Letting me go

So it's been a while since I've been on here - not cool self, not cool. But why has it been a while? Is it because interesting things are actually happening in my life? Why yes, yes they are.

It shouldn't be surprising to anyone who reads this blog that I over think most things. And by most things, I mean everything. Here's a sample conversation that I will have with myself on the subway:

"Oh I like those girl's shoes. I couldn't wear shoes like that. I would feel like a giant. But maybe guys like girls that wear heels. But guys don't like giants. Who does like giants? Andre the Giant probably. People from New York who don't root for the Jets. Me, if we're talking about the kids' sports movie Little Giants. Rick Moranis was in that. Where is Rick Moranis these days? Did he shrink himself and forget how to unshrink himself? Is he living with a colony of ants?"

Scary place, right? I promise that'll never happen again. The point though is that with thoughts like that, sometimes it can be hard to just let go and not have a pathway to God knows where when I'm out, perhaps looking to meet someone. But what has proven to be a great help in this area over the years is probably obvious: alcohol. It's what got me karaoke singing in December, it's what got me into a bathroom making out with someone in college (story for another day), and it's what put me into a very un-Blair situation last weekend.

I went away with a few friends to Montauk, where the air is clear and the people are far more free than they are here. Chalk it up to the sun and sea or the vacation mentality, but it just felt like everyone around me was far more free than the people that surround me in New York. And that was a challenge I could rise to with a little (lotta) bit of alcohol.

There were three bars involved in the night. The first I remember. The second I don't aside from the $58.60 bar tab I discovered in my purse the next morning... oops. The third? The third is hazy, but I do remember a very important detail. There was a boy. And I made out with him.

Do I currently have the boy's number? No. Did I get the boy's name? No. Would I be able to pick the boy out of a lineup? Questionable. But I do know I made out with him. On the dance floor. For everyone to see. After reenacting quite a few moves I saw in Dirty Dancing (not the end scene, of course, but the staff club scene).

Is this something I aspire to do all the time? No. But more often? Absolutely. I let go. For once I just did something that I wanted to do in the moment and I didn't worry about feeling awkward or self aware. And that is something I want to do all the time. Connecting the dots be damned, I want to quiet my mind more often, preferably without the help of a few vodka cranberries.