Charming, but single

So, the world almost lost a very Charming Single Girl tonight.

I spent the evening having drinks with pals. I was very careful to drink very little, as I am housesitting quite a ways out of the city and knew I’d have a bit of a drive ahead of me.

I leave the bar, grab a meatless chalupa from Taco Bell (’cause, you know nothing tastes like Taco Bell at 2:30 a.m.) and hop on the Interstate and head to the house.

I’m trucking along, singing backing vocals for Ms. Joss Stone when I see headlights coming toward me.

I am understandably confused. I’m not driving on some piddly two-lane highway in the backwoods. I’m on the freaking four-lane Interstate, which not surprisingly has a WALL that keeps the four lanes of eastbound traffic away from the four lanes of westbound traffic.

Or so I thought.

It takes about 30 seconds for me to realize that someone is coming straight at me, driving the wrong way down the Interstate. After the initial shock wore off, I dug in my brain to remember back to driver’s ed. This subject was DEFINITELY not covered.

So, it’s 2:30 in the morning, and all of the cars around me are going at least 75 miles per hour and I don’t have time to think now, because I wasted all of it trying to comprehend that a car was, in fact, flying toward me intending to collide with me in a situation that was sure to end in someone’s death.

I wasn’t in any mood to find out whose.

I jerked my wheel and my car glided to the right, missing the car by maybe a few feet and thankfully not swiping a neighboring car. My first reaction was to stop my car, rest my head on the steering wheel and cry from the sheer horror of it all, but I quickly remembered that I was driving 75 miles per hour on the Interstate and was probably all of out of driving miracles for the day.

I arrived to the house without further incident, choked down part of a calupa (cause I’m a bit shaken up now) and I’m heading to bed. I’m thinking I probably should have called the police, but it was all I could do to keep driving. I’d had enough near-death experiences for one night.

Sigh. It was a fun night otherwise.

(Also, I smoked a cigarette. Rather, I smoked three cigarettes, all before the near-fatal almost car crash. But you can’t be mad at me, because I almost DIED tonight. And I threw away the pack and my matches and I’m sure I’m going to feel like hell in the morning. Isn’t that punishment enough?)

I had dinner with my recently engaged friend and her fiance, who are in town for a quick visit. It was nice. I hadn’t seen her in months and I’ve only met him twice, so it was cool to have a nice long dinner with them.

He was oddly complimentary of me, which would normally be a red flag, but he is very genuine and I like him. (I do not always get “red flags” from compliments, but I am very wary when my girlfriends’ significant others pile compliments at my feet. Sometimes it feels as if they’re trying to butter you up because you’re the good friend and they want you to put a good word in with the girlfriend. I can see right through this.) (To be clear, this was NOT the case tonight.)

His compliments were odd. He talked about how great I looked and joked, “Is there some man you’ve got your eye on?”

He commented that I looked more finished and polished and even said, “You just look more feminine.”

There was a part of me that wanted to take offense at this, but he said it in a way as if the word “feminine” popped out as the first word chosen to describe something that wasn’t tangible. (It helps that he’s from England and he has an accent that can only be described as lovely, especially when compared to the backwoods Southern mumble that passes for a “drawl” here.) He had studied my face and seemed at a loss as to what made me seem to look different. And the word “feminine” came out. But his context hinted that I looked less severe. (I think.)

It was so odd how he said it that I’ve been mulling it over all night. I studied my face in the mirror as I was taking off my make-up tonight, and I think he’s right.

(Now, some of you are going to protest, because I’m not going to post a side-by-side comparison. To you, I say, go read someone else’s journal.) (Joking!) (Sort of.)

I look softer than I used to look. While some of it can be attributed to a more flattering haircut, less harsh bangs, soft highlights, better eye make-up and an obsessive amount of moisturizing, I think my healthier lifestyle is coming through. Eight glasses of water a day, a full night’s sleep each night, more normal hours and more day-to-day activity can do more than an lotion or cream can.

I just feel happier and less severe. I am more balanced — I’m still traveling at warp speed, but I take the time to relax and rest when I need a break. I go to the doctor when I’m sick. I’ve quit smoking and replaced afternoon snack machine goodies with fruit or crackers.

It’s odd how someone who rarely ever sees you can notice a change in your look and demeanor that you don’t notice each morning in the mirror.

Either that or my expertly curled lashes just got to him.