Party in the USA

I just lied. Through my teeth. (Well, really through my text.)

A girlfriend just asked me where we should go out tonight. (The Dando? Obvi.) I had to rain check with the excuse that I was "busy", which I am.

Busy doing nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

  And it's awesome.

I started out by testing my Cooking Light skills, (which I obviously need) and was pretty impressed with myself. (Needless to say, it doesn't take much for me to be impressed with myself.)

Check out my recipe for Open-Faced Sandwiches with Ricotta, Arugula, and Fried Egg. And by "my" recipe, I  mean a recipe written by someone who knows what the hell they’re doing in a kitchen. That someone? Is not me.

 P.S. I subbed spinach for the arugula, because I'm poor cheap and already had it in my fridge. 

Onto Act II of my wild evening, where I catch up on my Tivo: Real Housewives of Atlanta, Cougar Town, and Modern Family. My 9pm bedtime narcolepsy refuses to allow me to see any of these shows at their original air times, and I'll need to be able to make conversation about these pillars of popular culture when I eventually decide to rejoin society.

Act III includes finishing my book (for book club!), a cup of tea, and slumber before my friends are even slipping on their stilettos for the night.

So I’ll never be labeled a party animal. Whatever. By the end of the week, I need a break from little people touching me, talking to me, and stepping on my feet. A bar is the last place I want to be. But my bar ban only last for the next 24 hours or less. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow night, Charlotte. 

Tonight, I’m busy.