Or so it should....
I reunited with my high school click this weekend. We were the fabulous three, the three musketeers, the terrific trio, etc. from 6th grade until graduation. We were poorly dressed, had bad hair and would call one another and all wear overalls (**gag**) on the same day. Since my singledom has reached new levels as has the boringness of my small town, I have been going out on weekends with random people from random places in different places.
I literally ate out every night last week in a different city each night. Lonliness is never wallet friendly. Living alone, the only human interaction I get is at work (and one can't live on that alone unless they want to grow female facial hair) or out in public. Having people over is another good option but i personally prefer to get out of the house.
Anyway, this rainy desolate weekend we all drove to be together at friend #1s place. To make a long story short, friend #1 and friend #2 got into a crying, throwing things, screaming fight and friend #2 asked me to take her home and for everyone's safety and my sanity, I did with the help of the precious garmin (aparently the only other sane thing around that night). So, I left at 2 a.m., drove an hour, dropped her off, and then needing the solitude, safety, and soft bed my own life and home offers, drove the next two hours home. In the rain. With almost no gas. With few fond memories. In wet socks.
I made it home safe but am so glad this weekend is over. I can so not take drama. I am getting old.