4 Sept 2009
3:05 p.m.
Magic Show was, as always, a complete sensory overload. Most of it was aisle upon aisle of crap, but then every so often, I'd find a lil' golden nugget in my pan. I definitely scored scads of amazing hardware. Claire (and everyone else) is dying. So yay me. But that's not really what you want to hear about, is it? You want only to hear about Mr. Man, and whether or not I screwed up on a massive scale (emphasis on screwed).
Well... the fact that I waited until Friday afternoon to blog speaks volumes - no?
The good news: I was good for 98 percent of the time.
The bad news: I was bad, bad, bad for the other two percent.
I know. No one gives a shidt about that measly 98. I'm all too clear that the two is all that anyone cares about—that the two is exactly
what they were talking about when they came up with the "what Happens in Vegas..." slogan. So here's the nitty gritty. I minded my p's and q's. I steered clear of him for most of the trip. But as it wound down. I kinda started letting my guard down. One night, the whole group went out to dinner and drinks (emphasis on drinks). Remind me to tell you how hilarious Naomi is when tipsy—there is dancing involved. NAOMI, I repeat, Naomi met a guy at the bar and disappeared with him. I know! He looked like Humpty Dumpty, but I digress. Everyone trickled out. I was suddenly alone, face to face with Mr. Man. We went straight up to his room, no talking. I know. I know. We started making out, crazy junior high style. That went on for a few minutes/seconds/I don't know cause my mind was racing and I was pretty smashed. Then, all of a sudden, I snapped out of it, stopped and walked out.
I know. It is official—I am seriously a crazy person. A bad crazy person. On one hand I'm so glad that I didn't take it any further. On the other hand, what-the-fu*# is the matter with me?
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