Jumping Fences

Tonight was nothing short of a disaster. I went to a party with Kate, Michelle, and Liz and sipped vodka and tea from a water bottle. BPA free. Some foreigner came up and asked me where I was from. Typical. Then we spotted Pete and I dragged him with me the rest of the night.

"Cops!" False alarm. False alarm. TRUE.

Pete and I ran out the back door. I tore off my suede stilettos and jumped a fence. While going over, my leather bag got stuck, I fell to the ground and yelped. Some girl goes, "Honey, pull yourself together." Bitch, please. I am not drunk, one. Two, you are wearing a sports bra and leggings. Check yourself.

Pete grabbed my shoes from the ground and we ran through someone's backyard and into some bushes. I had no idea where my driver was, and Michelle said she was trying to find me. We were on a back road, so there was no street sign. Pete and others wandered back to the party, but I didn't want to risk getting caught by the cops so I stayed in the forest. Alone. Finally, Kate picked me up and we drove home with Liz and Michelle.

Apparently there was a gate beside the fence. No matter. Jumping it was more fun.

Fifteen

Saturday night was Diana's quinceanera. It was a 9.5-hour party that ended with me, barefoot and wrapped in a white tuxedo jacket, walking to my car.

That night, I sat by a fire that was too hot. I listened to the sounds of the mariachi band. I danced with several boys. It kept me warm. I wanted to steal some wine, but Mama pulled me away, said, "You're driving."

Throughout the ceremonies, I couldn't help but compare this family with mine. This, I thought, looking at the three-tiered cake Lucero had made for her daughter, how she had decorated their backyard to compensate for 100 guests...this is family. Love is not selfish. Then Lucero came up to me before I left, kissed my cheek, and said, "You are my family."

It was cold, but I linked arms with a boy who shares my name. The ground was wet beneath my bare feet but I didn't care.

Regret

I've never been one for regrets. I follow my heart, so at one point, this is what I wanted. However, I've recently wondered if I haven't been a little rash in my decisions. A part of me regrets breaking up with Pierre, despite how immature he was about the whole situation. Was I really in the wrong here? Maybe, I don't know. A big part of me feels like I really fucked up. I can't look at those pictures from Montreal without feeling sick to my stomach, like I lost something very special. What was once the most incredible week of my life now brings me pain. I had this fairy tale romance, and I let it go. Maybe it was for the best. I mean, one could hardly call it a relationship. We only talked every week or so...but still. A part of me wonders if I'm a huge fuck-up.

On top of that, I think a small part of me really loved Pierre. Well, what is love anyway.

Bedbugs

It's been a shitastic week. Yesterday Pierre and I broke up and today we discovered bedbugs in our apartment. The entire afternoon was spent ziplocking our mattresses and fumigating our bedrooms. Now it's 12:30 AM, I'm exhausted, and I have to wait for my sheets and pillows to be cleaned before I can go to bed.

I set aside a bottle of wine for tonight, but nothing fun happened. I suppose that's for the best. I spent the night reading and watching Wilson and Taylor make apple chips. But I won't lie. It's been hard having my two roommates with their boyfriends here this weekend. I didn't think our breakup would affect me that much, but it has. I've sobbed and everyone knows that nothing kills confidence like a terminated relationship.

On the bright side, I think I'm going to the spa tomorrow with Kristi. And fall break starts on Thursday. Hopefully things will start looking up.