...since apparently, not everybody knows how, especially cute Italian hotel door men.
Well I mean, neither do I...........so it's probably best to just stick to what I do well: tell you a story.
Plain and simple: I had one of the best times of my life this past weekend. Oh I've never felt this way before. Yes, I swear, it's the truth. And I owe it all to the coolest peeps on Earth... which is probably you... whoever is reading this....
So now, I begin my story:
In anticipation of my lifestyle suddenly changing in the next week, I've decided that it was time to celebrate: to celebrate freedom and to celebrate life and everything that comes along with it. And what better way to do that than with a little bit of alcohol, a whole lot of dancing, great food, and great friends.
Friday night:When it comes to drinking, I don't do it to get drunk; I do it to experience a culture, to expand my taste buds, to try new flavors ... drunkenness just comes as a by-product (like a spandrel to an arch). Sometimes it ends in a whirlwind of mistakes and embarrassments, other times that whirlwind turns out to be the best decision of your life. So even though two shots of coffee Patron, Sake bombs, Irish car bombs, and bottles upon bottles of Japanese/Irish/IPA beers later resulted to the stumbling, the blurred vision, the water rings on the table, the crumbs on the carpet, the ridiculous load of bottles and cans to be brought to recycling by a 3'5" girl in a wheelchair, and the taking off of the shirt, without them, there also wouldn't have been gays dancing to "It's Raining Men," Christmas balls jokes, excessive laughter, and a reason to get the cute Italian door man's number.
Needless to say, it was a wonderful(ly gay) night.
(Almost forgot to mention the sushi platter from Nude Sushi! i.e. a whole bunch of California rolls with different fish/eel/shrimp on top! Not to mention the chicken sushi.)
Saturday:
The day after a party usually sucks. There are a million things to clean up, your head hurts from the night before, and all you want to do is lay in bed until Monday. Unless you're me... in which case, you naturally wake up at 8 AM, clean the house to the best of your abilities, and host a study party. Yeah that's right: a study party... and I'm not even in school anymore.
One of my best friends from high school, Sara Gandara, came to visit me this weekend. We hadn't seen each other in four and a half years. 4.5 YEARS! Does anyone realize how long that is? Leaving Elk Grove was one of the best decisions of my life, but I seem to have forgotten that I also left some awesome people there, namely Sara. But luckily, Berkeley is only a couple of hours away, so it was fairly simple for her to hop into her car and drive to my new hometown. And I'm so happy that she did. We toured the campus, she saw where I work, we played with the Wii, we ate delicious Extreme pizza (with three of the coolest sophomores in town), drank saltless salted caramel hot chocolate (the one that I bought out of love and devotion to Claire... *sniff*) and wrote an essay about pathos, ethos, and logos and its relationship with a documentary about martial arts. You might think it's lame, but writing essays (along with studying Arabic, math, and o-chem) had never been so cool.
Sunday: There are so many songs about Sundays: "Easy Like Sunday Morning" "Tell Me On a Sunday" "Sunday Bloody Sunday"... all describing how Sunday is supposed to be the chill out day. The day of rest. Stress-free. What did we do? Woke up relatively late, had a lovely brunch at Herbivore, and walked around downtown Berkeley for some time. It was glorious. Nice bonding moment with two really awesome people. Just proof that you don't have to get all cray cray to have an amazing day. Just stopping by the toy store and the video game store and the hotel to get a glimpse of cute Italian door man should suffice (sorry Claire, I know you told me to go on a Rigatoni hiatus, but I couldn't help it LOL... you know how bad I am with that). Oh and of course, dying of spiciness from the Indian food we got from the really huge restaurant with no one in it!
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So ladies and gents, that was my weekend. That's how I toot it and boot it. It might not be as misogynistic or sexual (unless you're Ashola) or crazy as the real thing, but to hell with it: it was fun.
