Malibu Run

And I love my job. Not that going to work this Wednesday was fun but it was good, and tonight I got a free meal, some free wine, and some free coffee for my dessert. At the Winery, they decided to have what amount to free nights out on the Winery (not tip money) where six of us get to go out with a manager to a restaurant and pig out. I got to go out with really fun people, who I love, and have a great time, some good free food, a few bottles of wine, and just hang out for three odd hours. Although the wine wasn't anything to write home about, it was good, and we all agreed that it was just good to be together. And we're not snobby about the wine, for example, we had a nice Zinfandel, but it was void of the nice peppery, brambley quality we look for in a Zin. But whatever, it was fruity, smooth and, as I put it "inoffensive". (Something I usually say about a semi-dry Reisling--a total lie. I find any semi-dry or sweet Reisling quite offensive.) For some reason, my word choice got a big laugh at the table. I was serious--it was a wine that I would love to drink with friends, but not one I would purchase again, but if someone happened to get some, I'd be more than happy to share it with them. Also, I had salmon and really good broccoli, I don't know what made the vegger so good, but, damn, it hit the spot. Anyway, a Petit Syrah, a Zin, and some coffee--always good to finish with a little coffee with some amaretto to boot. Alchohol is the best flavor conductor there is. I said it. I love flavors, and I love when they are conducted well.

As a change of pace, I will discuss that this week was uber-stressy. I had to write a grant proposal for my not-for-profit management course--takes a lot of ink (or toner), folks! Lots of time, too! Then I had finish my 10 page paper about 1960s drag queens and 1990s lesbian/femenist performance for my graduate class on queer performance. Although it was an ungraded rough draft, I was nervous to shreds about it--I couldn't commit to one arguement or decide exactly what materials to use or structure for the paper. Now that the violence of articulation has made a mess of my iBook and my brain, as well as to the ink blotted pages of these poor sources I used, I am afraid to get my professor's comments. I did get an A on a linguistics test, horrah! I also had to read Foucault's The History of Sexuality, Burnett's The Secret Garden (Thank god it's a children's book.), a few (review for me) chapters of my English Grammar sort-of book, and a few measly little assignments to go along with the last two readings. Whew--stress! Then, when I snuggled up to Michel (Foucault) on Wednesday at about noonish, one of my managers called me from the Winery asking, so politely if I could come in and work, because it's a lot of school's spring breaks, and their parents need liquored up a bit. I, being the sucker I am, and having the job that I do, went in. It was fine, although I had a lot of cranky customers and wasn't feeling as chatty as normal--or at least my chatty ability had gone the way of my paper--poorly. So whatever, I learned how to do a "grounds sweep" which means I get to drive this weird little diesel powered go-cart like thing called the Kubota around and get trash and off-road it hoping not to drive into the pond or get stuck un the mud. Fun times. I'm also not used to weekdays, where the atmosphere and duties are totally different than on the insanity that we call Saturday. So, a few extra dolares for moi, and less time for Michel--too bad, he's not as good in bed as Jason. (Ha ha. That is supposed to be funny--Michel is a book....well, the author of a book who was a French philosopher into kinky gay S&M sex in San Fran.)

So I need to change some things about my life. Firstly, I'm depressed, because it looks like I won't be able to go to Argentina during May like I wanted to, for both financial and time concerns. I need to take time off of work for May to go to New Orleans, and I need to have more people over for more wine. Oh, and drink more bubbly. Definitely more bubbly. Always more of the Veuve.