Dante's Inferno: My idea of a Playdate

The simple act of writing a simple letter of apology to a dear friend has turned into the drama-rama of my year
(or at least right up there with that other bone-head thing I keep f'ing up, but I digress.)

A couple of summers ago I had a very drunk, very irish, very- wait I am repeating myself here... I spit out some nasty-ass words in a very venomous way (man can I spew) to a friend(s) who meant the world too me.

Fast forward to two Full years later, and I have yet to make a proper Mea Culpa. Until five fabulous min ago.

Hooray for procrastination. Hooray for Guilt, and Therapy, and a glass of Vino Verde.   A hugely hopeful moon this evening that is blindingly beautiful over the Pacific Ocean at this very moment.

So I suppose the best gift (If she accepts the apology letter that I've just licked the stamp for to that far flung zipcode in the east.)

Please note:  a mental cost-investment breakdown. Thanks for letting me share.

THERAPY $  10,920.00
one year of weekly sessions - (not including the double sessions when I was super loquacious) Working towards the goal of mending an important relationship with a girl friend.    I.E. writing letter stating the above mentioned drama-rama.

WINE/LIQUOR  $ 1000.00
This amount is small...yes. yes. I know..You're thinking liar liar pants on fire- but wait.  I gave up drinking as a "sport" in December 09/Jan..2010. I personally liked myself better as the witty, dancing drunk, with her lovely red locks in the lou...but alas that is for another pissy post so stay tuned as I envision a post paired with PMS and a fine zinfandel.

Kleenex $ 100.00
Cry baby tendencies aside, I still buy the good stuff, that leaves a soothing yet healing trace of aloe on my sniffling boo-hooing wet-nosed moments of the past. ( A quick sneak to pander to friends and kind strangers- you know who you are, patient and detail seeking subway token taker in the Toronto subway who listened and said just write it girll.. Accolades to my home team Olympic medal winners in the pitty-party Olympics. A stellar list of mental giants with P.H.d's in un-fucking up things that are fucked beyond belief, this includes my tolerant hairstylist, Robo, Colleen, and Rob.)  Gold baby... Pure Gold.

Writing the Mea Culpa letter $ PRICELESS.
Mea Culpa letter scrawled in my chicken scratch to the very fabu-lous Hillary Steinau (upon the very paper stock that I scold my kids for using) is simply priceless.



H
Fang Island Baby, August.  I propose a summit meeting of epic proportions and maybe a little arm wrestling ( 'cause you can and will kick my ass.) that's what I love about those Mainers.