Posts filed under: ‘Moi‘
We celebrated J’s birthday this past weekend. He wanted to spend the day in Oxnard, and then have dinner later that night in Studio City. I had worked roughly 70 hours last week, but I mustered up all the energy I could for J’s big day.
At around 1pm, after walking by the pier and doing some trinket and hat shopping, we found ourselves seated at the Mexican restaurant we love that overlooks the harbor. As I sipped the remainder of my margarita towards the end of the meal, J motioned for me to come around to his side of the booth. He scooted over, and pointed towards the harbor pier. “Look, a seal!” he exclaimed. For about five minutes, I saw nothing. I grew impatient as the waiter handed me the bill. “Wait, look, it’s got its head popped out!” This time, I saw the harbor seal/sea otter. I couldn’t believe my eyes! I had never in my life seen a seal outside of an aquarium.
A few moments later, J and I were on the dock, thanks to my insistence of getting a closer look at the big sea creatures. Every time a seal (there ended up being two!) popped its head out of the water I’d squeal with delight. I kept lamenting to J that I wish it would pop all of itself out of the water, but J shook his head and laughed at me, insisting that that would never happen. “I think you’re having more fun on my birthday than even I am!” He had a point. J had seen these Oxnard seals before, but it was a first for me. Suddenly I was five, completely in awe of the glorious sea. Seriously, its moments like these that keep me sane & young.
Add a comment March 23, 2009
Sorry, Blog, I haven’t given up on you or lost interest. I’ve simply been too busy at my new job to spend any time with you. Yes, I’m often a neglectful bitch.
I think around the last time I wrote I was trying the whole “not drinking very much” thing. J had gotten me started on the experiment that we failed miserably by Week #2. At this point, I’ve accepted the fact that I’ll forever fit very nicely into the “lush” category of women. There are 3 main reasons these days why this doesn’t make me feel too bad about myself. 1.) My friends all drink pretty heavily, 2.) J drinks, and 3.) Mad Men. I know it’s a TV show based on the 1960’s workplace, but I’m living vicariously through them and, thus, it makes my drinking seem tame. Anyone get where I’m going with this?
BetteBoop and Sammy are still doing just fine. Bette has the eye herpes too now. It’s all good though. They’re just heavily medicated all the time.
Oh, and the job, you ask? Well, the job is good. Okay, it’s as good as it can be. I wonder if I simply don’t like working at all anymore. There was a time when I enjoyed work. That was over a year ago. Either a job is too stressful for me, too easy, too employed of annoying people, or too much of a place where I’m constantly making a mockery of myself. My job now is the latter. Today, for instance, immediately before a meeting, I insisted on moving my chair closer to the phone. I banged the chair against a coffee table like something out of a caveman movie. People giggled, but my boss was like, “Whoa!” He didn’t sound all too pleased. He never does, but he’s also used to it by now, just as I’m used to myself ‘round these parts. I don’t even blush anymore in this office. I’m all too used to this routine of foolish Korlina.
My day’s nearly done. Au revoir for now, my sweet Blog!
2 comments October 21, 2008
OMG I cannot deal with my allergies today. I’ve been sniffling all day, blowing my nose to no avail, and not even “Clear Eyes” can get rid of the redness in my eyes. As a matter of fact, my eyes hurt. I just want to shut them for the rest of the day. A Claritin wouldn’t hurt right now. Damn, I knew I forgot to do something this morning. Now I’m itchy-eyed, and stuck at work for the rest of the day with no relief. Allergy season, I curse you!
I love… LOVE my new job. Everyone here is super nice & laid back, (I think I’ve mentioned this before). Today I went out to lunch with a bunch of my new co-workers. Now, mind you, this wasn’t the first lunch outing at my new job, but I’m still new here and, because of this, I tend to be a little less chatty than I normally am when I’m, for instance, with my girlfriends. I think Bri is struggling with this fact because she’s very familiar with Chatty Cathy friend Korlina, and does not much understand the ways of work Korlina.
Before she and I headed out with the group for lunch, she made a comment that was something along the lines of, “don’t be so quiet like last time!” She means well, I swear! Actually, I’m SO glad she’s here at work guiding me. I know that she is only looking out for me, and wants me to fit in & come out of my shell.
Once everyone was seated at our lunch table, munching away on our delicious pizzas, I thought about all the awesome conversation I would initiate throughout this gathering. I’d talk about the recent movies I’ve seen, tell everyone that I loooove fro yo, (the fro yo joint across the street was giving me this inspiration) ask engaging questions about current work projects, and be the life of the lunch! I must have zoned out in thinking about all the wonderful things I would talk about because, before I knew it, there were multiple convos flying across the table. I had to jump in… fast!
Somehow, between all the various chit chat, I was able to get in that I looove fro you (I think that was one of the first things I brought to everyone’s attention when someone else made a comment about the fro yo across the street). I also brought up a funny thing that was shown on The Soup last Friday. This funny thing was a cat eating spaghetti. Oh, and I shared my two cents on the latest Batman movie.
On the drive back to the office, I was satisfied with myself. Yay! I finally opened up to some of the people in my office! I am awesome! Wait… what was that? Oh, that’s what I thought she said. While making a left hand turn, Bri sighed and said that I hardly talked at lunch. Somehow, I had failed again!
Thankfully, there’s only an hour or so left of work today. I say this not because I’m at all unhappy, but because my boss is on vacation, (for 2 wks) and it’s been painfully slow. I’m not too fond of days that drag on and on and on and on. You get my point.
The allergies are also making me quite lethargic, but I think that it would be nice to make dinner for J tonight. He’s been completely stressed out of his mind about work lately & it breaks my heart every time I see that sad look on his face when I get home, and he tells me about his day. Hmmm… I wonder what I should make for him?
1 comment August 20, 2008
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
Two weeks ago I arrived back from Aruba, and the depression set in the moment before we landed. You know? That moment where the plane is enveloped in so much smog that you can’t see out the window? God, sometimes I despise L.A. soooo much that I can just… well, smell the smog. One day after our arrival, in the midst of our cranky back and forth bickering, J announced that he would embark on a mission to find a job in Aruba. I told him that I’d kill him if he didn’t take me with him.
Once Monday rolled around, it was back to work. I felt relatively refreshed from my trip, and even had a tan! I was ready to focus and make things right at a job I hated passionately. Somehow, I rid myself of my back from vacation depressions. No more thoughts of frozen strawberry margaritas under a hut on the beach, no more thoughts of how much fun I had with my boyfriend AND my rents, (I know! Shocking!), no more thoughts of fro yo on a daily basis, no more thoughts of the most mouth-watering Argentinian steaks, no more thoughts of all the pretty ‘lil lizards trying to be your friend poolside, no more thoughts of being able to work out any time I wanted, no more thoughts of having been able to leisurely read an entire book in a week, and no more thoughts of how much I missed my parents. It was time for Korlina to get back to reality and just deal.
By the time 1pm rolled around on that first Monday back, I wanted to cry (and to drink at least 3 Amstel Brites. Why don’t we have Amstel Brite in the U.S.????). I can’t recall what was so horrible on my Monday back, but I do know this. EVERYTHING was horrible. Not only were the majority of people I now worked with assholes, (well, two, particularly), but I also did not fit in at all. I couldn’t even fake acting like I wanted to fit in here anymore. The one friend I had on the show worked next door in the writer’s office and, clearly no one I worked with in my production office favored him. I was doomed. I knew I was doomed, and I didn’t know I was doomed all at once. Yes, my life IS filled with such paradoxes.
May we please rewind to the Friday when I left for Aruba? I gave my direct boss the news a week in advance that I would have to leave no later than 5pm on that Friday, or else I’d miss my flight. Now this boss is/was (I pray I will never have to see him ever again!) a weird, weird dude. He takes “uptight” to a whole new, terrible level. Remember in “Farris Bueller’s Day Off” when Farris is describing how uptight his friend Cameron is? Yeah, that line that goes something like, “if you stuck something up his ass it would turn into a diamond?” Well, this dude, if you had stuck something up his ass, it would have been the sharpest diamond ever and gone into the Guinness Book of World Records for sharpest stone ever found.
Ahem, moving along, out of the 80’s and back into my life, my boss was uncharacteristically understanding, and even said (GASP!) that I could leave whenever I wanted because he knew the feeling well of worrying about missing a flight. Score! I thought. Of course once the Friday was upon us, he was singing a different horror movie type tune. Long, stupid story, but the incompetent a-hole decided, in front of BigBoss, to blame me for losing a post-it with “crucial” contact info on it for the staff and crew list. I.did.not.lose.this.post-it. He took it back from me. Not only that, but he hadn’t even written contact info on it. He gave me the post-it to put on a friggin drive-on for a person to get into the lot. Sigh.
BigBoss did not like the sound of this all too important contact info being lost (umm, it was probably ONE of the least pertinent things for the staff and crew list at that moment). His eyesbrows got all high on his forehead to the extent that he looked like a Sesame Street muppet. He let out a weird groan. I turned back to less important/direct boss. His eyes burned through his thick glasses. He ordered me to go through every trash basket in the office to find the post-it. I kind of threw up in my mouth a little. I could not believe what an idiot this kid was (I call him “kid” because he’s only 2 years older than me. That makes him a kid, right?). He was an idiot for saying this to me because a.) He didn’t realize what a butt hole he was b.) He was demanding that I do something SO incredibly demeaning that it is arguably harrassment in the workplace c.) EVERYONE (even PA’s) know that in a production office, you go to the accounting department when you need a crew member’s contact info. But not this KID. Fucking KID wanted me to go through the trash ’cause fucking kid is SOOOO afraid of BigBoss.
Instead of doing the right thing, (I now question what state of mind I was in, but I was brought up Catholic. We like to make things harder on ourselves) I announced in a loud voice so that everyone in the office would hear me… “Okay, I’m not above going through the trash. I will GLADLY look through the trash. Well folks, I didn’t do this activity with a smile on my face, AND I didn’t find the damn post-it. I marched into the accounting office after washing off all the garbage filth from my hands. The accountant gave me the number immediatelty, and shot me a “can you believe that dude?” look. I couldn’t wait to be on that plane for Aruba & I would be drinking HEAVILY on the plane.
My mom made dinner our first night in Aruba. My mom is an excellent cook, even when she makes something as simple as pasta and meatsauce. I told my parents about the post-it saga. My mom said I had let them win by going through the trash. I already knew this. I moaned to my parents that I so badly wanted to quit this job. “But Kristen,” my mom uttered between bites of rigatoni, “You wouldn’t be able to receive unemployment insurance. Oh, yeah, that. “Then I hope they fire me!” I announced. J laughed at me, and my dad had rolled his eyes. You know that saying? Be careful what you wish for?
The Thursday before the 4th of July, BigBoss quietly asked me to step into his office. He shut the door behind us, which surprised me. Then, he ushered me over to his white couch. This surprised me even more because I had, in the past three weeks since I started working there, always sat in the seat in front of his desk. I suddenly had to pee VERY badly.
BigBoss sat on the adjacent couch and shrugged his shoulders, gave me a simultaneously disappointed and guilty look, and said nothing. I couldn’t take it anymore, and was about to burst with pee (sorry, but it’s true!). “BigBoss, are you not happy with the work I’m doing here?”
Oh, you should have heard the sigh that BigBoss let out. “I don’t think this is going to work out.” My urge to pee disappeared, and I felt SO relieved. I nodded my head in agreement, but then BigBoss continued his speech. “You just don’t fit in with this group of people. You’re a sweetheart, and everyone loves you, but it’s a personality thing.” Yikes, now my face burned. I didn’t like being told that I didn’t fit in. I went through years of not fitting in, and being told I didn’t fit in, in high school. I didn’t feel like reliving those days in BigBoss’s office. Shudder. I also really didn’t like being called a sweetheart. It immediately made me think of Valentine’s Day candy hearts… those things with the useless expressions on one side that don’t mean anything really, and fade off when you touch them. Those things that are made of such artificial crap. That’s what being called a sweetheart by a boss in the middle of firing you is… fake crap. He didn’t like me, and direct boss didn’t like me. Therefore, I was doomed. Therefore, I was fired.
My ego got the better of me. Instead of shaking BigBoss’s hand, leaving his office, and collecting my stuff as fast as possible, I wanted to open my mouth & defend my years in this industry. “BigBoss, I’ve never been fired before. As much as I know that I don’t fit in here, is there anything that I did wrong? Anything that I could learn from this? I take pride in my work. I’ve thrived on multiple series…”
BigBoss cleared his throught, “Well, no. You came in every morning and wanted to make things work, but I just didn’t see you meshing well with this team. You should view this as a very good day. I got fired from a hit show years ago after the first season, and it’s the best thing that ever happened to me!” I nodded my head, surprised at myself for not having cried yet. Maybe I could make it to my car without anyone having seen me cry.
Bottom line, it is a good thing that it happened. I would have been miserable working there and, I did get what I had so desperately wished for when I was in Aruba. Sure, it hurts my ego, and makes me question myself a little, but I know I will be okay & get another job. It sucks not having a job now, and not having money to play with, but I have my health. I definitely would have lost my mental health working at that job.
So, here I am at 4:30pm on a Friday drinking a Corona and revisiting my blog. I have time for you now, bloggy blog. Absence does make the heart grow fonder, no?
2 comments July 11, 2008
On Saturday I found out that my show isn’t picked up for a 2nd season. A friend at a network texted me the news. Unfortunate? Yes! Am I freaking out like whoa? No, not at all. Ask me in a few weeks when I don’t have a job. I accept the fact that my “profession” is unstable. Why oh why didn’t I go into PR or advertising? Well, aren’t jobs in those fields supposed to be more consistent?
I haven’t told my parents yet because, frankly, their reactions always trigger me to freak. Also, I didn’t wanna tell my mom anything upsetting on Mother’s Day weekend. I can be a rotten daughter, (although I swear I never mean to be) but I’m not that mean. “Yeah right!” you snicker. “No really, I’m being serious,” Korlina. Wink.
Luckily, I have friends who are connected, and I’m sure I’ll land a job soon. I’m not too worried about that. However, I wish I could just walk off this current “not picked up next season job” now. Everyone is in not necessarily bad spirits, but definitely “weird” spirits and, I can’t say I’m all too fond of the vibe in the office. What I can say is that I know when to move on (like I have a choice in this instance…) Even so, I’m comforted by the fact that I can recognize this FINALLY at age 26.
2 comments May 12, 2008
Right now I’m praying that I don’t have some kind of throat infection. It hurts when I swallow, I feel run down, and I cannot stop clearing my throat. It’s baaaad. I’m sure the people in my office are sick of hearing Korlina clearing her throat nonstop.
Regardless of how shitty I’m feeling, I PROMISED myself that I would go to the gym today no.matter.what. Guess it’s gonna be a rough one on the eleptical machine because this day is already a doozy. You know what I think this sore throat thing is from? Saturday flip cup. It seems as though every time I either play flip cup or beer pong I end up sick about a half a week later. Hmmm. Something to ponder, but I’m sure it’ll be a mistake I’ll make again at some point or another.
Add a comment May 8, 2008
So, I finally went where no girl has gone before, (geeze, who am I kidding? any girl who watched The Real Housewives of New York City probably sampled this form of booze) and tried a Skinny Girl Margarita last night. This was the real deal, people. Petron Silver on the rocks, 4 limes, and a little teeny bit of Triple Sec. It wasn’t the impostor Mexicali cocktail this time. Anywho, can.we.say.naaaasssty?
Seriously, this drink packed too much of a punch for (gasp!) even moi! Every time I took a ‘lil sip through my straw, I shivered uncontrollably. J had one too and, of course, handled the gasoline drink like an ‘ole pro. Give me straight vodka, I’m fine. Even shove straight whiskey in my face if you must. I can down it and feel nothing (alchy much, Korlina?) But straight Tequila? Not.so.much. I don’t know why I suddenly thought I could handle a drink that consists of 99.9% tequila. Shudder. Not even old strawberry margarita mix lessened the shiver-inducing effect.
Moral of this story: Whip yourself up a Skinny Girl (or Guy) Margarita if you wanna be good and drunk after 3 sips of the thang. Oh, and if you can handle a drink that tastes like a beyond potent tequila shot that never ends, then more power to ya!
2 comments May 7, 2008
Alas, I am sick today, so I didn’t exactly have a good morning. Since I’m sick & home from work today with a restless mind that isn’t allowing me to sleep, I decided to write a post about yesterday morning. What a morning it was!
I woke up in a slightly hung-over state. This called for a bagel before work, smothered with a lot of cream cheese. I swear to God, if it wasn’t for cheese, I’d be screwed. It has the magical power of healing hung-over Korlina.
I flew out the door, promising J a blueberry bagel with strawberry cream cheese. Once in the Corolla, as I put the key in the ignition and mentally debated over going to Manhattan Bagel or Western Bagel, a folded paper on my dashboard caught my eye.
GREAT! I thought to myself after reading the girly-written note. Amy, an apt. neighbor I barely know who happens to park in the spot next to me, hit my car the night before. There’s a dent. Oh fuck. Just another thing to have to deal with later. I’m not as annoyed as I could be because, really, she left a note. Not everyone does that. I had to admire her courtesy in a world gone awry. Still though, not a fine way to start a Tuesday morning when you’re hung-over as is. Blah.
I decided on Western Bagel. It’s closer, and I didn’t want to be late for work. I went up to the counter to order. I half noticed in my blurry state, an older woman staring at me. I collected my change & was about to go over to the side counter to wait for my bagels WHEN…
“Excuse me,” it was the older lady. I half expected her to ask me about the bagel I ordered, (sprouted wheat. it was actually tasty!) but instead I got, “Will you marry my son???”
“Excuse me?” I wasn’t exactly sure if I had heard her right. She repeated herself. Yup, she had asked me the question. I looked at her quizzically & she replied, “Why, you’re just so beautiful. Honestly, will you marry my son?”
One of the guys behind the counter, slicing into a bagel, smiled. I blushed. She had kinda caused a scene. I told her “thank you.” I have to say, it was VERY flattering. When she pressed a third or fourth time, I informed her I have a boyfriend, but that I was sure her son was lovely. How funny!
I left the store beaming. I couldn’t help it. I love compliments, no matter how uncomfortable they make me, and no matter how weird they may be. I don’t think I’m overly attractive. Attractive, yes. That is, if I put some effort into it. Ya know? If I wear make-up, have my hair styled nice. However, I had my hair pulled into a messy bun, no make-up, and sweats yesterday morning. They say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. This woman thought I was gorgeous. Why, she even blurted out “drop dead” gorgeous.
I seem to get compliments about my looks from older people. When I was a PA, I’d grocery shop for my office every morning. I’d go to the same Ralph’s each & every day & always run into these two old geezers who shared their old geezer stories over coffee at the bakery counter. Sometimes, riding up on the elevator with them, my cart stuffed with bags, they’d tell me how beautiful I was. I’d smile and blush. We’d all laugh. It always brightened my mornings. Bad breakup? Well, the old men at Ralph’s think I’m hot, so screw that asshole for breaking up with me! Stressed out from a long week? The old men at Ralph’s helped me see the light at the end of the tunnel. New ugly dent in my gold Corolla? Older woman at Western bagel thinks I’m drop dead gorgeous. I don’t care if they’re old and aren’t Brad Pitt. It’s nice to get a compliment, no matter what kind, and no matter who gives you the compliment.
So… what’s the best and/or most random compliment you guys have ever received? I may be feeling sick today, but I’m also feeling vain. Yours doesn’t have to be re: your looks. Just any compliment that made your day.
1 comment April 23, 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