"And I Thought, Be Still My Heart"

Two words: Caffeinated vodka.

That is what I was drinking last night with R at Coach G’s bowling-and-boozing fundraiser. Ow ow, my heart. With a girlie name and pink bottle, the fundraiser-sponsoring vodka is clearly targeted for Manhattan’s understimulated and underfed female demographic. And it’s delicious in a cosmopolitan or four, if you can get past the jitters.

Bowling was a ton of fun. My adolescence in a small town with nowhere to go but a bowling alley and a movie theater carried me through the first game and I bowled a 116. Coach G’s friend Z dubbed me The Spare Queen, which has a nice little ring to it actually. I like the idea of being extraneous royalty. Anyway. By the second game, those cocktails caught up to me and my game went significantly downhill: at one point I tripped, fouled and nearly face-planted down the lane. No one has ever accused me of being graceful. R didn’t do so hot either – he may carry our team in pool and darts, but bowling is not his forte. Gutterballs, yes. Strikes, not so much.

I woke up early this morning to a terrifying thunderstorm that shook my whole apartment. One flash of lightning was so bright, and the thunder so immediate, that it must have touched down right outside my window. My initial thought as the rain pelted my air conditioning unit was, “Ugh, I wish I didn’t have a ten-minute walk to work.” Boy, did I dodge a bullet. The storm knocked out nearly every subway line in Manhattan, forcing suits and secretaries to make a humid trek to the office on foot. So thank you, Goddess of Midtown, for granting me my lovely little morning commute. I know I may forget to say it sometimes, but I love you. And that color goes great with your eyes. Have you lost weight? Really, you look fabulous!

Shortly after waking up, I remembered that we stopped at a deli on the way home and I had completely forgotten to eat my vanilla-frosted-and-rainbow-sprinkled gigantidonut. It’s a good thing I’m putting off that “taking better care of my self physically” thing until next week. Mmm, donuts...Now if I could have just stayed in bed a few more hours this morning, life would be perfect. ("This could be a brand new start...")

I have a confession to make. I love the movie You’ve Got Mail, due in part to how much I covet Meg Ryan's character's Upper West Side apartment – that isn’t the confession part, though. See, yesterday I said something mean to a friend who hurt me. It was exactly what I wanted to say, but afterward I felt terrible, just as Tom Hanks warns Meg Ryan she would. She writes, “I was cruel, and I’m never cruel…No matter what he’s done to me, there’s no excuse for my behavior." I wish I could take it back; I wish I could go back to the start and do several things differently in this situation. I may have serious doubts about the kinds of Happily Ever Afters that happen in movies like You’ve Got Mail, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed for a late-breaking Everything Works Out for the Best in the End.