What a sad weekend. I think I've reached one of my lows within this first year of my son's life. On Friday, I watched, "What Not to Wear" (one of my favorite shows) and then went to bed as early as possible. Although, it was ridiculous to think that I could sleep. I was lying awake having a panic attack and reached out to My New Shoes via phone. Through various points in my adult life, MNS has been there through the rough times. She was living in London while I was at Oxford and we managed to see each other about twice a month. She would come over and we would do "crazy" things like: talk about politics, feminism, and cut each others' hair in the bathtub, because it is really, really hard to find a good, cheap barber in England (damn socialists!)
Anyways, MNS and I have started a club. You are welcome to join the club, but the membership rules dictate that you have to be celebate for at least one full calendar year before applying. Our club (really it's more of a goal, I'd say), aptly titled: "Sex in 06", is dedicated to the pursuit of finding love and, of course, getting some action (wow - I never thought that I would write that sentence knowing that my parents and relatives read this blog, but you can see how desperate I've become: I will now talk about literally anything to anyone). At least MNS had a couple of dates this weekend (more than one!! I haven't gone out on more than one date in a weekend since - oh, wait - never).
I was supposed to go out with the trainer, but he called me at 7:30am to cancel our workout session.He said that he went home sick from work on Friday and couldn't go and workout with me (it was a casual (read: free) workout). He told me to call him later on in the day to figure out what we were going to do that night. I did. Three times. He never returned my phone call. I'm a pathetic loser - both for caring so much and because I called three times, thinking that maybe his phone wasn't working or he was dead.
I had arranged my parents to watch Zac, picked out my outfit, and was ready to go. He never called. I finally went out to dinner by myself and then to a bar, where I quickly learned that drinking while upset makes me want to puke. Two beers later and I was back in my house by 10:30pm. On Sunday, I actually cried over this jerk. He was the first person I've been interested in since the FOB, and, not-so-coincedentally, the first person that has made me cry since I had Zac. We have been training together since October and I felt like I knew him well enough to at least have seen that coming. I had no clue he could be like that, except for the fact that I wanted it to work so much, at that of course doomed it to failure.
See? It's possible that I'm getting ready to have my period and it's making me more emotional than usual, but I'm also just sad and lonely. I wish I had friends and the time and money to actually DO something with this hypothetical people that I don't live in the same city.
So here is my call for friendship: if there is anyone out there that would like to come to my house, watch me put Zac to bed, get ready to go out, put Zac to bed again after he wakes up, and then go and have a couple of beers, now is your opportunity.
In other words, it is time to deblurk. I know that there are people out there that read this blog. Show me some love and maybe I'll continue to get up in the morning and stop writing blog entries that resemble this one.