Posts filed under: ‘Les Amies‘
As I mentioned in my last post, I start a new 8 wk job on Tuesday. This is great news, of course, as I’ve been out of work for too long. However, I will have to get up at 6am. Yeah, you heard that right. This past week, I truly have tried to go to bed earlier, (12am instead of 1am or 2am) but it’s difficult trying to break the cycle. I’m just praying that I don’t collapse once I’m seated at my new desk.
Today my friend Nate has a half day at work. We’re going to see “He’s Just Not That Into You.” I’m sure it will be a fun, light-hearted flick, so I’m looking forward to it. I remember reading the book and, while flipping through the pages, feeling frustrated. When I read the book I was only twenty-three years old. I had been navigating my way through one failed relationship to the next and, I have to say, Greg Behrendt opened my eyes. It’s better to have learned the hard way than to never have learned at all.
I can’t wait for “The Real Housewives of NYC” on Tuesday. I have immensely enjoyed this season of “The Real Housewives of OC,” so I’ll miss those broads, but no one offers the kind of drama that the NYC gals offer on a weekly basis. Oh, and I’m all about the drama, being that I held the title of “Most Dramatic” in my high school year book.
Add a comment February 13, 2009
One of my New Year’s resolutions for ’09 is to make more friends. This is not to say that most of the friends that I have aren’t worthy of friendship anymore. Really, I feel as though it’s time for me to be more social.
Last week I ran into my next door neighbor, Allison, as I was coming back from my interview. She asked me how my cats were doing, and I said they were “same old, same old.” Secretly, I love it when people ask me about my cats. They’re like my children, after all! I asked Allison how her cats were doing. She said fine. She has five cats, and I look after them whenever she and her husband go away on trips. Not only are these simply five cats, but they are a family composed of a mommy cat, a daddy cat, and three cute ‘lil kittens.
I went on to tell Allison that I had gone to volunteer at an adoption event over the weekend. Yes, dear readers, this was the thing I had promised I would talk about. This is the thing that makes me even more of a crazy cat lady. I had gone to the event with the sole purpose of volunteering,(another beautiful one of my New Year’s goals) but immediately found myself driving one of the other volunteers to Lynn’s house where Lynn would show me her rescued FIV cat named Arnie. I could have protested to the volunteer, “No, I’m just here to volunteer. My boyfriend does not want another cat,” but instead I folded my hands and quietly acquiesced.
When we got to Lynn’s house, we went through the gate around back, and were greeted by two giant dogs. One was a doberman, and somehow, I made this dog so excited that he bit me on the finger. My months of watching The Dog Whisperer have clearly paid off. A few moments later, I stood in front of Arnie’s big cage. Arnie lived in a covered cage outside on the patio. Lynn appeared, and let me go inside the cage to pet Arnie. No doubt about it, Arnie was a cute, docile orange tabby. However, I didn’t feel a huge connection with him. He wasn’t overly friendly with me, but then again, neither was Bette when I had adopted her. Although Bette wasn’t the warmest when she first looked into my eyes, she chose me, and I felt a connection. Sammy had looked into J’s eyes, and done the same thing, only he had been Mr. Charmer.
Lynn wore a black shirt that had cat cartoons all over it. I’m not making fun of it. As a matter of fact, it was kinda cute. You couldn’t really see all the cat characters though because of all the cat hair that covered her shirt. When I asked her how many cats she had living inside the house with her, she said that she couldn’t tell me. “You don’t want to!”
I kept petting Arnie, and asking “What’s up, Dude?!?!” in my high-pitched kitty voice. He let me pet him. He seemed sad and content all at once. Two other cats lived in his cage with him. One of them was a fourteen year old female. She let me pet her too. Even though she was the hairiest calico I had ever laid eyes on, when I pet her all I felt was bone. The other cat, a male, was like Arnie in that he looked perfectly normal. When I asked Lynn what his story was she said that the poor guy didn’t know how to use the litter box. I thought to myself, “Hmm, this is the cage of rejects.” Across the way, there were two beautiful Himilayan cats in their own cage. The ladies told me that those cats had been adopted, and that the future owners would be coming for them tomorrow. Next to the “Reject Cage” was an empty cage. A younger cat had lived in that cage, and had been adopted a few hours earlier.
Lynn and the volunteer tried to convince me that adopting Arnie would be a-okay. FIV in cats is like HIV in humans, only humans can’t get it from the cat. It’s a very slow process of the weakening of a feline’s immune system. They told me that Arnie wouldn’t give my cats FIV unless both cats mixed blood. That could only occur through deep tissue wounds. The doberman came up to the cage, wagging his tail. I looked down at my finger.
I knew that the probability of Arnie giving my cats FIV was very unlikely. I knew that Arnie would most likely live a normal, healthy life. However, something in my gut told me not to take this cat home. I felt so sorry for Arnie, I really did. Every cat should have a home to call their own, and be loved by their humans. I don’t know if it was J not wanting another cat, or how expensive having a cat with FIV could in fact become, in all practicality, but that voice inside me was like, “Nooooo, don’t do this!” Looking back now, I believe it was the lack of connection. As much as Arnie needed a home, he didn’t choose me. Hopefully, he would choose someone else.
Holy tangent! Getting back on track now, (promise!) when I filled Allison in on snippets from this “volunteer mission,” she told me that I had absolutely made the right decision. She said it didn’t matter how Arnie probably couldn’t give my cats FIV, but that it wouldn’t be fair to Arnie. My two cats have eye herpes in their system, (even when their eyes look perfectly fine) and Arnie’s weakened immune system shouldn’t be exposed to that. It was so obvious! It was common sense! I felt even better about my decision now. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of that before.
Before Allison disappeared off into her apartment after all the typical “good-bye, cya lata” pleasantries, she asked me if I’d like to take a walk some time. I had told her that I was now unemployed, and that I often got bored during the day. I told her I’d love to walk with her. We both agreed we’d knock on one another’s door whenever we felt like walking.
Allison is around my parents’ ages. She has two children who live a few hours outside of L.A. She used to live in a house in Santa Barbara. She’s a claims lawyer, usually working from home. She’s in her second marriage, and her current husband is an out of work librarian. She likes plants, and has a little garden off her balcony. I vicariously live through her when she chats about her balcony and the view she has of the canyons because, sadly, I have no balcony.
Yesterday, after it stopped raining, Allison knocked on the door. We had already walked at least three times together during the week, and were becoming fast friends. I felt embarrassed as I opened the door, suddenly realizing that I was still in my PJs at two in the afternoon. She asked if I’d like to walk. I told her to give me five minutes.
Once dressed, we headed west on Ventura Blvd. We walked to the Temple Garden. I had only ever passed this place driving by, so I was curious. The entire shop was gorgeous. It was more like a sanctuary than a shop. Allison told me all about the different plants, and I got a million ideas for Father’s Day gifts since my dad is a gardening guru.
When we got back to the apartments, Allison and I agreed that we should each host dinner one of these days. After we said our good-byes, and I shut my apartment door, I smiled to myself. I was grateful to have an unlikely new friend.
Add a comment February 9, 2009
At first when my boyfriend, J, announced to me that we should quit drinking so much, I was shocked and dismayed. “Why now?” I thought. We’ve been dating for over a year and, frankly, during our time together thus far, there’s been a lot of drinking involved. A few glasses of wine at night watching TV, more than a few margaritas at our favorite Mexican haunts, and countless parties, or just nights out that we made into a big party, often resulted in too many drinks to count. With that, there were too many arguments and hangovers the next day. “I didn’t say that!,” and “I don’t remember throwing my cell phone into traffic on the street!” Also, stops to In ‘N Out Burger and Del Taco were getting frequent and, consequently, [my] hips were getting fatter.
The first week of not drinking was the hardest. Let me clarify, there was a little drinking. What was even harder was admitting to both J and to myself that, yeah, we needed to cut back. I’ve listened to Dr. Oz, I know the facts. Cutting back on alcohol so that we’d be at a “moderate” level, would add years to our life. Might as well start now before it gets harder.
On Monday, J and I decided to go cold turkey. I picked a great week to quit drinking because it also happened to be my first week at my new job. By Monday night, stressed to death by all the lingering first day nervous energy, I craved a vodka tonic, or at least a few Miller Chills. J, being so motivated to not cave in on Day I, triggered me to shut off those thoughts of alcohol bliss. My boyfriend is SUCH a good influence.
By Wednesday night, I didn’t have much of a desire to drink at all. However, my girlfriends were coming over that night for one of our “poker nights.” Being that it was Anne’s last week in L.A. (she’s moving to NYC) my friends urged me to at least have a few glasses of wine “BECAUSE IT’S ANNE’S LAST WEEK, KORLINA!” They had a point. I enjoyed my wine, and told myself, no more drinking for the rest of the week!
That was until Friday evening, officially Anne’s send off party at our very old stomping ground, St. Nick’s. Conveniently, I was DD anyway that night, forcing me to only be able to consume 2 beers. This experiment? Well, frankly, it sucked! I wanted to get a little out of control. I wanted to party like it was 1999 (well more like 2004-2005, when my girlfriends and I would literally drink from around 6pm-1:30am at St. Nick’s after work). Instead, I felt tired all night long. Yeah, it was the closing of the first week at my new job, but still! I felt bad I had no energy to party. The sad part is that I know I would have had more oomph if I had downed a few more drinks.
On Saturday, I have no excuse for what I did. J and I decided to go to Casa Vega (not one of our usual Mexican spots) for lunch. The food was excellent, btw. Anyway, I ordered one margartia (only one, I swear! and not a Cadillac!) I felt guilty about this later because I ordered one just because I wanted one. I didn’t need it, but it was a craving that I wanted to give into just the same. J didn’t shoot me a disappointed glance, or scold me for it. He probably was too busy basking in the glory of being the one with more will power.
I didn’t drink Sunday. I didn’t want to drink. My first week of [semi] not drinking was a success, in my eyes. J may have felt that he had to go cold turkey, but I chose to approach things differently. In comparison to the way I had been drinking weeks prior, it was a vast improvement. Last week I had only consumed a total of 7 drinks. Apparently this is the recommended limit of number of drinks that a woman should be drinking per wk in her twenties.
I was proud of my accomplishment, and proud of J’s as well. What’s even better, and something I had been fearing we’d be incapable of, is that we enjoyed our days and weekend just as much as we would have if we had consumed alcohol nonstop. In fact, cutting back on alcohol made the days and weekend even better. No more pointless arguments induced by too many Cadillac margaritas. No more hangovers followed by trips to fast food joints. What there was more of? There was more cuddling, more all-star racquetball sessions, and more clarity.
Last night J and I drank. Two beers each. J finally realized that he didn’t need to cut off alcohol completely (or maybe he did feel as though he had to that 1st week). Everyone is different about trying to cut back on something they know isn’t good for them. J and I are getting there. It just took over a year of us being together to figure that out. I’m sure there will still be drinks here and there, and a couple of rough nights every once in a while. All in all, I think the point is that we’re finally able to work on it… together.
Add a comment August 12, 2008
The title of this post is rather fitting in describing last night. I had plans to meet up with a few of my girlfriends for a night of margaritas at a local joint, Mexicali. Mexicali isn’t the best restaurant in town for authentic Mexican food, but it’s gotta pretty chill scene, an array of pretty good 80’s music, pretty tasty fish tacos, and you don’t leave the place with your wallet screaming at you. Always a plus, always a pretty plus.
All the girls, myself included, started off with fairly standard, run of the mill margaritas. Shall we call them margs? I heart abbreviating, really. By the time I had finished downing my first marg, I was more than ready for my next. Yeah, hi, I’m Korlina and I finish my drinks really fast. Unfortunately, I’ve built up quite the tolerance as of late too.
Our server (don’t you love how PC I am?) came over to our table and, seeing my empty glass, asked if I’d like another. I hesitated for a sec, deciding whether or not I wanted to ask “Could I please have a ‘Skinny Girl Margarita?” but chose instead to ask for the drink in a way that states how it’s supposed to be made. I learned of this drink’s existence thanks to good ‘ole “The Real Housewives of NY.” Thanks Bethany! “Could I please have Silver Petron on the rocks with fresh lime juice, and a splash of Triple Sec?” See, I was trying to make things easier, I swear, BUT… I couldn’t have stumped Mexicali Server more.
“Umm, well, I dunno if the bartender could do that. Ummmmmmm, he can probably make it with sweet and sour mix though.” Umm, well, I was disappointed to hear this disturbing news, but I couldn’t think fast enough to argue with him (just as I couldn’t think fast enough to defend myself and my right to lunch yesterday to Badass Crafty).
“Ah, okay, that’s fine,” I retorted weakly. All my girlfriends were staring at me, visibly amused over this whole thing. “Is it just me, or was I asking for something very hard to understand?” Naturally, my friend Anne came up with the perfect response! “Korlina, of course he didn’t understand you. That’s why he’s a waitor at Mexicali!” Duh, I knew that. However, I still needed a friendly reminder from my girlfriend.
When the drink came back, I liked it. A little sweet, but fine. The sweet and sour mix didn’t make it a “skinny drink,” but what the hell? I didn’t care anymore. Who really cares if all their friends are dieting and debating how much of their food they should put in their mouths while you’re in the fast process of wolfing down your heaping portion of fish tacos? The nonskinny drink just added one more “who cares” to the evening.
We all left in happier spirits (merci beaucoup margs). I, for one, was exhausted at the god awful late hour of 9pm. As I got into my lil gold Corolla, I couldn’t wait to be relaxing on the couch with J, as he played online poker.
Once back at my apt, J told me he had a surprise for me. It took me a while to discover the surprise, but he had cleaned my shower! It had been a long time since I (well J, actually) cleaned it last, so to say it needed it would be an understatement. J, always a man of unexpected sweet jestures had done this while not feeling well! And in the midst of an online poker tournie! Have I told you how much he rocks & how much I loooove him?!?!?
We took a walk down to the liquor store. He wanted to have a glass of red wine before bed. I promised myself not to drink any of the bottle, no matter what he chose to purchase. I had had enough alcohol for one night. At the store, J grabbed his wine, and I grabbed some flaky British candy bar. I may have promised myself no more alcohol, but flaky British candy? Paaaaleeeeaaase! My will power’s not that strong… this week. Ask me next week though. I’ll probably be eating the candy bar and drinking wine I don’t need. I’m good like that.
3 comments April 22, 2008