The Single Girl's Version of a Great Weekend in Nashville

Friday – Go work out. Actually, this isn’t that great because it hurts like hell but it means you can order the sushi with the crunchy shrimp and fried chicken. And, yes, that is better than and as good as it sounds, depending on what you’re thinking. Plus it’s called “Hot Chick” so you hope you are what you eat.

Saturday – Try a new breakfast place where, because it’s closer to noon, you order crab fondue with a crawfish/gouda omelet. Fall in love with cheese for the billionth time. Visit some antique stores and find really creepy things, either because it’s Halloween or because the store owners are just kind of creepy. Hope it’s the former. Meet some friends for a little free outdoor music and pet shy dogs. Spend a much-needed evening at home watching one bad movie and one heart-breaking movie while drinking bourbon.

Sunday – Go to the dog park and meet adorable squishy, smooshy faces while continually scolding your dog for humping anything on four legs that walks by. Have a fabulous brunch before driving around incredibly beautiful neighborhoods, witness a stunning sunset, and finish up the evening eating ice cream before Walking Dead takes a turn for the really gross.

Curl up in bed with adorable puppies, a new book, and complete gratitude for taking leaps of faith and carving a new life. Recognize that it’s possible to fall in love with a place and your own life. 

Literally the Last Thing I Ever Wanted to Hear. Literally. Ever.

Seriously, this isn't even hyperbole. I literally heard the last thing I ever wanted to hear in the world this weekend. Okay, to clarify - the last thing I ever wanted to hear about my appearance. And I've been asked if I was pregnant when I wasn't. The baby doll dress was not a good look for anyone.

But this is really the last thing I ever wanted to hear.

The wife is considering going back to culinary school. Which is awesome and I hope she does it. She's currently researching schools and I, as the good wife, went with her to an open house at The Art Institute of Tennessee. We were late, as usual, so we got a personal tour rather than a group tour. Yay. When Jim (go ahead and read that as Jimmy in a South Park voice) came out to get us he asked, "Who is J?" As the wife stood up he then said, "Oh, who did you bring with you, your mom?"

Yeah, let that one sit for a minute......

He was referring to me. Me. He thought I was the mother of a 41-year-old. ME.

J's jaw dropped and I started laughing only to cover up the fact that I was literally bursting into tears. I even said, "Are you serious? Do you want to make me cry today??!!!" He then stammered about how he's used to seeing seniors (What senior fucking citizens????) and tried to assure me that I am beautiful. Half-heartedly. Before he mumbled something about going to his office. It was such a giant fucking faux-pas that he had to leave the fucking room.

I only continued to laugh because I was completely, utterly fucking horrified. "Do I look like I'm fucking 60????? Jesus!!!!" The girl at the front desk also tried to half-assed reassure me but I couldn't even look at her because there were tears running down my face. J tried to make a joke about needing eye cream because we've both been out of it for a couple of weeks but I just couldn't get past the fact that someone thought I was my best friend's mom. Not sister, not fellow student, not even her lover, but her fucking mom.

Jimmy returned to walk us around the classrooms and kitchens and all the while he kept asking the same questions repeatedly. "Do you have a job now? Have you been to college? Why did you move from Oregone?" (By the way, that is not a typo. That is how this imbecile pronounced Oregon. Over and over and over again.) When she answered the last question saying she wanted to be closer to her mom in Florida, I said, "But I'm right here." I refused to let him get away with that one. Especially since he never really apologized.

So, yeah, I'll be buying some eye cream. And scheduling some plastic surgery. Maybe a chemical peel, a face lift. This will all happen when I emerge from the fucking deep depression I'm about to fall into.