Let’s just say that Saturday night was a mess.

(Sorry this post is so long, girls! I'm still getting used to the format.)

It started off being a surprisingly good day. We shot our Spring 2011 lookbook in the Williamsburg studio of our talented, charming, British-American photographer (who’s also a former model). It all went downhill when my friend/business partner and I ended the day on non-speaking terms.

Earlier, I had been invited to dinner/drinks with my friend D, so was looking forward to some good boozing to get my mind off things. He and I lived together for a few months in my tiny Nolita two-bedroom apartment a couple years back. There’s also been some weird sexual tension I was hoping to figure out.

I bike over to his apartment, park on his corner, then pop up to his place so we can figure out where to go. We both want to try something new, so I pick three cute places to check out within walking distance.

We end up at a wine bar, 10 Bells, and order a combination of different small plates. I’m focusing most of my attention on the delicious bottle of Pinot Blanc that we’re sharing. This is a mistake, I’ll later realize.

We split the bill for dinner, obviously (we’re just friends!), then head to another spot for a drink. I order one, maybe two more rounds. At this point we’re either a) drinking together like girlfriends out on the town or b) trying to drown the weird friend zone in booze.

Now we’re dancing, though I can’t remember how we started and I’m pretty sure this is not something friends do. He’s a good dancer, despite the fact that I’m spilling my martini every which way. I’ve forgotten to order it in a tumbler glass, which is my usual trick.

We go back to his hood because I have parked my bike there. I unlock it and D rides it up and down the block like a little kid. I decide I’m too drunk to ride home, mostly because I want him to invite me upstairs, which he does (after encouraging me to take a cab).

At this point I’m hitting on him. Blatantly waiting for him to kiss me. Mistake number two.

We’re sitting next to each other on his couch and he says something awkwardly, apologetically. I can’t really hear him though, I’ve zoned out, so I ask him to repeat himself. “I REALLY DON’T THINK WE SHOULD HOOK UP!” He’s shrugging and avoiding eye contact. I can't believe he had to say that Twice! Shit.

He says something about it being because he likes me so much as a friend, I’m one of the only people he can really talk to, etc. I’ve zoned out again because the room is still spinning and those are things you tell people you don’t like in order to make them feel better. I think he even apologizes. Yikes, this is embarrassing.

I get incredibly awkward and say, “I know, of course, obviously, I don’t know what I was thinking.” Then get up to leave.

Then he kisses me? Or more likely, I kiss him. But he lets me, and it’s a sweet kiss.

I think he’s still apologizing, so I leave, get on my bike, start to bike home. A random guy on the street advises me against this (biking, that is). I think he’s watched me spend 10 minutes trying to figure out how to unlock my bike.

All I know is that I wake up the next morning with Oreos in my bed, spots of ice cream on the clothes I’ve strewn on the floor, and a pizza crust on my bedside table. Nice.