Somethin' about tha party!

I swear I'm not really that much of a jet-setter, but I went to London this weekend. It's another city where I class myself as a tourist-local: I'm clueless enough that I have to follow the signs in the tube, but have been there enough not to need to see any sights, or stand in people's way in the middle of the sidewalk... Er, pavement. Sorry.

It was nice to see Marc again - or, more likely, it was so nice just to have a friend again. I'm sure that's part of why I think my life is so boring, even while embarking on the biggest adventure of it. (That is what they say about marriage, right? Or is that parenthood? Or college?) On Saturday, we sort of wasted a lot of time, then went to see Avenue Q, which was everything I'd always hoped it would be. We both fell a little in love with the guy playing Princeton. He looked a little like my ex, my What-If Guy, which prompted a late-night conversation wherein I argued that the stable life is boring (see previous post) and Marc argued that the single life is more sad-making drama than exciting excitement. When it comes down to it, we're jealous of each other, and probably, above all, need to just learn to enjoy the lives we're in. Still, this didn't stop me from dreaming I was kissing What-If Guy, and waking up all hot, bothered, and guilty. (I could have called him in that moment, in the middle of my night and his, to demand the answers to my what-if questions, but that's really something I'd rather do in person.)

On Sunday, we met up with some of Marc's friends for sushi in one of those restaurants with the rotator belt, then abandoned them to seek out the opposite of football, which a certain Carlsberg commercial had taught us is "cheek fleek" (that's "chick flick" with an Eastern European accent). We went to see Imagine Me & You, which is a new British rom-com with a twist: girl getting married falls in love with her lesbian florist during wedding ceremony. It was like the anti-Kissing Jessica Stein, and vaguely saddening - not quite a cheek fleek, in the end. We walked back along the river - I got my first coffee in over a year, and it didn't make me sick - and made a vegetarian feast, then watched Bright Young Things, which is not a cheek fleek either, while smoking hookah, drinking red wine, and eating melted ice cream. Before I left, I borrowed Muriel's Wedding from him; I haven't seen that since I was like 12, and maybe it'll put me in the right mindframe about this whole stability thing.

To come back to that briefly: an old flame and longtime friend, who has always been incredibly gifted at making me laugh, and who is now also in a healthy and stable relationship, put it this way: "Yes. I miss playing the game of flirting and fooling around and trying to get down pants. But I am happy too."

When I got home, Lui gave me a hug, and immediately said, "Your hair smells different." (I'd left my shampoo at home and had been using Marc's all weekend.) If that isn't true love, what is?