Dancing With the Star

I attended a gala last weekend.

Gilles Marini, the sex-on-a-stick hunk from the first Sex and the City movie was going to be honored there.

Before going, I fantasized about meeting him.

I envisioned the meeting in my head.

It was kinda like the law of attraction.

Because I met him! Almost the same way I pictured it in my mind.

We were at cocktail hour and I saw Gilles from afar. Oo! And he was…

… Sex-on-a-stick all right.

I almost spit up a mini crab cake when I spotted him.

He was even dreamier than he is in the movie and on Dancing With the Stars.

Later on, at the dinner, I saw him taking pictures with some women.

I thought, “Let me get my camera!”

And another woman at my table grabbed me and announced, “We’re gonna meet him!”

I was in.

So we B-lined it over to Gilles, who was glowing on the dance floor.

Snapping pix with this one and that one.

Then, he turned around and looked right at me and said, “Whew!”

I smiled and nuzzled next to him. Unable to breathe.

His arm, around my waist.

Mine around his.

On the outside, I was giggling. But on the inside I was screaming with glee, “Gilles!!!!”

The camera flashed and he was gone.

But it’s three days later and I am still happy.

The Sleepover

A few weeks ago I posted about a friend who invited herself for a sleepover at my apartment after a gala.

Well.

It hit the fan.

A few weeks prior to the gala, she asked (over text message) if I wanted to go. She had a table. I accepted.

Then she asked if she could sleep on my couch.

I reluctantly texted, “kk.”

I hate it when people put me on the spot like that.

She asked what ‘kk’ meant. I answered that I meant ‘yes.’

So, the day before the gala, she texted me, “What are the logistics for tomorrow?”

I answered, “You can park on my block and we can go to the gala together.”

She started writing something about putting her car in a lot, yadda, yadda, yadda. I’m like, ok, do whatever.

Next day. Day of the event, she called on her way to New York. (She was driving in from New Jersey.)

I told her to come and park her car on my block. We’d take a cab to the gala. But since she was running late, she said she’d meet me at the venue.

“Ok. Whatever.”

So, we met at the venue.

We were having a fun time. The whole time, I’m still assumed she was staying over. Heck, I’d spent the whole day cleaning. She’d better stay over! (But you know what they say about assuming.)

But neither of us spoke about it. I just figured it was a done deal.

Toward the end of the evening, Yenta Hessa said to me, “I asked her if she was sleeping at your place and she said, ‘No’.”

“What? What do you mean she’s not staying over?”

I was confused.

--

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And happy at the same time.

Is that bad?

My instinct was to confront the friend. But something made my stay silent. I don’t know why.

I wanted to say, “What’s going on? I thought you were staying over.” But it wouldn’t come out of my mouth.

So the rest of the night passed and I didn’t say anything. And she didn’t say anything.

At the end of the night, I went home. And she went home. And we never said anything.

The next day I felt really bad about it. I called her. Left a message.

She called back, so she couldn’t be mad, could she?

She was.

She told me she was waiting for me to invite her over. That her bag was in her car.

I was nauseous.

Are you kidding me?

“What do you mean? You asked me if you could stay over. I said yes. I didn’t realize I had to invite you!”

“Well,” She said, “You only said ‘kk’. I gave you several opportunities all night long, to ask me to stay, and you didn’t.”

So what does that mean? Does that mean a communication over text message is not as binding as a verbal communication? Then, why the fuck did you text me bitch?

Personally, I think texting is stupid. But if that’s the mode of communication one chooses to correspond in, then I’ll go with it.

I had a guy I was dating tell me he loved me for the first time over text message. I was highly insulted. What the heck was I supposed to do with that information over text?

Anyway, I apologized, but I was secretly happier that she didn’t stay if she was going to friggin’ play head games with me.

F- that!

The shit hit the diva fan. And it’s on her.

Head to Head

Yesterday morning, I left for work. As usual. Went down the elevator. Doors opened at the lobby. As they opened, I heard the doors of the adjacent elevator open simultaneously.

Weird.

So, as I exited the elevator, I glanced at the person coming out of the other one through my peripheral vision.

It was a woman.

She looked familiar.

I looked away.

Then realized, it’s my arch enemy.

My stalker.

My cousin Ramona.

The one who followed me to my apartment building, then bought a unit in it. Now she lives downstairs.

Ugh.

I looked at her again.

She was looking down.

I don’t think she saw me or knew who I was.

For a split moment, I thought, “Maybe I can just walk away right now and she won’t realize it was me!”

Um, really? Do you think I’d really get away with that?

I couldn’t turn around and walk the other way, or go back into the elevator and wait for her to leave, like I did one time before.

Or could I?

No. There we were. Head to head.

There was no where to go. No where to run. No where to hide.

I figured, I made enough enemies for one week. I better just take my medicine.

Dammit.

So, instead, I stopped. Stood in front of her with my hand on my hip, and stared at her until she looked at me.

“Oh, hi BSM! How are you?!” Kiss, kiss.

"Hello Ramona." Smooch, smooch.

We walked through the lobby and out to the street together. All the while, I was wishing she was not there.

We talked. But I didn’t hear a word she said. All I could only think was, I need to move!

Immediately.