Oh, where to start. Living with Mourtney, my roommate, is like living with Martha Stewart sometimes. She likes to be social and nice and cook and be merry. You know my stance on those things. So she invited our friends over on Wednesday night for dinner and pumpkin carving. The usual suspects came over with appetizers, dessert and their own pumpkins plus a new friend. He brought fancy beer so I figured he was ok. We had some wine, snacks, more wine then dinner. Mourtney made two dishes with green chili. After dinner we started to carve pumpkins. I don’t remember being especially stoked for this activity when I was a kid, so I figured I’d carve a few triangles and be done with it. I was stabbing and hacking away and everyone else had barely drawn the designs on their pumpkins. I could tell this was going to be painful, so I began cleaning the kitchen and even sorted some seeds to bake in the oven. They were finally about done and we lined them up on the porch and put little candles in them and the Facebook paparazzi took a million pictures. I thought we were about to kick everyone out and someone suggested going to the pub. Word. An aside: last year I received a little brain damage in a car accident and blacked out a few times while drinking, most notably last Halloween, but haven’t had an issue in months. Right. I went to the bar and we decided on a beer and got a few pitchers. It was also karaoke night so it was busy but not so packed that it was annoying. This is about the last complete thing I remember. There was beer, singing along with the Violent Femmes, and talking. That’s the most specific I can be. I remember getting my card and the boys pitching in cash, I remember being on the sidewalk and new guy asking why I was walking so far ahead, I remember being in my room. It’s kind of like old animation that wasn’t completely smooth and sequential. Then I threw up my life. So classy. This went on for over an hour before I finally felt ok and stopped spinning. At some point I texted my sister an uber-dramatic text about being drunk. This set off a chain that resulted in having a chat with my brother today. It went something like this:
Brother via GF’s log in for Facebook: hey idiot give me a call
Brother via Facebook: i didn’t realize she (gf) was still logged in. hey idiot give me a call
Me Ring, ring: Hey what’s up?
Brother: what the hell are you doing? Sister is all upset. I fucking straight up asked you if you had a problem and you told me no. What’s going on?
Me: (I started giggling, which is what happens when I get nervous and because I just realized what I did. So I retell the tale of dinner, pumpkins and the pub. Mourtney confirmed that one of the bartenders also bought us a shot, which was my ultimate undoing.)
Brother: Oooohhhhh, dude, we thought you were drinking alone with your dog until you blacked out. Jesus.
Me: Wow, umm, no. I don’t even drink every day, it just got away from me.
Then we went on to discuss why I’m a dumbass and how I have to lock it up for a while. Ask me what I had to drink tonight. Milk. I’ve actually had about four glasses of milk today for some reason. Also, I had green tea last night AND Monday and Tuesday nights. I am trying to get in shape and I can’t do it drinking away my time. I have yoga in the morning and I really don’t want to be folded upside down with a hangover. Yes, I am going to yoga. Isn’t that ridiculous? It’s supposed to be an hour, so I’m going to see how long I can last before I get bored and annoyed by staying in the same spot for more than five seconds. This will be a good test of my patience, or lack thereof.
New topic: work pet peeve. I understand if people like their job. Most of the time I do. I’m not sure I want to call it a career yet, but I’m getting there. However, I don’t love it. It’s not all-consuming and I don’t make it my top priority. So, when people say they are passionate about something stupid, it irritates me. Passion is a strong word, so I feel like it should be reserved for things like rescuing animals or helping the homeless or orphans or natural disaster victims. Saying that you are passionate about strategic anything is fucking dumb. If I said I was passionate about a well-sorted Excel sheet, you have permission to high five me in the face.
Driving pet peeve: I know, there are so many but this one covers a lot. I guess people are trying to be more safe or something, but when you stop and there is no stop sign or yield or red light, you are being dumb. You will probably get rammed at some point. Out here, there are lots of crosswalks and signs that indicate that you must stop only if there are pedestrians in the crosswalk. Yet every time, someone insists on stopping for imaginary friends. Quit it.
A blogger for Marie Claire made a few inflammatory comments about a show on CBS called Mike & Molly, two obese people who met at Over eaters Anonymous. I’ve never seen it because they brag that is from the same douches that write/produce/whatever Two and a Half Men, and I can’t believe that show is still on. We get it: Charlie Sheen drinks and the brother is fucking creepy. Anyway, the blogger said something to the effect that fat people making out grosses her out, and everyone flipped out. There were a few comments about freedom of speech so I started thinking: did she say something stupid? Oh yes. Get it together, lady. But why can’t she state her opinion? She didn’t say we should kill them or starve them or send them out to pasture. People say stupid shit ALL the time, but they basically have a right to do that. Look at this political season. ABC News had a funny article about all the awesome nonsense that has gone on this season but I can’t find it now to link. Stupid people piss me off all the time. Maybe if I had the readership that Marie Claire does, it would be a different story.