The Holiday. And The Holiday.

I'm back from vay-cay-shun. Woo hoo. Yay for the high seas. I love boats, so I was quite content just to ride around (or sway side-to-side, as we did for 7 days and I continue to do even now). Unfortunately my travel compadre found herself seasick from the get-go. By sheer power of suggestion, me, Miss NeverGetsSeasick was barfing up a storm on my last night.
I saw gorgeous spots in Mexico that made me never want to come back and I read good books and I ate way too much (how much buffet is too much buffet? I have the answer...) and I got better at blackjack, so I think I fulfilled the cruise checklist.

That's the short of it. The long of it is that, due to weather conditions, I played much more bingo than I'd like to admit. On one particularly cloudy day I ordered a Bloody Mary to fuel my "game". Which resulted in me heckling the bingo caller. I booed his jokes. But trust me, he deserved it. (Examples available upon request)

So due to my inherited seasickness I missed the last dinner and final photos with our Vietnamese dining partners (who the photographer was convinced were our husbands. We gave up explaining to her, and as a result there were a nice set of awkwardly posed photos taken.) Photos aside, I return as single as I left.

But you know who is *not* single? My ex. The one guy I called the b word (not to be confused with bastard. use that one all the time!) He's freakin' engaged.

My mom tried to break it to me all nonchalantly in the car. Picture it: we're driving to the movies, my best friend, my parents, and I. My dad is fumbling with the heat controls. My mom is -- ahem -- gently asking him to shut off the radio "Don't you get enough of these Christmas songs when you go shopping?! Enough! Shut it off!" La la la and out of nowhere, mom lobs it over the net:

her: blahblahblahohSusan'ssonjustgotengaged
me: what?
her: oh, you know, her son. he got engaged.
me: her son, as in XXX??? (names blacked out to protect men who drink diet pepsi)

It was too cute, her effort to play it off (did I mention it's her close friend's son?), so I couldn't even call her out on it. She put the information before me and waited to see how I'd react. I brought the subject up later just to find out if it was who I thought it might be (the girl, not him. Despite my mom's clever ruse, ye faithful readers will know that I had figured out that it was Mr. X) It wasn't. It was someone new. So now, not only do I have to deal with the fact that he is engaged but that not one, but at least TWO girls after me actually wanted to date him! Harrumph or whatever the Archie comic reaction to that would be.

And of course then we go to the movies and what is the plotline? Oh yes, ten movies at the cineplex and which do we see? But of course the one where the heroine's ex boyfriend gets engaged. I shit you not. Story of my life people! Fortunately the film was a romantic comedy so now I"m sure this is the comedy portion of my life film. This is when I have the endearing meltdown, right? The crazy crying fit that makes the audience laugh and smile, knowing that I will triumph. Or do we cut straight to the part when Jack Black waltzes into my life? (Please note that in the movie, at first Jack Black isn't really into her. Ouch!)

So much of me wants to do Hollywood justice and wants to care, just so I can have a good cry and feel like someone affected me that much. But I'm more surprised than anything. Somewhat surprised that he beat me to it. Compound this with the fact that one of my frenemies (my only one I think?) is also engaged. author's note: I have never used that word before, but now it strikes me as perfect, so let's go with it.

Don't you get like that when certain people have good things happen to them? I mean, I'm the first person to be happy for people, but I have my limits. Some people are universally recognized as annoying/sucky/assholey, and so when good things happen to these people, we all just look around at each other and shrug and go "huh!". It's that sort of thing.

Is it me or is there a theme here? People who suck are finding true love (which notably involves being loved), or at least love that makes them not prefer to be at home blogging at 1:30 am on a Saturday. Me? Not so much progress on that front, dear readers!

Hold on, I"m still trying to cough up the emotions I "should" be feeling.

It reminds me of a scene in The Holiday, our film tonight (which I recommend to you, despite the fact that Jude Law prominently stars in it. For my previous opinion of his work, please search "Alfie" and read my post on it. I never thought I'd sit through another of his films again. Glad I did.) Anyway, in the scene, Cameron Diaz tries to make herself cry. All sorts of face contortions, or making the sound and hoping the tears will come. But. Nothing. Tonight I want to do that. I'm sitting here waiting for the Big Breakdown. How to coax it out of myself? I must breakdown or they'll revoke my Girl Club membership card, no? Should I put on some sad music? Throw pillows? Longingly look at old pictures of him? (Oh wait, already drew him horns and boobs on those. No good.) I really don't have the slightest idea what to do, failing to play the role of Melodramatic Female yet again. Why am I wired like this?

I'm a list person and it feels like I should have some sort of list of what to do next. I'm all about the action plans. First will be to find another boyfriend and propertly title him and throw the word around just so I can dilute that silly word (boyfriend. there, i said it. boyfriendboyfriendboyfriend). I guess the main problem is that I don't want XXX back, so the standard plotlines as seen on film ("have fabulous and unexpected makeover! lose 100 pounds! win him back! make him sorry!") fail me.

Last blog I sang the praises of Grand National. Their other track I obsess over is called "Drink To Moving On". On that note, I think I will continue enjoying this glass of wine and drink to being single.

Here's to close calls and absolute freedom.
*clink*