the continuing episodes of my cautionary tale

You know what's fun? Setting myself up to potentially do idiotic things. Well, fun for you, at least.

And hey, depending on which idiotic thing it is this time around, fun for me too!

Remember how I recently ran into Mr. November? And remember how we both said, "Oh, we should hang out sometime soon!" Remember?

Do you also remember how my phone has buzzed the buzz of a received text message at least four times in the middle of the night since that chance meeting, and that all of those buzzes have been courtesy of Mr. November, and that those middle-of-the-night buzzes, while arguably the most memorable, are only about one-fourth of the total buzzes, both day and night.

In lamen's terms, he has been blowin' my phone up daily and NIGHTLY.

The thing is, I wasn't lying when I said we should hang out, because we did used to have a lot of fun, and I am decidedly pro-fun, especially of late. It's summer. Semi-constant fun is necessary or else you might realize just exactly how miserably, unbelievably hot you are. And then your pores could explode.

So like I say, I totally meant that we should hang out. But I wasn't necessarily expecting the texts the next day, or the ones the day after, or to already have made plans with him before 48 hours had even creeped past since the initial, momentous and historical declaration, handed down and announced on the well-known diplomatic grounds of Some Back Yard in Midtown, known officially as the We Should Hang Out Proclamation.

The point of all of this is that tomorrow night we're meeting up at the HiTone to see Star and Micey. In my defense, I was planning on going to the gig anyway and needed a show buddy, and when the topic of the We Should Hang Out Proclamation came up it seemed like the natural suggestion.

Only then came all the text messages. Like the one that rolled in around 1:30 a.m. on this fine morning, and its follow-up message at around 8:30 a.m., apologizing for the previous transmission and explaining that there was a deadly combination of drunkenness + thinking about me.

And when I read that, I thought, well there THAT is. So tomorrow, off we'll go to the HiTone, somewhat near to the witching hour and I'll probably already be two vodka-tonics invested. I have promised to be good. I have promised merely to exercise my feminine wiles as a form of highly entertaining torture.

But if anyone knows about my history for keeping these types of promises, it's you, Internet. Oh boy.


cheers,
elizabeth