once a bridesmaid, always a hottie
August 17, 2003, 10:58 pm

"So Jess, you'll never guess who has totally hooked me up recently..." says Mike.

"WHO?" I ask, incredulously, more preoccupied with opening another beer than getting the answer.

"Voldemort."

Of course, he didn't call him Voldemort, but that's who he said.

Time froze for a minute and I felt my chest give an involuntary heave.

"No shit," I said, "Does everyone in this room know I slept with him?"

This is what happens when I am drunk: I have no secrets and no shame. Then again, this is what happens in my online diary, so I'm either drunk while typing this (it's been known to happen) or I just generally have no secrets and no shame. Probably the latter.

Mike said that whenever he mentions my name in casual conversation with V, the ante is upped and all of a sudden, he asks what more he can do for Mike. I am the verbal equivalent of "hit me" in Blackjack, or a surprise below the belt jab in a very carefully choreographed boxing match. I'm always amazed by how much I tense when V's name is mentioned, even though I don't care about him. I care about the situation...I really don't know. I wish there was a clever way to label my feelings on the matter, but the brain doesn't exactly file entire tremulous relationships under the heading "FUCK (Both -ed and Mind-), Probably Not A Good Idea To Talk About This Out Loud Where Other People Can Hear About This, and by the way, A Glass Table Perished As A Result of This Unholy Union."

So that's my relationship with V in a nutshell: it is floating around in my brain in a limbo zone where it pops up inconsistently.

Kind of like all my relationships past.

I think Charles Dickens was on to something with that whole Ghost of Christmas Past thing. "Here," he said, "Go examine all those happy times you had BEFORE you became a miserable, jaded prick and acknowledge that those times weren't that bad." Only now, I'm doing that with all my ex-boyfriends and psuedo-boyfriends, trying to find a common theme in them so I can effectively sort out my love history without feeling lost in it.

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Before I sound too Bradshawesque (too late), I'm delighted to report that as hope springs eternal, I am going to be a bridesmaid.

A BRIDESMAID.

Amy has decided that for whatever reason (probably all those times we've been drunk together and been placed in a situation worthy of a Bond girl, or at least an episode of Friends), if she has more than one bridesmaid, I will be in the wedding party. Yes, I get to don the dress and carry flowers and teeter down the aisle in ill-suited heels.

I've never been a bridesmaid before, and to be quite honest, I am perfectly DELIGHTED. No, seriously, I have ALWAYS wanted to be a bridesmaid, and now I get my chance.

I've always thought that it would be really funny and a tension-breaker for all involved if, as I strutted down the aisle in my bridesmaid dress, carrying my bridesmaid flowers, if I winked at the groom, or at least his dad. You know, a playful, flirty wink to say, "Good luck, buddy. You'll be fine"...

Or at least to say, "Yeah, I've listened to 'Bust-A-Move' one too many times."

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Remember how on Friday I told you to visit Mangus and worship him because he did that awesome drawing of me? Remember?

Um, you need to click here RIGHT NOW and see his latest masterpiece. It's called BienSeduction...goddamn I'm hot. Thank you, Mangus; if I ever doubt my hotness, I have this to look at and reassure myself.