So, I finished a freelance project early last week, and immediately took on another. And I’ll spare you all of the details except for this one: I now know more about anal sacs than you do. Specifically, canine anal sacs. And the things I have learned have absolutely nothing to do with the actual freelance work. I learned all of my anal sac info in my spare time, when I should have been cleaning the house or reading Revolutionary Road.
I’m hosting this weekend’s book club, you see, and I still haven’t finished the book. The idea of finishing it before Sunday afternoon seems quite doable, but it won’t be doable if I continue to spend my free time reading about Feline Panleukopenia and Tail Paralysis. (Confession: If I had the time to Do It All Over Again, I would probably jump into Healthcare. Also, if I had the time to Do It All Over Again, I would NOT have returned to Starbucks this morning after last week’s incident. Wait. Did I tell you that I wanted to pinch (or punch, depending on your imaginary violence tolerance level) a barista last week when he lectured me on the high prices of apple juice as he handed me my thirty-eight thousand dollar tall non-fat London Fog tea latte? (I know. So many stinking adjectives.) The register guy asked the barista to make a sample of the apple chai for me, and the barista told me that he would NOT make a sample for me because apple juice is terribly expensive. He then came down on the register guy (who knows I like chai, but had never tried the apple version) for even suggesting such a thing. “Apple juice is TOO EXPENSIVE TO GIVE AWAY!!!” And I wanted to look over to the register guy and whisper, “Let’s get him!” before jumping over the counter and clobbering the barista, but I was simply too embarrassed to say or do anything, because the register guy looked to be more than a bit distressed by the whole thing. This is What I Think I Know: The apple juice at Starbucks is not really apple juice. It is juice squeezed from the heads of endangered Chinese River Dolphins. And the Starbucks employees don’t want you to know this, but now you do. It makes perfect sense now, doesn’t it?)
Anyway. I shall now change the subject, knowing that We Will Never Forget The Starbucks Secret. Saturday evening will find me participating in my first ever Trivia Night, and I’m not sure if I should be excited or terrified, because it took Jeff and I nearly two minutes to come up with the name Rock Hudson this morning.
Me: Wait. Who is the dead guy I’m thinking of? Old. Adorable. Witty. I have a crush on him, and I think he was gay?
Jeff: Oh! Yeah. Um, not Spencer Tracy.
Me: No. An Affair to Remember, maybe, but I don’t think so. That guy. Funny!
Jeff: Cary Grant?! Cary Grant!
Me: Yes! Ding ding ding! We just won Trivia Night!!!
Jeff: But wait. You don’t love Cary Grant. I think you love Rock Hudson.
Me: True. We just lost Trivia Night!!!
(Brad? Liz? Do you still want us at your table?)
On Sunday afternoon, I will be leading the book club discussion. And as everyone talks about Kate Winslet and Richard Yates and how the movie paralleled the book and “I’d like a pear gorgonzola pizza” and whatnot, I will be hiding behind my lemonade and muttering something about how Leonardo DiCaprio is long on looks, and cats with thickened bowel loops just might be in trouble.