kerewin's whine cellar

And Everyone's Coming!

Tonight a Vendor took my all of my team (and significant others) out to dinner. One of my teammates just moved here from New Jersey and had to search for a date (because we taunted him endlessly and of COURSE the Hub ended up not being able to go due to a previous engagement). She was a nice enough girl but towards the end of the dinner she was telling a story about how she learned to appreciate wine.

She said, "I never really liked red wine but my parents were really into wine and since I couldn't ever afford anything I would just drink whatever they were pouring. One night I tried this red wine and it was LIKE A PARTY IN MY MOUTH!"

A party in my mouth?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

There was some stunned silence around the table and I just started laughing. I kept waiting for her to say the punch line to round out the joke. But. She. Never. Did. She didn't know the joke!

All I could think about was the Simpons episode where they got by the censors when Moe said, "There's a party in mouth and everyone's invited!"

Good times.

Everything always gets back to the Simpsons.

This is as if to tell you, you suck

Alright, alright, I hear you internet! It is time to update. Every day for the last week and a half or so I have heard and told about 8 billion funny, good internet potential stories. I have talked sex, I have cooked my brain out, I have laughed, yelled and cried. Have I told you about it? No, because I am a lazy slog.

There was a very amusing anecdote wherein my sister, H-star, told a story that involved burning her "cookie" the first time she used a bidet. I, myself, tried to convince her to use the word "coochie" because it is much funnier. However, she was having none of it. She was especially grossed out by my further suggestion of "taco". I mean, it kinda looks that way, doesn't it? You have to think hard taco, though, because soft taco is just too gross.

Here is a fact that came up that evening as well: Whenever you travel to another country, you will always come away with a poop story. Therefore, even though I already printed this, ahem, a couple of times, here is my olden and golden story about pooping in Argentina:. (that link will send you to the MUCH, much longer and definitely more boring story of my flight to Argentina and then my first night)

Had a great time talking (as much as was possible) to all the people and we stayed up pretty late. I got a chance to show them my laptop (showoff, I couldn’t even wait one day, I had even told myself that I wouldn’t bring it out about 20 minutes before) and pictures and it was a very pleasant evening. They showed me the room I would sleep in and the little bathroom just off of it. I was made to understand that the little bathroom was only for when the other was occupied and it was emergency status. One note about Argentina, and most likely any other South American country, no one EVER sleeps. Everyone in the house was up past midnight and I finally said I had to hit the hay.

One thing about flying, there are always people waiting in line for the bathrooms so it is kind of embarrassing to stink one up, plus I have performance anxiety, so it just isn’t even possible for me to, to, ummm, well, YOU KNOW. Then I was whisked right away onto the sightseeing journey and then another plane and THEN a house full of strangers, none of whom would go to bed. There was not a chance to go, as my friend Gareth said, “Oh lord, just say it..poo!” So I woke on Saturday at 6am having not gone, ummmm, you know, poo, for a good 2 days. Well, a small private bathroom that no one ever uses, early enough in the morning for it to clear up of smell, sounds like just the right kind of emergency for me. Afterwards I felt sooooooooooooooooooo much better. Until I went to flush. Hmmmmm, where the hell was the handle? For that matter where the hell was the tank? It was just a toilet connceted to the wall. I found several faucet handles, but upon further inspection none of them were for flushing. There was a hole in the wall above the toilet and I looked into it, hmmm the tank! Behind the wall and seems to be missing its lid. It looked like it had been made in 1899 but at least I was onmy way to a solution. However I haven’t ever flushed a toilet without the handle before and didn’t have a single clue as how to operate one. I kinda pushed and pulled at some wires. No go.

I see the foater thing that goes down when you flush the toilet (you know the thing that measures the water level and shuts the water off when the tank is full?) well I was exausted of other ideas so I pushed it down. Hard enough to make it stay down, not too hard though, remember this is an antique. Well it stayed down and the water in the tank turned on and no big surprise, the toilet didn’t flush. What brilliance! I mean, if I had been thinking about, I would have known that would happen. Who was thinking though?

So the toilet doesn’t flush and the tank is filling up, oh SHIT, literally. What to do now? I try to pull the floater thing up, to shut off the water, nope. Mess with a few of the wires and this has the exact same response as before, nothing. And now the water is starting to overflow!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh SHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT. What a great morning.

So I give in and go out into the living room. It is my one lucky break that Sergio just happened to be awake (didn’t I tell you these people never sleep?). So I asked him for help (actually upon reflection I realized that I said, “I need to help” but he got the idea). The first thing Sergio does is pull some little wire sticking out in the front that any sane person would have realized was the way to flush the toilet. Then he spends about 2 more cycles of flushing and filling getting the plunger thing to come back up. Apparently there used to be a full wall and a little button to push to flush the toilet, but it broke and they had to break into the wall, probably the reason few people used that bathroom. Anyway, I couldn’t have been MORE embarrassed, but Sergio was really really cool about it. I have the suspicion that he doesn’t realize that I shoved that plunger thing down, or maybe he does.

Too bad for Andrew, I am already married

Possible Ticket

So this week I have been half-in and half-out of a job, getting up early to deal with new job and running my ass off to old job. Of course you want to dress correctly and new job is dress professional and old job is, well it has a shitty dress code of either khaki pants and khaki polo, or dress black and whites with bow tie and apron (GAG). So I find myself in a time pinch gunning it to the old job in dress professional, trying to get into grocery store chic. Yesterday I was stopped at a light, no one with windows enough to see, running shitass (another very fun made up word of mine lately) late I decide to swap shirt for polo. As I have one off and the other *about* on, who drives by but a mo-to-cycle cop?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!

Can you imagine getting a ticket for changing clothes at a light????????????????? Dude, I was in BRA-ONLY while driving, that could be a serious moving violation, I suspect.

Since I have to drive for my new job and a perfect driving record is a plus all I could think about was how this might affect my record. TG that the dude kept on driving. Narrow escape is all I have to say. And DUDE could I use the word DUDE more often these days? Not sure, DUDE.

This is the Way it Goes

I talked today to the corporate wine buyer about general grocery/wine/work issues. At the end of our discussion I asked him if he knew I had given notice and that my last day was Friday.

He said, "I had heard that, but I was hoping you had changed your mind."

Here's a clue, if someone you want to keep employed gives notice, you arrange a meeting with them and give a counter offer. You don't just sit in your office far, far away and HOPE that person changes their mind.