She Who Shall Not Be Named

So, someone who shall remain nameless called her ex-boyfriend yesterday to inform him that he should never contact her again. It was an umpteenth attempt at closure. We'll see if it works. He was somewhat flabergasted and apologetic. The fact that this someone is still reeling from an email that he sent her three weeks ago was enough to push her to call him just to tell him not to reach out to her again. Now it's really over, I spose. Or I hope it is.

Then I went out to dinner with my friend Michelle and she was completely grossed out when she found a hair in her tabouli. I was preoccuppied with trying to figure out whether the flowers in the restaurant were fake. She told me her own love woes and I felt better.

Afterward, went to "an intimate drinking and eating room in Park Slope" called Beer Table. We took forever to order because we were so caught up in the adjectives used to describe the beers. Soapy, crunchy, a hint of spring, rambunctious, meaty, smoky -- Michelle, the vegan, was aghast and ordered nothing. Some of the brews were exorbitantly priced -- $95 for a bottle of beer? I don't think so. I like beer and know a thing or two about it but honestly this place intimidated me.

Michelle is excited because Feist is playing in Prospect Park this summer. Maybe I'll get tickets.