Groundhog Day

Today is officially Groundhog Day.

Is this post going to haunt me repeatedly?!

So, Punxstawney Phil didn't see his shadow this year... allegedly, spring shall come early(ish) this year.  Woot!

Once upon a time, I was having a martini with some friends at another friend's place, and one of my dearest BFFs (let's call him Mr. Davis) turned to me and said, "Hey, you know what, Diana?  I've always wanted to go to Punxsutawney, PA for Groundhog Day."

I put down my drink, looked at him, and smiled.  "How far do you figure it is?"

"Let's find out.  We have a few hours until midnight."

"Let me grab my Chucks," I responded, rising to grab my favourite sneakers.

So, about four or five hours later, we were driving around downtown Punxey, looking for a parking spot, cruising past the Craft Fair toward Gobbler's Knob.  It was hilarious, and we took great joy in flicking through local radio channels for the local news and music.  It didn't disappoint.

Phil saw his shadow that year, unlike this year, but we didn't care.  We loved the freedom of being somewhere new to both of us, and we totally bonded on an even deeper level.  We signed the Guest Book at the Punxy Library.  We saw Punxsutawney Phyllis as well as Phil.  We later went to the local Craft Fair at the school, and I bought my parents a magnet and myself a t-shirt.  (Good girls go to bed on time, but THIS GIRL went to Gobble at the Knob! Gobbler's Knob, Punxsutawney, PA)

This year, we made a pact to revisit Punxy next year, and I'm actually quite excited.  It's the kind of things that can only happen between really, really, REALLY good friends, but we're already plotting and planning our trip.  This won't have the fun of being spontaneous, but we, at least, won't have to stay at a little dive-motel along the way back North.  I am, after all, a 'recovering escort,' and to me, that means four-star accommodations... or at least three-star.  *shudder*  It was pretty harsh last time.  LOL

And, I'll have a change of underwear this time.

Am I doomed to repeat myself, like the Bill Murray movie?  I'm going to talk to a friend later -- a fellow sister from the industry, but we've both agreed that we will NEVER get 'over' our pasts in the Industry. We make jokes about paying for things with cash in unmarked, unopened, white envelopes, going into 'hooker mode' when faced with certain types of older men (it once happened with my new uncle: my aunt's husband totally gets escorts), and viewing vodka as a 'work environment.'

Let's just say that I never drink vodka anymore.  Ever.

Actually, I hardly drink anything at all anymore, except sometimes wine.  Too damned many medications.  I still enjoy a fine vintage Bourgogne, but there are no more weeks of slugging liquor to self-medicate the parade of clients.  If I ever go back, it'll be lucid and very, VERY selective.  Wine is good -- vodka shots at 8 AM?  Not so much.

I am having issues with a Man Friend of mine.  Not a client, but an actual friend.  It would seem that his description of me, 'writing more,' and my actually writing more weren't in synch, so I don't know what to do.  I've been confused as hell, but I suppose that goes along with the territory.

It just goes to show that there is NO such thing as 'expertise' when it comes to matters of the heart -- not even from a pro...

*sigh*

Happy Groundhog Day, everyone!