Weekends Away

To those of you missing me – I understand – but I’ve been trying to do some real writing lately, the kind that ends inked up on paper and that you can mail to your family and keep a hundred stacks of in the corner of your living room. It’s not going particularly well, but I still have hope.

This weekend I’m heading up to Boston. It’s been a long time since I was up in Beantown. The last time I was there I came home very embarrassed after, with the help of lots of alcohol, behaving very very badly. I behaved so badly, in fact, that I had to come up with a new philosophy on life: namely that people who don’t appreciate my bad behavior, love it even, don’t love and appreciate the real me. Yep – just turn the self-loathing outward and things become a little easier. This trip I suspect will be far more tame. Besides for a lesbian cookout there aren’t any parties with kegs planned, and there aren’t any boys I have latent festering crushes on. At least he’s not in Boston.

Last weekend was another getaway, to suburban Long Island where no one escaped unscathed from the magnificent quantity of canned beer we bought at the local beer distributor. It was my second year going to Rocky Point beach, notorious for its drunk amateur pyrotechnicians, with a bunch of science nerds. What fun! As opposed to last year when we stumbled into the mayhem sober and unsuspecting. This time we were as sauced as any respectable American, and had our own fireworks. People with families inched away from us because we were the obnoxious ones. I even set off fireworks myself, which I had never done before. It was pretty great. I wanted more more more, but there were only so many bottle rockets to go around. Even though I flirted my way into one guy giving me his share. Mu ha ha.

Later while sitting on the beach the next day we had a group argument about whether or not you can be friends with an ex. No definite conclusion was reached.

One last thought: I remember the first five or six years that I lived in New York I could never go away for the weekend because I always thought I’d miss something. These days I couldn’t be happier if i was away every single weekend of the year. A sign maybe?

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