Last night I had a wonderful four-months-after-my-birthday dinner with my New York homie and her official sister (and my informally adopted sister) C-girl. We ate well. Too well, if that's possible. Then we found a young actor friend to chauffeur us to see "The 40 Year-Old Virgin." The movie was kinda sweet and surprisingly funny, although about 45 minutes too long (talk about waiting to consummate).
I now face the first of two three-day weekends in a row--a welcome break from my been-working-my-booty-off breakneck pace of the past two months. I plan to spend money with mild abandon and reward myself with food.
Speaking of 40-year-old virgins, a guy I went to high school with e-mailed me out of the blue suggesting a lunch date. I pondered it for a moment, even though I knew that the sweet, four-eyed nerd chick he remembered from high school physics may still wear glasses once in awhile, but she has cultivated a smart-ass mouth and twisted sense of humor that will be ill-suited for his conservative world view.
That said, I was perfectly willing to be e-mail pen pals with him until he busted out an anecdote mentioning something I'd been wearing the last time I ran into him in college. I can remember neither the encounter or the ensemble and it kinda creeps me out that he can. Or maybe it's more that he did the anecdote busting on his third e-mail instead of a candlelit date after we'd known each other for awhile. Or maybe it's just that he's not my high school crush coming around to realize my supreme awesomeosity so many years later. He's just a nice, smart, socially inept guy who I have nothing in common with but a 1980s physics teacher.