Multiple Personalities. April 30, 2007

This weekend, I tapped into multiple aspects of my personality. 
 
Friday, my (mostly dormant) inner party girl was lured out by the arrival of an old friend from LA. We met downtown, at 12:30am, and the first order of business was securing a Red Bull and vodka for me (heavy on the Red Bull) as I usually end my nights at 12:30am, as opposed to begin them. Once I had some artificial energy running through my veins, however, I was game. Game mostly for drinking, that is, until M (boyfriend slash chauffeur slash HERO) came and picked my drunk ass up (at 4am) and drove my drunk ass home and tucked my drunk ass into bed, as all the while I slurred a chorus of “I luuuuuuuuurve you.” And also maybe tried to undress myself while we drove up the West Side Highway (what! My shirt was tight!). See why party girl doesn’t get to come out too often?   
 
Saturday and Sunday was all Domestic Goddess (and also, Indiscriminate Spender). I spent $100 at Bed Bath & Beyond (solely on kitchen gadgets like a garlic press and a lemon zester and a bundt cake pan because maybe one of these days I will get the urge to make a bundt cake so THEREFORE I MUST HAVE A BUNDT CAKE PAN! JUST IN CASE!), $100 at Whole Foods (oh, Whole Foods, what is this power you have over me that convinces me that spending $30 on three packages of berries is a good idea?) and another $50 on ingredients for lasagna (this lasagna, actually) because, unfortunately, Whole Foods does not stock Jimmy Dean’s hot breakfast sausage (it’s okay Whole Foods, nobody is perfect).  
 
Sunday evening, I made the lasagna for M. I started the lasagna at 4pm and I served the lasagna at 7pm and in between I was a raving, sauce-covered lunatic. A lunatic who had to call her mother approximately eleventy zillion times in order to get the answers to questions such as “what does simmer mean?” and “how many ounces make up a pound?” (I’m not proud.)  
 
The good news is that M practically proposed marriage right there in my dining room (slash living room; what’s up New York City living). A few hours later, as we were in a cab headed downtown, he shook his head and smiled and said, dreamily, “that lasagna.” I think he’s going to have it for breakfast today. And also lunch. If the lasagna were not an inanimate food product, I would surely be jealous of this new mistress of his.  
 
The cab took us down to the Tribeca Film Festival where we attended the premiere of James Franco’s film. My inner film snob slash starfucker loved the fact that we got to walk down a red carpet and witness a flurry of press angling for Mr. Franco’s attention and see a movie in a theater filled with “industry people” and “beautiful people.” The film itself (eh, eh and eh) was not the point. The point is, we heeded Robert DeNiro’s call to support downtown in the aftermath of September 11^th and, in the process, reminded ourselves that there is life outside of my apartment (really, my bed) and that sometimes that life can be pretty cool.  
 
And now I’m at work. And it’s almost noon. And I have been silently protesting doing any work because shouldn’t the government mandate, like, 3-day weekends for the promotion of mental health and sanity? Who’s with me? My multiple personalities could use a day to rest.