The Life of the Work-Life Balance

So I had a date last night. I can't remember the last time I went on a bona fide DATE. I wore a skirt and everything. Of course it was my Sri Lankan longi (which is technically a man's skirt), but a skirt nonetheless. I definitely appreciate how much more relaxed and confident of myself I am at 29 than I was at, say, earlier in my twenties. I remember being very nervous and chattery on dates then--and it was completely irrelevant if I actually liked the fella or not. I guess I'm saying that I like the feel of my own skin. I'm also way less of a shallow stuck-up bitch than I used to be, things that used to be ABSOLUTE DEAL BREAKERS aren't really anymore. And by ABSOLUTE DEAL BREAKERS, I mean stupid shit like what kind of car he drove or his name (although I do still draw the line at Wayne or Dwayne).

The car thing reminds me that my freshman year roommate broke up with a guy once because he drove a Monte Carlo.

Hmm, thinking about mean guy treatment reminds me that I once ended a date by saying, "Well, see ya never," and slammed the door in his face. I also told a guy after a TERRIBLE HORRIBLE date when he still wanted to walk me to my car that I would rather have a bunch of gorillas jump out of the bushes and rape me than have him walk me to my car. Then I ran away.

So anyway, the date. Jesus, 900 tangents. It was good. I'll see him again.