I think I'm turning into a dude. Either that, or I'm just turning into an asshole. Probably the latter. I went out with one of my favorite girlfriends last night and she wanted to get dressed up and go to some of downtown Sarasota's "nice" places, which translates into "pretentious Latino-styled bullshit nightclub". I got all dolled up and spent too much money on shitty martini's and sangria and walked too far in heels. Now, I did all of this because my girl is mourning the recent death of her three year relationship with a pathological liar, and she didn't want to go to any "trashy" places, and since it is my job, and duty, to be a compassionate and good friend, I completely understood. Sometimes when you're trying to get over a guy, it feels good to get dressed up and remember that you still look good, and are desirable. It's this vapid routine where we women dress up, get hit on by guys we're not interested in, or not get hit on by guys we think should be interested in us, smile politely and go home to over analyze every moment of the evening. However, last night, as I was supposed to be pointing out all of the positive points of being blissfully single and free to my dear, and heartbroken friend, I found myself instead, taking my heels off, leaning back like a tired trucker, and ordering a beer. Classy, I know, but even as I looked around at a few hot guys at the bar, I thought to myself "I don't give a shit". It's easier to call a fuck buddy than to deal with this mess. And then I looked around at all of the girls at the bar, most of them older than us (it's Florida), and how alert and erect they sat in their little dresses, legs crossed, waiting for something, in heels much taller than mine, I thought to myself again "I don't give a shit". Seriously. And then I thought, if we were in one of the "trashy" places, at least I could just sit and wait for a homeless or recklessly drunk person to do something funny. So, as I looked around for any form of entertainment I could find, that I didn't have to create myself, I wished that one of the debutantes would at least fall down and sprang an ankle, or that there would be a really good "couples fight" somewhere.Alas, there wasn't, and instead of nurturing my poor friend, I proceeded to tell her how shitty it is being single in this town and how I would rather be sitting at home right now in sweat pants watching Comedy Central and UFC in tandem, smoking a bowl and drinking six beers for the price of the one in my hand. She was not amused with me.