My sister, the Magnate, D and I made a day trip over to Catalina Island last Saturday. It was such a great time- the weather was surreal, and obviously, the company was fabulous. I had never been to Catalina before, although I see it hovering on the horizon on most clear days. D and I have always wanted to go, but preferred to make it a group activity opposed to just us. Considering we both work from home, we do almost everything together. Which actually is a beautiful thing- it is a tad freakish how much we like to be around each other. “Night and Day” pretty much sums it up. Awwww. Ok, Ok, back to business. The Catalina Flyer leaves the harbor daily at 9:00 and returns around 5:30- with a 1-hour travel time each way that gives you just enough time to hit all the shops, eat tons of food, have a couple of cocktails and head home.
Over the past couple of months, I have heard varying opinions of Catalina. Most of the opinions don’t revolve around Catalina itself, but the actual trip over. “Get ready to hurl,” and “Good luck on the Catalina barfboat,” are some that immediately come to mind. Thinking back to Saturday morning, I can’t believe I wasn’t more nervous about getting on that boat. My sister and I both have experienced green-faced moments while deep-sea fishing in the past. Not so fun. Well, this is where I probably should inform you of our Friday night excursion. Turns out I wasn’t nervous about getting seasick because I was still a tad inebriated from the night before. The good ol’ alcohol-induced false confidence.
It’s safe to say I was over-served Friday night.
First and foremost, NO ONE should ever start his or her night out with the comment “We really shouldn’t get that drunk tonight”. Am I right? That statement IS the kiss of death. The four of us headed over to a friend’s house in Laguna Beach where I proceeded to drink half a bottle of vodka. Purely an estimation, folks. I couldn’t help it! My friend makes the world’s best dirty martinis ever! I only had two! Well, only two, but his martini glasses are ginormous. And therein lies the problem- one of his martinis is probably equal to 2-3 at a restaurant. The last thing I remember saying (to my boss of all people) was, “I can’t believe I just drank 2 huge martinis and don’t feel tipsy at ALL! Will somebody please make me a drink?”
Bits and pieces of the remaining evening:
1) Having an extremely unnecessary conversation about female genitalia.
2) Hitting my forehead on the dashboard of the car as my husband was parking. How I could have propelled myself into the dashboard while traveling less than 3 mph is the great mystery.
3) Getting mad that I hit my head on the dashboard. Yelling profanities at my husband, getting out of the car and kicking all of our Arrowhead empty water bottles around the garage to make it well known that I was pissed about hitting my head on the dashboard.
4) Voraciously eating peanut butter sandwiches while my sister stared at me with utter disgust.
5) Blaring and singing Radiohead at the top of my lungs to musically express my disdain of the throbbing forehead (which I now realize was the reason I entitled my Friday night entry “jumped into a river.” I must have been listening to Pyramid while typing.)
I could go on for days, but considering you now think I am a raging alcoholic, I will keep any shred of dignity I have left. But you want to know the worst part? While rehashing the previous night’s activities, all three of my partners-in-crime remarked that they were glad they didn’t get drunk. WHAAAAT? I am such a lightweight.
Catalina Dreamin’ Part Due coming up!
I have been planning to write about my weekend with the little sis and how, sad but true, no performance art ensued during her visit. I guess the 2005 Fall Performance Art Edition was a no-go this year. However, our lovely visit did comprise of a boat trip to Catalina Island, major shopping and great food.
Our weekend also included the consumption of one too many Ketel One martinis by yours truly, resulting in actions such as kicking four empty 5-gallon water bottles around my garage Pele-style, shoving peanut butter sandwiches down my face and posting the “jumped into a river” entry late Friday night. Unfortunately my friends, I have absolutely no recollection of these events. Furthermore, I have NO idea why I entitled my entry ‘jumped into a river’. I don’t live near a river, nor was I planning to jump into one that evening. At least I don’t think so. You see, this is what happens when I foolishly think I can throw back the cocktails in the same manner as the good old days of high tolerance and a 24-year old liver.
Maybe I should lay off the sauce.
I am still planning on dishing out the details of our weekend excursion (including photos), but my irritation with an American Idol has-been takes precedence today.
Has anyone watched American Idol the past couple of seasons? If so, do you all remember this guy? C’mon, you have to remember sweet Matt with the big dimples. The positive-thinking-happy-go-lucky-aw-shucks-used-to-play-football-but-I’m really-a-teddy-bear guy. Isn’t he the greatest? NO. HE’S NOT THE GREATEST. HE IS A RUDE PARKING SPACE NAZI ASSHOLE FROM HELL.
Let me explain. Actually, let’s take a couple steps back. I have several parking garage/lot annoyances, as I’m sure most of you have as well. Some of these annoyances include people who drive r e a l l y s l o w l y around the lots, drivers who totally steal the space that you sooo were waiting for, and the most annoying, people who take thirty minutes to get into their car, check their mirrors, start the engine, fix their hair and finally put it into reverse while you are patiently waiting for the spot. Now, I am very understanding in certain situations. Handicapped individuals, moms with young children, elderly folks- I am as patient as Ghandi. I will even go as far to assume that some people aren’t aware you are waiting for their space (although, COME ON dumbasses, you know you see us). But today, Matt took the cake.
I was in a very crowded small parking lot with absolutely no open parking spaces. I drove around and finally spotted an empty space next to a black BMW that was backed into it’s space. As I drove up to the spot a man on his cell phone walked to the BMW, opened the door, sat in the driver’s seat and continued to chat away on his phone with the driver door wide open. Obviously, the open door was blocking me from parking in the empty space. So I sat there. And sat some more. Clearly, this man could see me waiting for the spot considering his car was backed into the space and HE WAS LOOKING DIRECTLY AT ME. So I inched my car up a little. No response- door still wide open. What in the hell? I started to wonder if this person was mentally inept. I tried again, still nothing! I stared at the dude long and hard- he stared back at me. He looked familiar. For God’s sake, it’s Matt from American Idol. Turns out Mr. Nice Guy is actually a big asshole. Finally, after three attempts at inching into the parking space, he shut the door, gave me a cocky look and sped off. OH, YOU’RE SO COOL AND FAMOUS.