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#winning the wine game…

A week or so ago, I threw away my beloved wine bottle opener. It had seen better days, it was time; plus I had just opened a bottle and figured I’d buy another opener before I got through the new bottle.

…I severely underestimated myself… or overestimated myself…? Either way.

Last night, I found myself in my pajamas early, bottle of Barboursville Red in hand… without an opener.

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Panic immediately set in. Never mind the fact that I live two blocks from a grocery store where they sell both wine openers and screw-cap wine bottles (my personal favorite). I started digging through drawers, through bags, through shelves, through boxes and closets. Nothing.

I sat down in a chair for a self-pep-talk, “think… think, think, think! There has to be a way – there has to be!” All of a sudden, a video my cousin had posted on my Facebook wall popped into mind- link – simple enough, I had a shoe and I had a wall… I spent the next 5 minutes slamming said shoe against said wall without success.

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“Okay… okay, okay…think…”

Then it hit me — panic… desperation — but also… screw… screw driver… hammer… I lunged towards the tool box that my dad had given me (which hadn’t seen much use until now); SCREW! SCREWDRIVER! HAMMER! I put the bottle on the counter, stood over it basking in my own brilliance, screwed the screw into the cork, flipped the hammer around and started pulling. The screw popped right out… but the cork, ugh, the cork did not…

shit

The screw was too small, God bless it, the screw was too small.

Then delirium set in. I’m not ashamed of my actions, though I’m aware that I crossed over into to a place that I can never return from…

I went into my bedroom, removed a larger screw from a piece of furniture, dropped it into a pot of boiling water that I had on the stove intending to make noodles,  strained it, screwed that 4″ sucker into the cork, plopped down on the floor cross-legged with the bottle pinned between my bare feet, and used every ounce of strength I had to pull the screw AND CORK out with the backside of the hammer…

And hour after my original inkling for wine…

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Wine. Sweet victory. And neither had ever tasted so good.

For the record, this makes it official… I fully intend on ruling the world one day.

cheers-to-katherine

Have a great weekend!

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The Rice-Kid…

Sometimes in my adult life – living downtown, working where I work – I forget that kids exist. It sounds ignorant but kids and I don’t usually hang around the same places. I live in the middle of the city, I work at an ad agency, I shop at the downtown grocery store, I hang out at breweries/other non-kid-friendly places, etc.  We don’t really cross paths unless it’s intentional (like visiting my precious baby second cousin {or whatever the connection is… it doesn’t matter, he’s my baby… picture below} or it’s on one of the nights that I help with the church youth group but I digress…)

Today, in the middle of a work day, I spent over an hour waiting in line at the post office.

Already, I’m all like…

tenor

…because of my extreme lack of line-waiting-patience.

Then she came in. This (cute) perky little 8 year old and she took a mysterious and immediate liking to me…

I know the majority of people who read this don’t know me personally so I guess I should clarify that I’m “nice” – a compliment I don’t love but I suppose isn’t a bad thing – and “nice” I remained as this little girl tugged on my sleeve and spent 40+ minutes explaining to me 6,879 different ways to eat rice. Why rice, you ask? Why wasn’t this child in school, is the question I want answered!

…rice and broccoli, chicken and rice – with wild rice, not plain rice-, chicken fried rice, shrimp fried rice, mexican rice, beans and rice, rice and peas, rice casserole, cheesy rice, rice cakes, spanish rice, microwaveable rice, white rice, brown rice, red rice… and did you know that ice cream originated in China where it was originally a mixture of milk and… RICE.

At about the 45 minute mark of this madness, the little girl’s mother turned to me and said, “I know what you’re thinking. Try living with her.”

Respect. SO much respect.

I like to think that when you start considering being a parent, you’re automatically zapped with an extra dose of patience (because I do want to be a parent one day… I think…) and I have no doubt that when I was young (uh… maybe still?) I could also talk someone into insanity (Mom, I love you)… but phew…

respectto all you parents out there.

Now I want icecream. The American kind, not the Rice-Milk Chinese kind.


 

“My” baby:

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