Call me Bridget... a major update

Thanks, Bananie, for the prompt to write again. Nice to know that someone is reading (hugely - and I do check in with yours pretty much every day.) I have stayed away from introspection for a while - there has been so much activity outwardly that I haven't taken a minute to reflect. SOOOO much has happened - I'll have to sum up and then be more faithful now that...
#1 SCHOOL's.... OUT - FOR - SUMMER!!! (Alice Cooper singing)
and
#2 I'm moving to a different apartment - solo - on July 17 (let me know if you'd like to help move...) my roommate (love her, but...) flaked out on the lease we had renewed May 1...on May 17. So... I'm moving two miles down Cool Springs Blvd. to a fabulous apartment community that is pretty much too nice for me, but I'll make it happen. Love it.
#3 Went home to Greenville SC the 21st-23rd for Nana's 80th birthday party - it was great to be able to be a part of that - living in Colorado for nine years, I missed a lot of birthdays, not to mention weddings, funerals, bar mitzvahs (kidding - no Jewish relatives- well, actually...)
#4 And then this weekend - call me Bridget because Bridget Jones was a social misfit - a fuck-up, frankly, and that was me today, at my third social event of today of a very,very action-packed Memorial Day weekend. I went to a party with my friends the Masons, and it was in a ridiculously nice neighborhood and there was not a "singleton" in sight, and I felt very conspicuous without toddlers in tow, and to make matters worse than you POSSIBLY thought they could ever be... long story short - ...
with a full plate of food, I dropped a single pork and bean on my white shirt. I got up to walk indoors to wash out the small spot immediately, with full plate and drink in hand. I slipped on ridiculously steep yard and landed full on my butt- jarring my back, and successfully dumping my entire drink, and most of the contents of my plate... onto my jeans. NO. It gets worse.
I walk inside, no nerve to turn around and see if anyone observed my fall, and race to their guest bathroom. My little white tank top has the spot I want to save - I grab a hand towel - a RED one, and moisten it with some cold water. Dab at my beautiful white tank with the favorite neckline ever - and it SMEARS blood red shit all over my shirt. I don't remember what sort of involuntary utterance came out of my mouth. Suffice it to say, I left said party soon after.
Now I'm watching Bridget, my heroine, fumbling through many mishaps, trusting that my bumbling, too, may one day have a happy ending. I raise a rum and diet coke to that thin, restless hope.