I had a nice weekend. I spent the vast majority of it with Bryan, as I normally do. On Friday we went to dinner at Bella, which was splendid, complete with trendy music, hordes of trendy people, and marvelously overpriced food. Saturday we attended our tango lesson (yes, we're taking tango lessons, and we're damn good. Just for the record, however: if you wish to try and test a relationship, take tango). Later that evening we cooked dinner and I got completely tanked on a bottle of Italian wine (we still don't know what kind, exactly; it was one of those mysterious table wines of some mysterious berry that never quite comes to light. We purchased it because the man at the adorable wine bar in Hyde Park told us to, and after the fact I've come to the conclusion that he doesn't even work there at all, but rather is a homeless man that sleeps on the corner and occasionally trots into the store, poses as an employee, and aggressively recommends the worst wine he can find to gullible shoppers. Not only are Bryan and I gullible shoppers, but we're polite ones as well, and therefore had no choice but to purchase the wine as he advised us to). To my credit, however, I had also had a couple glasses of Stonehaven chardonnay, which surely explains why I was running in circles and attempting to rock-climb the concrete floor while animatedly screaming as I pretended to fall.

Yes, yes, I know dear reader: I'm an annoying drunk. But lord almighty, how I enjoy myself!