Painful Realization

I have a friend who is a singer/songwriter who wrote a song called painful realizations.  This was a long time ago, but it popped up on my ipod recently and I decided to make this a recurring blog post.  I have painful realizations on the regular, so I may as well share them.

I was counting how long it had been since I'd last had sex.  I think my record of celibacy is around 4 months (this is my record post serious boyfriend which was about three years ago).  I am not around many single people back in the states, and I don't go out drinking like I did in Hong Kong, which equals way less sex for me.  I have been toying with the idea of secondary virginity or even just giving up one night stands, but then I think what if someone really great comes along, so I can't commit to either of those ideas.  Either way, I was counting back to when I had had sex last and went back to February, I was feeling very proud of myself and thinking how good and reserved I had been.  Then, all of a sudden, it hit me.  I had very short, very bad sex in May.  It was with a guy I had slept with before, so in my stupid slutty mind I didn't even count it, because having sex with someone you've already been with is basically a free space.  This is my painful realization.

Too Old?!?

Pete's the Beyonce

I was visiting my friend and her husband who live in Chicago, and we decided to go up to their family's cabin in Wisconsin for the weekend.  It was winter and it's in the middle of nowhere, very beautiful, very peaceful, loads of cabin drinking.  Because the majority of our weekend was spent lounging and drinking I was falling behind on my fitbit steps.  So, one night after drinking I forced them to join me in a dance party, and for some reason I made my friend make all these videos on her phone...there were a lot of them, and they were all over five minutes, we watched part of one the next morning, but it was just video proof of how lame we are, we couldn't get through even one whole video.  We were dancing around for more than an hour, and somehow my friend's husband was pulling out these amazing dance moves.  I thought it was fantastic, my friend was over this whole situation and just wanted to go to bed.  Instead of letter her sleep we all had a sit down and had the stupidest drunk convo about how Pete, my friend's husband, was the Beyonce, and she thought she was going to be the Beyonce, and sure, this came as a surprise to all of us, but Pete was killing it.  Then to flesh out the metaphor I deemed my friend as Michelle and me as Kelly, since we have the same name.  Way to make pop culture comparison to a group that has been broken up for over ten years.  The next night we got smashed and watched Dream Girls and had another mini dance party...my friend went to bed before the movie was over, she wasn't having any of it.

It's because of incidents like this that I'm only invited to hang out every other month.