Dude, I'm so sick. Snot. Everywhere. My pores are oozing honey/eucalyptus scent.
Lessons learned from a masochistic Sunday marathon of 'Laguna Beach,' the most embarrassing television programming I have ever witnessed in my life:
A.) Being a teenager is boring
B.) To this day, I don't go to restaurants that have wine glasses on the table, and I'm a pseudo-adult. How do these muffins go out to eat every night? My posse hung at Friendly's, yo.
C.) Ugly shoes cost $700, and a year's worth of pride
D.) No, seriously: really boring
E.) None of these kids should consider acting careers
F.) These girls! Have the skin! of 35 year olds!
G.) Look into Netflix
H.) Note: refill birth control
Defense: 1.) I have the worst cold I've had in years, and therefore couldn't move from the couch. 2.) Unconfirmed that the dog has eaten the remote. I couldn't find it, so it's automatically his fault 3.) 'The Barefoot Contessa' was on Food Network, and is she ever horribly tedious, or what? Drone, drone, drone, chocolate, drone.
Who would have guessed I'd ever watch so much TV that I would have SERIOUS OPINIONS regarding a show about Hef's girlfriends (Serious Opinion: better than 'Laguna Beach.')
I kind of hate myself.
Shameful Secret #12, or something like it:
Saturday night, I thought it would be nice to bring champagne to A Party In Honor of A Certain Someone Who Is Moving Out Of Town. In the mad panic to leave the house without the dog noticing and wailing and breaking my heart into tiny easily digestable pieces (a little dance that involved me throwing a bone covered with peanut butter down the basement stairs, and then running for my life), I forgot the champagne.
When I got to the D's house, I realized she had a bottle or two of champagne sitting on her counter. Okay, so it's definitely re-gifting, sure, it might be flat, but it's champagne. Champagne is meant to be drunken (drinken? drunk? why can't I remember this?) immediately. I don't consider champagne a gift. No sweats on the champagne/dog/heartbreak debachle from earlier in the evening. Also, vodka helped ease my upsettedness at forgetting the champagne. (PS, I'm going to see how many times I can type "champagne" in one entry.) We grab one of the bottles on her counter, hop in the rHonda, and head off into the city night. The champagne, I might note, does not belong to the D., either, but to her roommate. We shall replace with previously mentioned champagne from my residence.
We park, we proceed to walk to the most adorable apartment in all of the galaxy (exposed brick envy, etc.) Just as I was crossing the street, I take a look at the bottle in my hands.
And the giant sticker on it that reads "MERRY CHRISTMAS RICK!!!!! FROM THE JOHNSONS." That was too much, even for yrs truly, unabashed cheapo party grranimal.
So, the champagne ended up in a flower bed and we ended up at the soiree empty-handed. If you happen to live in Shaw and a were awoken by the stifled snorts from a really uncoordinated girl, laughing laughing laughing as she was digging through your flower bed, like a hobo, 1:30 AM, looking for her ditched bottle of Cristal*- my sincerest apologies. Things like this happen to me fairly often.
Misc. update, category: dog:
The first 2 words the animal has learned: "Naptime" and "chillax." No, he doesn't know his name yet. Or how to sit.
Misc. update, category: other
- Black Keys, Nov. 12th.
- I have no idea who spoke at my commencement. I do, however, remmeber it was 750 degrees. Wearing all black in that environment = grad-punk, but not ideal. Oh! And my friend Jim had ice pops. That Jim, always prepared.
* Not really.