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There are some who will note that much of my me-time activities seem to involve allowing myself to cry. It’s not that I can’t cry when I’m with the boy – I have, plenty, and he still loves me just fine – but there’s something so terribly indulgent about letting myself get so involved in a book or movie that I actually bawl that I’d just as soon not let anyone else see this sappy, pathetic, puffy-eyed, blotchy-skinned side of me. I have my dignity, see. Or maybe it’s just my vanity day 1 Single girl night gets temporarily put on hold, though, when my friend B decides he’s suffering Buffy withdrawal. Always happy to share my Buffy addiction with others, I tell him to come over, and we spend the evening chatting about all sorts of good stuff, and sprawled in the living room watching our favorite vampire slayer kick demon butt. day 2 It’s late in the afternoon when there’s a knock on my front door. From the window, I can see that a guy I don’t know is standing outside; sporting a grungy backwards baseball cap, he's clearly not a Bible thumper preaching house-to-house, so I open my door. As it turns out, he’s a friend of my neighbor’s, letting me know that my neighbor’s house was burglarized the night before, and wondering if I might have heard anything. I vaguely recall having heard voices outside just after midnight, but at the time, assumed it was just a party a few houses down. Freaky. keep wandering this way!---------------------------> lounge . nourish . host . laze . home. |