Look what B gave me! Apropos of nothing, which is my favorite way to receive gifts (although J, it seems, is suspicious. Or worried). Have you seen that truly insipid commercial where the whitest couple in the world is celebrating at the Olive Garden and the waitress asks them why and they say, "It's just Monday!" and you die a little inside that the actors are probably showing this as part of their reels and casting directors are rolling their eyes and you kind of want to drive your car through the faux-Italianate exterior of the nearest location?
Where was I? Oh yeah! Random celebrations, like for the days of the week that end in "y", or the incessant awesomeness of me, or the questionable quality of Olive Garden fare (but the decided perfection of the breadsticks). Or, mostly, the generosity of B, who not only gave me something I love—a surefire way to become famous on the Woodside—but also proved she understands the life of the single gal.* When one is serving oneself a bathtub of wine, it's always comforting to pour from a pretty container. You know, as opposed to the spigot.
*In addition, she will kick your ass at Yahtzee.
I loathe:
Note to the universe: When I am having a truly awful day, and my spirits are lifted momentarily by the sight of a centuries-old fortune cookie in the bottom of my cookie jar? THAT IS NOT THE TIME TO GYP ME ON MY FORTUNE. Because the message isn't terribly subtle. And I might be compelled to smash the offending cookie with my fist, which is pretty unflattering and not a little melodramatic.
Oh, holy hell.
That makes me need to go make good use of that decanter. Because it's Monday!
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