So, I think I learned something in Vegas.
I think it was something I knew at one point, but had totally forgotten in the past few years, since the whole New York debacle.
I had forgotten to live my life.
The life that had me talking to strangers, and going where I want to go, when I want to go. The life that is worthy of a blog and something to write about.
I mean, I loved my entire weekend there. There isn't a second of it that I regret, because I was fully living the life I had planned on living.
From our late night / early morning friend, to Zumanity, to the 12 Brits in the limo, (one of whom is apparently a semi-famous soccer player) everything was fucking brilliant.
Also, I went on the supermodel diet of Diet Coke and ciggies for most of May, so I was super skinny, and nothing helps a girl feel more like living life than looking skinny.
I don't know what in particular it was, I mean, I didn't feel different there, but I sure did feel different when I got back. I have a spring in my step. And well, I feel like something clicked.
It also helps that I got some boy attention. I hadn't received any boy attention in a while, between working my ass off and being depressed about P3, boys were not flocking to me.
But in Vegas, I had boy attention. One in particular. This adorable Brit plumped up my ego like a mofo, and while I can't remember his name, I am soooo happy that he stepped into my life.
I am kinda glad I can't remember his name though, because then I would be stalking online. And that would be bad.
So yes, through all the debauchery and dead brain cells, I came back from my weekend rejuvenated ... imagine how I would feel if I had slept.