Good Lisa goes to yoga, eats proper nutrient filled food, reads literature and does not like drama.
Bad Lisa stays up all night drinking, makes out with anyone within arm’s reach, and then wakes up with smeary eye makeup, unexplained bruises, huge gaps in her memory and a vague sense of regret.
Guess which Lisa I was last night?
Yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. I’m totally berating myself right now. That may have been the drunkest I’ve ever been without vomiting. And I’m not saying that in a happy, proud way. Trust. I usually start out the night as “happy, fun, good-time drunk” but I believe that I somehow devolved into “stumbling, nonsensical, insecure, needy drunk” during the late hours. Bad time. Again, it’s unclear because I’m not remembering vast periods of time, i.e., how I returned home (don’t worry … I do know that I wasn’t driving). I just have a nagging sense of unease. Maybe it’s just my hangover. Perhaps next time, I should eat some sort of a food product before I start drinking Irish whiskey straight from the bottle. People, it was ugly. Like an epically ugly night. No good comes of a night like that. Must detox immediately and reform. Good Lisa, good Lisa.
Speaking of good Lisa, my sweetie-pie date, Rob, called a little bit ago. I did not share the exact details of the debauchery (mainly because I cannot remember said details) but he appeared very sympathetic to a girl who got herself into this state of chaos. In fact, he offered to drive up from the O.C. with food and movies and we could just hang out tonight. Normally, I don’t let a guy into my place that early. It’s just asking for trouble. But … I think I can trust him. I might take him up on his offer. Food, movies, cute guy and my sofa actually sound pretty delightful right now. I kind of like him. He just seems like a good guy. No hidden motivations, no angles … instead of playing a game, I can just play. Kinda fun. 
On that note, I need to take about 50 more tylenol. I am really a wreck today. So my fault. Must remember that I am healthy, responsible adult woman of 36 y.o., not 19 y.o. extra on “Girls Gone Wild” video shoot on Spring Break. Why is this so hard for me to remember, again? And my elbow is killing me. I’m just sayin’ … I don’t even know how I would have hurt my elbow. Perhaps I should stop contemplating and just return to said sofa. Oh, and my place looks like a tsunami hit. Shit. I’m going to have to clean up the evidence if R comes by. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.
