Er. That was a typo that should have been "woe" but I thought it was fitting nevertheless. This weekend was fairly laidback by my standards. I had a great Friday night with my best girl friends at an MIA concert, followed by a pint of Cold Stone that I ate in it's entirety. We went outlet shopping on Saturday and battled the heat and crowds. And on our way back to the city - a text popped up in my inbox. FROM THE JUGGLER!
It read:
"hey l...not sure if you have plans tonight but my friends band is playing at (insert bar name here) in tribeca...should be a good time"
I was floored and thrilled. Perhaps a little too overzealous but I happily responded that I wouldn't be able to make it (gotta play hard to get) but that I'd love to meet up afterwards. Sure enough, he texted me around 1 to let me know his destination, but it was far from the bar I was already heading to with my friends Abs* and Benny* - so we tried to make him come to me. After much back and forth of texting, this happy little text popped up:
"i think i'm just going to roll out and call it a night"
Stab me in the heart. So rather than wallow, Abs* and I decided to drown my sorrows at another bar. And that's where I met Columbia* - because of course, that's where he's from. He had everything I needed in order to forget the Juggler - a tan body, an accent and white loafers. He got my digits - and of course I've already heard from him.
But is it weird that I'm still bummed about the jug?
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