Failure, Optimism, and Drunk Friends

There are two words that hold a lot of power for me, and they are "failure" and "friend". Failure has always been a powerful thing for me, but friendship is a more recent addition, since moving to London. Today I dealt with both.

I found out that my optimism about my last project was unwarranted, as I once again failed. To add insult to, uh, insult, our fashion show was today, and the model who wore my dress wore it incorrectly, and unbuttoned and hid the best part of it. I was so deflated.

But after the show the entire class went out to dinner, and then pub hopped until 11pm. (There will be a hundred new, drunken, unflattering photos of me on facebook in a matter of hours, I'm sure.) At 11, my favorite gayboi and I headed back to the tube, but ended up getting off and heading to a pub near my flat, meeting up with two of his friends and having a fabulous time.

Until tonight, I wasn't sure this guy liked me, even though I thought he was fabulous. But when I heard him refer to me as "my friend Rachael" I was immediately happy to meet his other friends. Having someone call me "friend" has never been such an important thing before.

It's 1am, I just got home. I've had eight drinks, which in San Francisco times would have knocked me on my ass, but these days, in London I am only buzzed. That was an awkward sentence. Maybe I am a bitty bit drunk. But just a bit.

I failed my project. I've failed both projects this quarter. Miserably.
But I had a good evening, and that makes it all alright.