Age (installment 1.5)

I am still trying to piece together the events of the golden birthday celebration and I truly take this as a good thing. In the meantime I will leave you with this photo from birthday night and a few wise words from one of my favorite birthday gifts...

"To get back my youth I would do anything in the world, except take exercise, get up early, or be respectable."
- Oscar Wilde

Age is just a number (installment uno)

The other night I was out with the girls and I have to say that I am still utterly and completely shocked by the lack of ingenuity in the area of pick up lines. A few guys at the table over asked my lovely friend for a favor: It was his friend's birthday and would she be kind enough to take a photo with him. I will say that this friend is stunning and I don't blame him for asking but, again, I just wonder what kind of lasting relationship can arise from that kind of approach. Yes, I am told that I over-think things. Her reply to him was, "Sure, if you buy us a round of shots" and so the kamikazes were on. I am not a fan of shots for many reasons but primarily because they're drunk too fast and therefore I get drunk too fast and if you know me, you know that as far as getting drunk goes I'm a sprinter. It's just in my genes - I'm a one drink wonder just like my mum. So don't be too impressed when I talk about my all nighters with the bottle (it's usually two doubles and I'm toast) - although I do have a considerable appreciation for bourbon. However, I digress. So, turns out this guy was celebrating his 35th brithday and I just sat there thinking that it was awfully collegiate to order Kamikaze shots at his age. In my effort to ignore the "old" guys, I inadvertently fell into a conversation with a guy who was trying to hit on my friend. She was talking on her cell phone and having already made the effort to come over from his table across the way decided he might as well maximize his investment and talk to me since I was sitting next to her. I think his opener was, "Hey, you come here alot?" or it might have been, "Damn it's been hot lately." But the point is it wasn't the least bit riveting or requiring a real response. In the ensuing discourse I think he mentioned something about USC, working for a production company and asking us our respective ethnicities. This is my biggest pet-peeve and perhaps I stand alone here but I hate it. Maybe it's because the usual response I get when I respond honestly is "I LOVE thai food," or worse, "I love thaiwanese food" to which I will have to smile and nod and say Thanks or So do I because I'm not sure what else to say. Then he asked us how old we were (isn't that pick-up line no-no number 1?) and I said 22 in my most ironical voice since my golden birthday is upon me in two days and I am currently going through a mild hysteria about it. His response was, "Me too." I laughed and then realized he might be serious and demanded that he prove it so he pulled out his drivers license and sure enough he was born in 1984. We both turned back to the table and knocked back our shots quick. They may be kamikazes but at least they went down easy.

Goodbye to a good girl

"Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break." - Shakespeare

This farewell is for Little Lulu with her heart of gold and her steady gaze. Lulu, whose only desire in the world was to be by your side. She would follow you into a burning house if you asked her and even if you didn't. There are no words to describe a love as whole and pure as hers. She was truly a special gift and our lives are forever changed by this sweet girl.
Goodbye La Lulu. In our hearts you will always be. We miss you.

Chardonnay vs. Chianti

I was totally let down yesterday. First of all I had to wait all afternoon to watch the World Cup finals because I wanted to watch in the company of good friends who were TIVO-ing the game so that we could enjoy a civilzed evening of canapes and hors d'oeuvre while rooting for the French during such an impressive display of athleticism. This waiting all afternoon may not seem like alot but given the nature of the sporting event I basically had to disengage from all social activity. I couldn't turn on the television for fear of any contamination of score knowledge, same goes for the radio. I couldn't return any phone calls for fear of any sideline comments about the winner or loser. I couldn't even leave my house for fear of seeing fans either cheering or crying waving national flags. It was debilitating and the only thing that got me through it was my overwhelming capacity for laziness.
Then when I finally did get to watch the game I had to witness the disgrace of a legend. A legend who was the only reason why I was rooting for France in the first place since let's be honest, the Italians are way cuter. No video montage of World Cup highlights scored to U2 would be able to bring me back to the feeling of anticipation and excitement. I won't pretend to be a die-hard soccer fan having had my first taste of it only last year in Brazil. In fact, this was my very first World Cup and I felt cheated by such a disturbing display of un-sportsmanship. This guy may be an amazing player but what kind of asshole rhinos a guy in the chest?
I had the night to think things over and still this morning, I was bewildered. Who does that? What compells you, in over-time of the last game of your spectacular career, to pull a move that get's you a red card when you didn't even have the ball? Yeah, I read about the titty twister and the racial slurs against his mother, but aren't all these antics par for the course? I mean surely he has come across this kind of naked playground behavior on the pitch before. But then I realized who cares why he did it. Yes, winning the World Cup is a great achievement but at what stake? Honor? Dignity? How do the French say it? Liberté, égalité, fraternité, ou la mort!
And really I think he was showing a great deal of restraint. He could have headbutted him in the face - which would have been much more scandalous and bloody. He could have even punched him which would have started a scuffle if not an all out brawl. Instead he used his greatest asset: the head he scored with and seemingly the strongest neck muscles on the planet to make his point. And make it he did. Who cares if Italy won, all I talked about today was Zidane. Bring on the Brie!
Haven't you ever felt like doing this to someone and didn't because you knew you would get in trouble? Props.

What would you eat...

I love this country. I love that charring meat beyond recognition isn't carcinogenic enough but we also launch explosions in the air that will cause residual pollution for days and weeks to come and revel in the pretty lights in the sky all in the name of Independence. This week has been record breaking. I attended three weekend BBQ's but was alone to watch the 4th of July firework festivities from my front porch which was incidentally as far away from the couch as I could muster having stayed up all night on July 3rd drinking celebratory libations in a hot tub until 7am. I think it was 7 am. My watch is broken and coupled with my lack of a job and any reason to look at a clock 50 times in a minute I am usually without a single clue what time is it ever. My only hunch that it was at least 7 am was that it was officially daytime outside when I finally laid down to sleep. Daylight, not dawn or that moment when the sky is still black but suddenly you can see colors and not just shadows, it was daytime.
My actual 4th of July was spent lying down for the most part considering how much scotch I really did ingest and having the pervious evenings antics return in small enlightened moments. Hangovers really are enlightening - perhaps not in the traditional meditative way - but they do give you a lot of time to think about your life when you are in such pain that you can't move save to reach towards the door whispering "water". In my enlightened state of borderline starvation I realized that the only thing I really truly wanted to eat was a medium rare bone-in filet from Mastros. That's it. I am trying not to judge myself for this, especially given my recent re-up with vegetarianism. Understand that this craving for deliciousness had nothing to do with my feelings or moral obligations to cows. It was simply my most pure and human urge at the moment. So interesting the things you think about when you feel like you are about to die. At that moment I decided to abandon all principle and go for it. Instead I ate a piece of pizza that was left over from a 3 am Pink Dot order.