Eeyore's Birthday Party and an unexpected guest

It's been incredibly gorgeous the past few days. It's warm enough to swim but not so hot and humid that you're feeling like a damp washcloth slaps you in the face when you walk out your front door. There's a delightful breeze and there's less "tree sex" (pollen) floating around than earlier in the year. It's perfection and prime time to revel in your ourdoorsiness.

At least, I do. And since I can't run [can barely walk] due to my fucking foot, I'm going to get my sunshine by some other means, by whatever means necessary!

So, I headed to Eeyore's Birthday Party, this huge event not far from my place with a friend of mine and his dog. It's basically a huge party for hippies in a city park where the constables turn a blind eye to the doobies and bongs. It's an alternate reality. It's full of "dirty hippies," bongo drum circles, pot stinkiness, smoked turkey legs, beer, and the craziest costumes worn by people that probably shouldn't be wearing them, but bless them for doing so because it's So.darn.entertaining!

So who should I run into just as we arrive and take our respective places in the beer line?

Spoonman and friend.

What are the odds? Seriously. I've got this magnet that attracts exes. I don't have that many of them, but they come a-flockin' whenever I am out on the town.

I get this huge hug, the type that would be totally inappropriate had I been a stranger. He was right up against me. And it felt good.

Arg!! Setback.

Spoonman was friendly but I was pretty much stunned and shocked so my reactions were probably not so friendly, though, I did smile. I always smile. That's just me.

His friend was impressed that I remembered their secret handshake but what does it matter now? It doesn't.

My friend tells me as they awkwardly excuse themselves and are out of earshot, "Scarlett, if he's 30-somethin' and can't see what he has with an awesome, attractive girl such as yourself, then he really is an idiot." It did make me feel a little better. I hope he knows that he's an idiot for letting me go because damn it, I am awesome.

So, I did what any girl would do on this occasion: I drank beer, listened to drum bopping, scorched a pattern of my tank tops' straps into my shoulders, tried to fix my friend's dog up with any cute canine specimens, and documented festivities of stinky hippies for the remainder of the afternoon.

Not a bad Saturday afternoon in the least.