Is it wrong to want to live on your own?

So I'm coming off of a super weekend, and it only feels right to share a little bit of my joy with the rest of the world. In the proud tradition of great weekends past, I spent just as much of my time doing my own thing as hanging out with the peeps, and it was great. It may or may not be surprising that I'm less lonely when I hang out by myself. But anyway… on to those highlights.

Saturday was funny on many counts. I didn't have any grand, sweeping plans so I went up to the State Fair Grounds for what was advertised as a liquidation sale of monumental proportions. In other words, there was a bunch of junk that no one else wanted… including me. Well, I guess if I were in the market for a bunch of Bob Marley obrazed drug paraphernalia or stereo equipment to trick out the minivan… wait, there's a thought. Can you imagine? So anyway, other than some designer-knock-off sunglasses, there wasn't much to keep me there. (I don't believe in designer-knock-off perfume, by the way.)

Therefore, I made my way back to the apartment to catch up on the latest book from the Tammy-Rachel exchange. My coworker and I share a guilty pleasure in teen novels, and trade off the latest and greatest stories of some high-schooler finding out she's a princess or hooking up with a movie star, or dating the president's son, etc. It was a great way to spend a good part of the afternoon.

After that, my creativity took over and I started to refurbish that chair I found out by the dumpster a couple weeks ago. I'm here to tell ya it looks awesome. Of course, awesomeness such a subjective judgment. One of the Shawns was over last night and said, "Hey Rachel, let me see the chair!" So he comes into my room and says, "So, when are you going to paint it?" Ouch! Just kidding. I recognize that not everyone will love the bitter-chocolate paint and gold-leafing combo, but that's why the thing is staying in my apartment and not being sold at say, K-Mart. Oh, an artist's work is rarely appreciated in her lifetime! But when the thing sells at Sotheby's or Christie's 50 years from now, don't say I didn't tell you so.

The other fun part of my Saturday was receiving the Valentine's Day package from my family. You know, families are great. You can always count on them to take care of you on a holiday—especially a holiday that could otherwise be a day to reflect (for better or worse) on one's single status. Mother sent some killer jewelry and accessory-ish stuff, as well as fun things to decorate with. I had a blast sprucing up the digs, and an even better time coming up with interesting ways to wear the new stuff. In fact on Sunday I came up with a blinged-out ensemble just for the heck of it, but thought it would be acceptable, especially considering my hair is somewhere between Hermione Granger's and Priscilla Presley's and the whole look is a lot more thrown together than anything. It felt like I was saying, "Here you go, folks from church. I dare any of you to go more Boho than me. I'm the real deal." But then this girl, we'll call her the Bum-kisser, made some comment about me looking like I just came from Prom. Stupid girl. I guess I wouldn't mind, but I get a little tired of the same people telling me week after week that they like this or that I'm wearing, or that I look "so pretty." It all seems a little fake. I think one day I'm going to show up to an activity wearing a Hefty Trash Bag to see how many "fashion forward" comments I can get from Bum-Kisser and her followers.

Anyway, that sounded bitter, didn't it? Maybe it's because a lot of my old friends seem to be spending a lot more time with Bum-Kisser than they do with me these days. Then again, how would I know? Remember how I don't get invited to stuff? On Friday I happened to catch a matinee of "Nanny McPhee" (recommend it, by the by). While I was waiting in line I saw some of my pals, who were all going to another movie. They kind of invited me along as an afterthought, which was a little sad, so I just went ahead with the McPhee plan. And after I had some of the folks over for dinner last night, a large group got together for one of their TV-viewing parties that I also have not made the guest list of. I tell myself that it's because I'm the one trying to maintain my distance, but maybe this is just a way for me to still feel good about myself while I get the shut-out. I'm not sure yet.

But mostly, things were fun. It was nice to have a couple days away from the drudgery of the office to work on stuff I'm interested in. I also practiced my harmonica for a few hours and found a new recipe for split-pea soup (cooking in the crock pot at home even as I write this) so I give the weekend an 8+.

Happy Valentine's Day, y'all, even though it's a day early. And if you don't have someone to love, do what I do—go play some Dylan and work on your masterpiece. It's not a perfect life, but it's a good one.