In less than a month I’ll be at the Austin Film Festival, where I will once again attempt to balance seeing friends and schmoozing, which will result in some terrible hits to my liver. Read more
It’s a couple days before Christmas, I’m at Grand Central Station, and there’s some time before the train to Connecticut. Not a lot of time, but some time. Enough to grab a drink.
There’d been some drinking the night before, so I didn’t want another glass of wine. I just wanted something to sip while I waited, so I ordered a Scotch. Glenlivet, with one ice cube.
This is what came to the table:
“No, excuse me, I wanted it with just one ice cube,” I said. “Or neat. There’s water in this, right?”
“No, ma’am. That’s all Scotch.”
“Why? Are you trying to kill me?”
It’s got to be $40 worth of Scotch that they gave me for $12. I’ve thought about it for a while, and I can’t figure out which one is the answer.
1. The bartender was crazy-impressed with my order, and went balls-out on the pour. (This happens sometimes, apparently a woman ordering Scotch sends some bartenders over the edge. A few months ago when I ordered, the bartender turned to my friend and said, “You need to marry this woman.” Yes, because she doesn’t mind getting drunk before her meal.)
2. The bartender assumed anyone ordering Scotch at that hour was on her way to an extremely trying Christmas vacation, and was trying to say, “Lady, I get it.”
3. The bartender assumed the Scotch was for the gentleman next to me. When the waiter arrived, he placed the wrong drink in front of me. “Champagne for the lady?” he said, with a flourish. Nope. Champagne for the gentleman. It was one of those moments where I’m hoping it comes off all cool, but inside I’m mortified that it looks like I have an actual drinking problem.
Whatever the bartender had in mind by pouring half a bottle of Scotch into a glass, I mostly felt bad that I barely put a dent in it by the time I had to leave for the train. Not that I didn’t give it my best shot.
It was one of my better Christmas presents this year.
I had a meeting yesterday in the office across from the office where I had my very first feature general meeting, almost four years ago.
About thirty seconds into our conversation — and I never do this — I asked the woman I’d just met, “Are you from Texas or Louisiana?”
She stopped for a second, startled. “Both.”
I’m not a Henry Higgins by any stretch of the imagination, but I think all the trips I took last month made me nostalgic for all of the different accents in my life. Read more
“I just want one of those damn entries out there to just be called ‘Chris and Allison’s Wedding.’ Is that so hard? Can’t it just say that and then talk about how pretty the wedding was?”
I would have done that anyway, even if the bride hadn’t specifically requested it, because the wedding was perfect. I cannot wait for the pictures. For the first time ever, I can’t wait to look through someone’s wedding pictures — a wedding I attended, even.
So, I’ve said that it was perfect. Now I’ll have to tell the self-centered story that these journal entries dictate. Sorry, Allison. You were the queen of winter, but I’m the princess of pamie.com, so I have to do what I have to do.
Well, at least I finally got some sleep. Somewhere after three in the morning last night I finally went to bed. I just took the most memorable shower. This place has a shower that feels like a car wash. I started laughing in there, it was so sarcastic. “Oh, you need a shower?” SPLOOOSSSHHH! It knocks you back. The only thing it didn’t hose away was my intense headache from yesterday’s all-day drinking jamboree. I don’t understand why the man who rents this place doesn’t have nine girlfriends — one he dates and eight that date the shower.
I took a train by myself to Penn Station (meaning someone dropped me off at the train and someone was there when it stopped, so I’m not that bold of a girl yet). The entire time I had convinced myself I was on the wrong train. Then I went to the wrong meeting place but luckily so did my cousin.
Coffee, baby pictures, family discussions, catching-up. This was probably the eighth or ninth time I’ve seen my cousin in my life. We didn’t grow up near each other and he’s older than I am so when we were kids we really had nothing in common, so I find it amazing how alike we are. We have the same sense of humor, the same tastes. I wish we had been able to see more of each other. I love him very much and I’m glad I got to spend the day together, even if we did forget to call my mom to wish her a happy birthday until the very second the train was arriving to take him home. Next time.
Get yourself a friend who’s a concierge, because he can tell you where you are, where you want to be, where you want to drink afterwards and how long you’ll be at each place. We had lunch at a mexican food place with margaritas stronger than any Trudy’s Mexican Martini. We were giggly and stupid and then went to another place to meet up with another friend for more drinks and being stupid until we went to another friend’s place to meet up for more drinks and being stupid and there was even another place before that where we met up to meet up before we went somewhere.
So today I sound like Marge Simpson. My jeans are still wet from the rain that never stopped yesterday, and I’m ready to have a nice quiet bagel followed by a quick lunch with my editor and then some sight-seeing. Yesterday was just a day full of looking at the bottom of an empty glass. I just want some water.
From: pamie <email@example.com>
Date: Sat, 27 Jul 2002 01:37:27 -0700
i am drunk and emailing, which is never good. i will now type without going back and editing, which i’ve been doing up until now, which is slowing me down, considerably.
i watched crossroads tonight and drank a lot. i love that movie so much. t’s so horribly bad and hysterical and funny and good and britney’s not wearing much clothes in the first twenty mintues of the movie. and there’s a dirty rape baby in the movie (i have to ask my friend what comic calls it that, becaause i just stole that joke), but not for the whole movie. you have to see it for the line “sorry that took so long; i got a band.”
i want to drunk dial yuou but it is way tomorroow over there.
roasted and toasted
Oh, people. I’ve got good friends.
I know I have good friends because they said nice things about me last night and made sure I had things to drink and brought gifts and the meanest thing someone could come up with about is is that we’re bad tippers.
To be honest, Eric and I have been wondering all day if we really are or if Matt was just searching for something to say. I think we tip well on food, but I get confused on bar tipping, since sometimes my drinks are comped or discounted, and I usually don’t tip by the drink but one large tip at night, but… whatever. Now is not the time.
you pick up a few things here and there.
I’m going broke from everyone’s wish lists. It’s way too easy to just click and send. But in any event, thanks to Daniel, Erica and Kim, whose gifts arrived on Friday afternoon. Eric is starting to look jealous.
The weekend was spent shopping, performing, eating, and movie watching. Although none of those things are interesting when you just talk about them chronologically, they are a bit more entertaining when you just look at the lessons I learned from them:
haiku for the hungover
Good-bye party fun.
All my good friends showed up there.
They made me feel good.
we played poker late.
i think tequila was there.
hey i won twelve bucks.
my initial impressions
We got into New Orleans late last night. The plane was late getting out of Houston because they had “cargo on board that had to remain in Houston.” I shouted out to the plane, “Okay, who brought the drugs?” but no one answered. I calculated that staying on the ground for an hour and a half has cost us over thirty dollars in drinking and laughs. When the plane takes off they start offering drinks. Eric gets a beer and I order a white russian. The drinks are on the house… or plane. Whatever, they’re free.