Permission to feel sorry for myself for the next hour…
Every once in a while we all deserve the right to dance the night away at our own pity party. It just so happens, my fiesta is tonight.
I would invite you all to share in my sappy sulking, but I think this dance floor is only big enough for one of us and I didn’t bring my dancing shoes for nothing.
Although I typically pride myself on positive self-affirmation, tonight I am going to allow myself to just feel whatever it is I need to feel in order to move beyond this evening in one piece. And if that means putting on my favorite party dress and accessorizing it with the latest trends of self-pity and mascara stained pillow cases then count me in!
My VIP guest list will consist of your favorite love to hate emotions misery, discourage and loneliness and if anyone knows how to throw a pity party it is these guys. They are the first to show up and always the last to leave and lucky for me they travel in packs.
They are heavy drinkers when it comes to taking shots to the ego and can down any forty from my wallet in a heartbeat. By the end of the night they will leave you empty handed in a puddle of your own word vomit while country’s music’s latest depressing top 20 is on repeat in the background.
Together we can throw one hell of a party and maybe if you’re lucky, next time I’ll at least save you a dance