ugh. hormones.

I think that if you polled my close friends about my status as a "girly-girl," things would be pretty split. Sure, I love fashion, chick flicks, high heels, curling my hair, and puppies as much as Elle Woods, but that's all superficial. I feel like my sense of humor, personality, social activities, and affinity for good beer lend myself to being "one of the guys." I've got a pretty even split among male and female friends and feel equally comfortable among both sexes. I have just as much fun at a chic lounge all gussied up as I do in jeans at a basement dive bar. I can't watch the ASPCA commercial without bawling my eyes out, but I can talk about German cars all night long. I'm upbeat but sarcastic, a hyper-planner but also pretty laidback.

My two favorite pairs of shoes (that I actually own):

Ok, so enough of this comparison. What's the point? Well, it's just to reiterate and support how much I absolutely hate "that girl." Y'all know the one. The one who throws a hissy fit when she doesn't get what she wants, drinks too much and then cries about how no one loves her, just wants to be the center of attention at all times. Ugh.

Well friends, you may not believe it (it's hard for me to!), but on Saturday night, I was.... that girl.

I know, I know, it's awful. I can't believe it happened. I'm so ashamed.

So what happened? Well, we were all out, having a great night on the town consisting of Jumbo slice, gin and tonic buckets, and squeeze bottles of SoCo and Lime:

Good times, no? Everything was going quite swimmingly until I decided to tread dangerously closely to "that girl" territory by texting the guy that I've just started dating. Like, just started dating. 3 dates. Luckily he was in good spirits and I didn't come off too drunk, phew. Well then I made my crew go to the bar where he was. And then I went to go find him. And then I saw him flirting with some other girl. And then I grabbed my crew and stormed out of the bar. I was very close to a full-scale hissy fit. It. was. bad.

I snapped out of it within about 20 minutes or so, but even while in my that girl-frenzy, I knew I was being stupid. I knew it. Overreacting, drama queen, bullshit. Ugh. I so hated myself. I apologized profusely to the poor folks that had to follow me around that night and I nearly forgot about the whole episode by the time my guy left all of his friends to come hang out with us but I still feel so crappy for those 20 minutes. What triggered it? How did it happen? What is it that turns us sane, rational beings into absolute freaks?