thumper was going to come over to my place, then I realized I couldn't very well have him drive all the way to me to get dumped without being a total bitch in the situation. So I offered to drive to him, which then resulted in him trying to get me to meet him and his friends for a beer. No. No no no no no. That could not happen. So I cancelled.

Fail.

So, I guess I should just go ahead and explain why this breakup is happening, even though it hasn't happened yet. I feel shitty about doing so, since I planned to actually do the deed before broadcasting the details to the world, but since I'm fairly certain Thumper remains oblivious to the existence of this blog, I'm gonna.

But just in case...

SERIOUSLY.

It's pretty simple. It's just...not there. The spark. The connection. That thing you're supposed to feel, that electric something. The intangible. The thing you can't fake, no matter how hard you try.

I wish it was. I want it to be. I really, really do. Thumper is everything I could want in a guy. On paper, he's really the perfect boy for me---he's smart and funny and kind and cute and successful and supportive and so similar to me in so many ways. We have so much fun hanging out. I really think he gets me, as a person, and appreciates me.

He likes me. That much is clear. And I do like him. I do.

Which is why I feel like the shittiest person in the world when I say that I just...don't feel it enough. When I look at him, when I kiss him...it's not the way it should be, after over two months. I've given it time, I've tried to let it grow, and it hasn't. Maybe it can't.

What I want? It isn't him. And what he wants isn't me.

Since I've decided this, I've felt awful, and guilty, and tortured, and and awful. And I've felt awful about feeling awful, because this shouldn't be about me, right? I'm not the one getting dumped. And then I feel awful about feeling awful that I think he'll feel awful, because how do I know he will? And then I'm cycling into a pit of total self-loathing.

I really should adjust my meds. 

I haven't been questioning my decision, though. Because with each fawning and flirty text Thumper has sent me over the last few days, texts I cannot reciprocate or acknowledge in any way lest I lead him on, a pricking knife drives deeper into my conscience, and I know I'm doing the right thing. Because he deserves better than someone who doesn't fully appreciate him and his sweetness. I don't understand why I can't, honestly. He's quite literally the best guy I've ever dated, no one else has ever treated me this well, and I can't fathom why I can't feel the way about him I want to feel. 

But...I clearly don't. And I can't try to force it. To date Thumper any longer past this point would be inauthentic, untrue to myself and a lie to him. That's not fair. 

And not what I want.

What I want is something pure and passionate, real and spontaneous. Something honest. I want to meet someone, and just feel it. Not meet someone, and hope it grows. I want to have a first date last for hours, talk until our throats are dry and the bar is closing down. I don't want to hope for the conversation next time to be better, or different. I need a touch to be electric, eye contact to speak volumes, not things to be tentative, need permission, ask questions. I want to be surprised, not comfortable, challenged, not surrendered to. I just want something different and new and unknown. 

Emotional Overload

Life is overwhelming right now.

I have so many posts I could write. SO MUCH IS GOING ON. I don't even know where to begin.

I have things I should be doing right now. I should be packing to leave for San Francisco early in the am. I should be wrapping the gifts for the bridal shower I'm going to once I get there. I should be showering, or cleaning, or taking out the trash.

But for now, I'm sitting. On brain overload, totally incapacitated.

Shit That's Going On Right Now

*I had a second interview for that job today. Yup. And I think it went really, really well. I don't want to sound cocky, but I think I might get it, and if I do...i have to decide if I want it. I know, I said I really did, but now I'm panicking, because change is scary and what if I can't do it? And it's not a raise. And it would be a really intense, non-creative, technical job, and I'm worried it'll do nothing but stress me out, and is that better or worse than me hating and being unfulfilled by my current job? Plus side, it gives me more experience on my resume, and I need a change, and it's really just as close to home as my current job....ahhhhhhhhhh.

*This bachelorette party is going to be so fun, but I'm stressin'. What to wear? What to pack? How much am I gonna spend? Will I run out of money before my next paycheck? Did I buy enough of a gift? Should I get something else? 

*I'm breaking up with Thumper tonight. Yeah. It's gonna suck.

Things You Do When You're Poor

• Eat cereal and milk for dinner every night because it's gloriously cheap.
• Inadvertently guilt-trip the guy you're dating into buying you a real dinner when you tell him this fact.

• Wear a dress you haven't worn in over a year (as it's really not flattering) because you don't want to waste money doing laundry.
• Stay at work during lunch to save a tiny amount of gas.
• Contemplate bailing out of a best friend's bachelorette weekend because it will quite literally deplete your bank account. 
• Realize you cannot do this and be a good friend, and wonder if anywhere around you buys blood.
• Find yourself increasingly jealous of your cat's super easy lifestyle. What a lazy little bitch.

Danger Zone

Thumper was over last night, and we ordered takeout.

On my compter.

Where this blog is linked, very clearly, right at the top.

MOTHERFUCKER.

So...yeah. He could have seen the name, and thought to himself, "Gee, I wonder what FreakOutInColor is?" and decided to Google it later. Especially after I quickly deleted the links out of paranoia while he seemed to glance away from the screen. That could have caused suspicion.

SO HI GUY THAT I'M DATING YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE. IF YOU COME TO THIS BLOG OH GOD PLEASE DON'T KEEP READING.

That's not going to stop you, is it?

Fuck me.

EPIC RECAP: What happens in Vegas does not stay...

...because Sin City will always, ALWAYS, steal your voice (and your morals, and your soul), and you will end up dying at your desk on Monday, attempting to answer the phone while sounding like a seventy year old sexy smoker.

WORTH IT THOUGH.

So hello, friends! I am back in the real world. There were shenanigans. There was scandalous behavior. There were injuries and material losses. And memories were made.

A DISCLAIMER:

Do not read this post if you are related to me (HI DAD!), or wish to believe I am a pure and delicate flower who would never ever make out in hotel lobbies at three am and get scolded for it by security guards because apparently you are offending the elderly, who should really be in bed at three am.  

Okay? Okay.

Proceeding!

Let's start at the very beginning, shall we?  Look what necessities I bought before heading to the airport. Band-Aids, glitter nail polish, and shaving cream. Vegas perfection, right?

So my flight was delayed on Thursday, 'cause OF COURSE, but Thumper ever so brilliantly suggested I try to get on standby, and I ended up on an earlier flight. That boy is wise. I would never have thought to do that, because I have no life skills. I managed to arrive an hour early and met up with two of my favorite ladies at the airport. We taxied ourselves to the Trump International, all atwitter with excitement, ready and prepared to take on the town.

These are the texts I sent to Thumper over the next hour:

Yup. "In the cab" to "drunk" to "cannot spell and needy" in the course of an hour. VEGAS.

Oh, so did I tell you I ended up buying a second dress? I did. It was only $12, practically free.

Check it out! You can't quite see the detail of the peplum in the actual Vegas shots so I included the selfie from my shopping expedition. I heart this dress.

So we got drunk and we got fancy, and headed out to the new hot spot Hakkasan at the MGM, where we were on the VIP list because we are important. We walked right the fuck in. Buh bye, line! And then...we danced. We danced, and shimmied, and got our groove on, and boogied, and got down, and DANCED. And then...I met a boy.

(Yes, yes, I realize I've been seeing Thumper for awhile now, but we have had no discussion of exclusivity or commitment and...it's VEGAS. So...no shame here. Nope.)

What happened was: I saw his adorable, bearded self behind Mantana, and I yelled to her, "GIRL. THERE IS A HOTTIE BEHIND YOU THAT YOU SHOULD DANCE WITH." Because in my mind, he was wayyyyyyy too cute for me. So imagine my surprise when he circled our group and came up behind me, and Mantana pushed me into him, and he started dancing with me. My inner fifteen year old was so excited y'all! I turned around to introduce myself, and not only did it turn out he lives in LA near me, it turned out he was super smart and super nice and super, super into me. Later we discussed this first interaction and he said I looked "incredible" on the dance floor and he was "intimidated" and I was like "wutnow?" So you know...I have no self-awareness whatsoever.

So, we danced. Then we went and got midnight breakfast with our friends. Then we made out in the aforementioned lobby until we were scolded and removed. And then, we played blackjack until he lost a sufficient amount of money (like, lots, he even offered to bankroll me). THEN, as we strolled down the Strip hand in hand, still not sick of each other nor remotely tired, he offered to get us a room.

"That sounds great, but I don't want you expecting anything," I said, ever so primly. Because I am not that kind of girl, gentle readers. No, I'm only the kind of girl who makes out in lobbies.

"I'm not expecting anything," he insisted. "I just want to spend more time with you."

*swoon*

So, a room it was. We talked, and made out, and cuddled. Then slept. He was very gentlemanly. He woke me up in the morning to say goodbye, since he was heading out that day back to LA. He asked for my number. I dozed as he got dressed to leave, and out of the corner of my sleepy eye I watched as he carefully hung up my dress.

So. Fucking. Adorable.

I slept a bit more, then dragged myself out of bed. My walk of shame was decorated with high fives from guys working on the Strip, and a kindly older woman in an elevator saying, "I hope you had fun, dear!" Also, my dress felt a lot shorter in the daylight.

I got back to the room to find one of the girls had gone to the gym, which, what the fuck man, and another one had just arrived home before me, shoeless. Yes, she had also stayed the night in a boy's room, and woken up without her footwear. God only knows, people. VEGAS.

Other things of note from that night: three out of the eight girls got their phones stolen/lost at Hakkasan, which is apparently a huge problem there according to Yelp reviews. Another group of girls we met had seven out of eight phones go missing. Way shitty. So the tally was three lost phones, a lost pair of shoes, and some lost dignity if we count my removal from the hotel lobby for inappropriate behavior.

And that? Was just Night #1. Night #2, another phone went missing, and more dignity was lost. Not mine.

Friday, half of us went to Daylight at Mandalay Bay for a pool party, where we partook in free drinks and sunshine.

From there, we headed to the Wynn, where the second incident of "inappropriateness via Taylor" occurred. See, apparently the buffet at the Wynn has a strict dress code, which yours truly wasn't following. My bathing suit coverup was not "opaque" enough. AKA, I was dressed like a slut. So I had to add Mantana's glittery cover-up as a second layer to be deemed appropriate for entry. I looked ridiculous. God, I was just a hussy all over the place this weekend.

After gorging ourselves at the buffet, there was an epic nap. EPIC.

And then...well. Thumper was supposed to be meeting up with us before we headed out for the night. He did not. He blew me off. Which earned him a place on my drunken shit list. I was not happy. Like come ON, bro. This is what you were missing out on.

RIGHT? Look at that side boob. Fail, Thumper. Fail. No sideboob for you.

Well I guess, considering the night I had prior, I suppose I shouldn't have been too upset, right? But I still gave him shit. Because I was not pleased. At least he knew he failed, he was very apologetic. He says he'll make it up to me. We'll see.

Night #2 we had pooled our money for bottle service at Body English at the Hard Rock, 'cause we wanted to feel like ballers. Plus, there was a music festival in Vegas this weekend, and we were worried about crowds (turns out it wasn't a huge deal, but whatever). So we headed to the casino and met up with our promoter, who was an adorable little thing in a cute red dress. We enjoyed some two for one drinks at the lounge before heading into the club, where there was a free champagne bar and we got a table right on the dance floor.

AND THEN WE DANCED.

And that's about all I remember...

Although apparently drunk me very responsibly got myself back to the hotel and into bed fully clothed. And I did get all my things in my suitcase (minus my iPod, which is being mailed to me). Go, Drunk Taylor!

I woke up Saturday to my alarm making WAY TOO MUCH NOISE at 6:30am. My flight was at 9. Everyone else was staying for a third night, but I had teacher training at 2, so I scrambled my shit together, rolled myself out of the hotel and into a cab, and got to the airport by 7 or so.

Then...my flight was cancelled. Not delayed. Flat. Out. Cancelled.

I cried.

Just the day before, I had joked that I wanted my flight to get cancelled. BUT NOT ONCE I WAS ALREADY AT THE AIRPORT. Before would have been great. While I could still stay for the third night, sure. But not while I was hungover as shit, with my bag already checked, ready to get on my damn way.

They managed to get me on a 12:15pm flight. Which was then delayed. Of course.

I puked on the plane during take-off into my Burger King bag like the mature, classy bitch I am.

I kept slamming my gigantic fucking blister on things.

I contemplated death.

I finally landed at LAX at ten minutes until 2, got into a cab, nearly puked in said cab, got home and threw my suitcase in my apartment, realized my car was at work, nearly cried again, walked to work, then finally made it to the yoga studio an hour late for training.

But I made it.

Fuck.

Me.

Sideways.

And that is my recap.

I think that's everything? If I think of more stories, I will certainly share.

God, I am such a shitshow.

VEGAS.