Three’s a crowd.

“You didn’t tell B anything did you? I told her nothing happened and that I just went home after the pool. Anyway, I think we’re having people at the pool for a cookout for my birthday.”

Yeah. That’s the text message I woke up to Saturday morning. Clay was freaking out that his cover was blown because, first of all, he wrote on my facebook wall last weekend that he was coming to the pool. Naturally, his girlfriend asked him if anything happened, he lied to her face, and got away with it.

Fucking awesome. The weekend had barely even started and I’m already caught up in someone’s web of lies.

I didn’t reply to the texts.

Instead, I roll of out bed and checkout my facebook. Oh, and what do I have? A message from B, Clay’s girlfriend, inviting me to Clay’s birthday cookout at the pool on Sunday.

Now, I ran a few scenarios through my head. The first being to respond with this:

“Thanks for the invitation, B. However, I have a feeling that pool party would be slightly awkward considering Clay put his dick in my ass last Sunday.”

I refrained. I also thought about replying to Clay’s message and telling him that yes, I DID tell B everything and he would rat himself out and I would laugh hysterically.

In the end, I did nothing, I replied to neither message and just went to boxing like a normal citizen. Because that, folks, is what Kate Middleton would do.

On the drive home from class, I contemplated all of the things I could do with my day. And yet, when I got home, I showered, and took a long nap on the couch that resulted in me never getting properly dressed, and moving from the couch to the floor and vis versa, until 10 pm that night.

I watched three hours of the Casey Anthony trial on HLN.

Has anyone else been keeping up with that shit? If you haven’t, I highly suggest it. Right now, they are in the “scientific” phase of the trial, where they’re showing all the physical evidence and explaining the findings. What boggles my mind about this case, and the Natalee Holloway case, is this: how do these morons (Casey Anthony and Joran Van Dersloot) dodge the law juuuuust barely?!?!

You would think that a hair in the trunk of Casey’s car would put her behind bars for sure. BUT NO. The hair may or may not be that of a dead person’s…AND the hair may or may not be Caylee’s, Cindy’s, Casey’s, etc. Since when is DNA evidence a “maybe” thing?

Anyway, Sunday, Boots and I had plans to go see a movie. Well, since Boots is old, we had to go to the early bird special and see Bridemaids at freakin’ 9:50 in the morning.

A, who sees a movie before 10 am and 5, who sees a moderately raunchy movie before 10 am on a Sunday? Have some respect.

I wasn’t kidding when I told him I would need coffee for this venture. So I snuck a giant one in my purse, bought a bag of chocolate covered almonds, and we were good to go.

For the record, Boots insisted I bust in on Clay’s birthday pool party that afternoon. “Oh my god, you have to go, you have to go, please tell me you are going,” he said.

“No way,” I said. Although I knew it would make for ah-maaaaazing blog fodder.

So there you have it—my freakin’ weekend. I didn’t sleep in on either day. Fuck that.

Last night, I went to boxing class, and I’m proud to report that I’m meeting people and feeling a lot stronger in the class. But alas, it’s not all crayons and condoms, the lamest, baldest, beer guttiest guy in the class had to claim the bag next to mine right from the start.

I could feel him watching me during our punching combinations. I just tried to focus on the bag and look forward.

But of course, during the “cool down” we had to partner up. The guy immediately claimed me as his partner, and we got to toss a 13-pound medicine ball around for 20 minutes.

I wanted to die for multiple reasons.

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