Pic of the Week.
This week was incredible busy, in the best way. However, I did so many fun things, it was difficult for me to pick just one picture that represented my week.
Lately, my job has been incredibly stressful, and I feel like I’m not even fun to be around. But just when I started thinking that, my friends rallied around me, and made it a great week!
On Tuesday night, my girlfriend and I went to the LSU Baseball game, as she had tickets in the suite from her office. I’ve been in the football suites before, but never the baseball ones, and I was pleasantly surprised to see a full spread of burgers, hot dogs, nachos, and dessert. There was also a full bar.
Thursday, my friends and I went downtown for Baton Rouge’s premier of MPAC, a party meant to highlight great food, drink, and music in the city. The dress was all-white, so I happily dug out my favorite pair of white jeans and went to the party.
It was a pretty good party, but I expected more opportunity for food and drink. Instead, I drank my dinner at the cash bar ($8/glass of wine), and ended up downstairs at the Roux House for ladies’ night (free champs and ‘tinis ’til 10).
Thursday was also the kick-off of one of my favorite events of the year, the All-City Teen Poetry Slam Festival, put on by Forward Arts. I was asked to be a judge for the first two preliminary rounds of poetry, and I was so honored to be there.
The bouts are against different schools in All-City, and despite their young age, these kids have blown me away with their talent. In just the two days I was there, I heard poems about abortion, drugs, sexuality, death, and gun violence.
I judged the poetry bouts until 7:30 on Thursday and Friday, and was rushing to get home because I had a date at 8 p.m. Friday. I don’t want to divulge too much information just yet, but I will tell you that it was our second date, and he was downstairs, waiting for me with a bouquet of flowers—which is my picture of the week.
Yes, I’ve gotten flowers from a man before (4 times including this one), but never on a date. It was very, very sweet.
To tell you the truth, I’ve been thinking a lot these past few weeks about my past, when it comes to dating. Now that I’m in a place where I feel clear-headed, I can see things way different, and it’s sad to realize what happened to me.
Take the poetry slam, for example. I was a judge last year, also, and was dating my then-boyfriend. I was so excited to be a judge, and he was pretty mad about it. In fact, he was mad when I did anything that didn’t include him—open mic nights, workouts at the gym, ladies’ night with my friends.
He didn’t even want me to talk about them, because he was so against me having a life.
So, when my date Friday night showed up with flowers, and asked me, “How was the poetry?” I was shocked, and thankful, and excited, all at once. It was a really nice change of pace.
I told him later how much it meant to me that he was cool with my tardiness, and taking a moment to ask about my volunteer efforts.
“That’s something I like about you,” he said. “I don’t want to stifle that.”
Yeah, good point. A point I’ve never considered before, making me wonder why those of my past have tried to stop me from doing the things that make me who I am.
I spent Saturday with my friends, old and new, eating my weight in crawfish, and having my fair share of beer, and my first “Pear Pie” shot (one shot of Fireball dropped into a 1/2 pint of Woodchuck Pear).
Sunday, my girlfriend and I napped on pool rafts; rehashed our weekend, and got a little color while we were at it. I ended my night with an 8-ounce filet grilled on my terrace as the sun set. It was perfect.
All of it.
“I finally learned to let it go, Now I’m right here, and I’m right now, And I’m open, knowing somehow, That my shadow days are over…”
—John Mayer, Shadow Days
Posted on May 6, 2014, in The Squeeze and tagged alcoholic, breakup, breakups, college, dating, drinking, ex boyfriends, first date, getting published, heartbreak, Holly A. Phillips, How to Make Lemonade, life, love, relationships, sex, The Bitter Lemon, twenty-something, writing. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.