It’s Always Time for Cava

Well, the friends I was supposed to go out with tonight bailed on me, so I sit alone with a bottle of bubbly. Oh sure, I could go out on my own, but 1) I'm far too shy, 2)It's almost 70 miles roundtrip, which puts me more than $10 in the hole before I even pay for parking or a drink, and 3) Cost Plus World Market had a very nice Spanish Cava (I know, thats redundant, like Italian Prosecco or French Champagne) for only $6. So, me, a flute, a bottle of Cava, and the Internets. How fabulous.

Be not sorry for me, however. Last night a friend and I went and had dinner at the WeHo Hamburger Mary's for karaoke night. It was a barrel of laughs; they have good food, and our waiter was hot, nice and could sing (qualities, especially the first two, that are exceedingly rare to have in combination in the L.A. Basin). So I've had some measure of excitement this week.

 I also have to be up at o-dark-hundred to finish up the fire clearance at the cabin. This time we're being smart and bringing the weed whacker, because the thought of bending over and picking one. more. fucking. weed. is enough to make me want to forsake the flute and drink Cava straight gayly from the bottle.

A propops of nothing, I love lesbians. I wish I could be a lesbian. Lesbians rock my socks off. I'd marry a lesbian in a heartbeat. Always so much more down to earth and thoughtful than the little gay boys that sprout up from the earth like the aforementioned weeds. Have you hugged your favorite lesbian today?

 And in case you were wondering, no, that wasn't a drunk ramble. I've had maybe half a glass of Cava, which for a Jesuit-trained liver, might as well be a spritz of Evian.

Did you know "Evian" spelled backwards in "naive"? Tells you something, don't it?

Seacrest out. Heh heh, 'out.' Oh, the day that flaming trainwreck comes out of the closet…


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