This isn’t so much a post as it is a confession.

Forgive me Father for I am about to sin.

And given the state of things, sinning on President’s Day feels about right.

You know how I really like to stay in bed and do nothing? Well sometimes I make myself crazy thinking I should do something, but not today.

Today, I am fine just chillin.

It’s weird because it’s sunny and I should want to go out. But the sun is coming in through my big open sliding glass door and a hello sun seems to be all I need today.

So I’m gonna throw it down and sin big.

There are a bunch of movies on Amazon Prime I wanna see and then there’s Patriot – thanks Martha and Julien for recommending a show to binge watch if there ever was one.

My kids are Door Dash experts so I texted Owen to get the name of this place that makes a killer Ahi salad. I know, I know, Poke has gotten a little out of control. There’s bowls everywhere. Because Umami is king!

So I Door dashed me some of that from KoJa and then decided that I’m gonna drink.

It’s a very fine line, deciding when and when not to turn your day over to booze and Netflix.

My last big boyfriend Peter was a drinker. Every night, all night he drank until he stopped working and fell asleep. He was a photographer so post-processing was an every night grueling process. Sometimes I liked the Mai Tais or whatever but after a while I hated the slurry after effects. Specifically, I hated him slurring after 9 PM. I wanted him sober and conversational or to shut the hell up.

Sometimes, on the weekend, we’d start out on a Sunday with champagne. The day would start out kind of fun, but because he was a big drinker he wouldn’t stop at one bottle, and because I’m kind of a freak when I don’t have to work, especially with a good buzz going, I’d say hell-to-the-yeah when he ran over to Safeway for more booze.

We live across the street from Safeways, so it’s a bit of a too easy thing to just decide you want one more beer. Luckily I’m lazy as fug. Without a guy to do a beer run, I’ll just have water, thank you.

Anyway, and this was predictable, only I never predicted it, around four in the PM I’d get all girl-drunk grizzly and feel super pissed off that I’d wasted a perfectly good day. And then I’d have to wait until nine PM to just go to sleep already. Dysfunction junction, for sure.

On my own, I’ve gone through a few light near-alcoholic phases. Nothing too serious, because I can always stop and I always do.

The best thing I’ve done is quit drinking, for the most part, during the week. If I really want to, I will. I ended the half a bottle of wine a night habit, though. That is over and done with. (Too old).

One thing I want to make clear is that I drink like a European, or like a redneck at a Nascar race. I can have one glass of wine. I generally call that not drinking.

But when I drink I go all in. I know I’m not supposed to say it, but that’s what I do. It’s fun, I’m home and not about to get into any trouble. Who cares?

I’ve checked my liver enzymes and they are just fine. So I’m gonna defend the sometimes drinking thing, like a European or a redneck at a Nascar race.

So being lazy as fug, and not wanting to interrupt my vibe in bed doing nothing, which is as close to perfect as a President’s Day sloth (yet energized) vibe can be, I google “Alcohol Delivery”

To be honest, I wasn’t even sure there was such a thing. And it’s probably not a good thing to discover. But you can Instacart yourself a whole bunch of alcohol if you want to.

First, you gotta scroll by the ads wanting to slam you into rehab, but if you make it past them, you’re golden.

So I decided to get some champagne cuz it’s the weekend. Well, sort of. Because it’s President’s Day. Pretty sure a lot of people are drinking today.

Then it hit me that I’d really like a Negroni. I don’t know if I’m just a little snark, but when I have a dating disappointment, I tend to go in for revenge. Revenge as I define it is something that doesn’t hurt anyone. Because I actually like all the men who have disappointed me in some form or another. I’m even good friends with some of them, after the you’re pissing me off vibe died down. So revenge is harmless, but I get to go – take THAT you evil monster!

So my revenge is to sing “Sisters are Doing it For Themselves” in my head while doing whatever it is I thought I’d be doing with my latest disappointment.

Like the time Philippe went to Yoshi’s and didn’t invite me. This has to rank way up there in my freakazoid book of favorite bustamoves. We were dating. I think we lasted about a month or two. He was great for a few dates. Then he just slammed on the breaks, pronto.

It was after his sister’s birthday party when I had a few drinks and driving home put my feet up on his dashboard. He says that wasn’t the reason and I think he’d tell me now because we are super great friends, but I still think that’s when everything went south.

Anyway, after that he didn’t do the securing up the next date thing anymore. And it was starting to get on my nerves. One week it was maybe Wednesday or Thursday and we had no plans for the weekend, and no plans not to have plans, if that makes sense, and somehow I found out he was taking his groovy ass to Yoshi’s.

I think that was it for me.

Anyway I got to work on how I felt about it all and I decided I was going to take my own ass to Yoshi’s some other night. (I’m not a big enough freak to show up on the same night. That would be boil the bunny wacko)

I grabbed Tashida and we went to some Yoshi revenge show and had sushi and pretty much that’s how I got it out of my system.

Philippe always laughs when I tell him that story and then says that he was just out of a divorce and not ready for anything.  We started hanging out a lot once I got my revenge over and done with, and he’s one of my besties now. We’re in love, too. Not exactly friends and not more than friends…we made our own category for what we are. It’s like – if we’re old I’ll share a nursing home room with him. That kind of love.

Back to my revenge. I decided to drink Negronis so I ordered all the stuff from Instacart. I couldn’t really find red sweet vermouth so I got regular vermouth and maraschino cherries. I figured after the first drink or two I’ll hardly notice anyway.

God I’m loving this post. And it’s about to get better.

Next I get this message that says Shakira is shopping for me! She’s across the street at Safeways, I can practically touch her form here! Doing my alcohol run. Yay!

*

Then I get a text from the dude at KoJa who says that I put my delivery address in as the restaurant’s address and when I say no,  and give him my home address he says “I don’t know where that is!” not like a question but more like a “Hell if I’m gonna deliver your poke to….” Shoot I almost just typed three letters that would get me Me Too-ed or something faster than an Egyptian streaking guy in blackface. I don’t want to offend anyone, but that’s the tone he used.

By the way, also, just so you know, I grew up using the words gay and faggy with my gay friends and fags…so it’s hard for me to understand why calling some really awesome antique pottery find “gay” is so bad. I mean, it’s just gay.  And sometimes clothes are faggy. Even autocorrect wants me to say baggy. Nope. Faggy. So I’ve got some words in my vocabulary which in no way are actual insults to anyone, but nevertheless have to be exempt from polite conversation.

We went through some frustrations trying to cancel the order which he refused to deliver because apparently from Telegraph in Berkeley to my house in Oakland is like crossing the Sahara on a donkey. I just deleted a whole paragraph in which I used words I’m not supposed to use. I was polite. If he can stand to lose my ten dollar order then it’s on him.

Turns out, Owen had delivery from Alameda which is the same distance away, but much more agreeable on the delivery front.

*

So I gave up and ordered three tacos, some plantains, and guacamole and chips from a little Mexican dive. Hit send and it said my delivery address was…on Telegraph,  at KoJa!

Holy crap, no.

I’m probably one of the only humans in America to ever talk on the phone with an actual Door Dash representative. I believe their call center is located in the Philippines. I know this because the guy I call in my payroll to is also Filipino and he is so polite and thorough, repeating things five or six times until I am about to scream, then calling me “Miss Maria” so I don’t scream…well, I know these people.

Aside – when my kids were little I had a boyfriend form the Philippines – he was Spanish, and my ex married a Filipino woman. So my kids grew up thinking that the Philippines occupied the other half of the world, pretty much. Bigger than the former Soviet Union.

Anyway, these folks are gonna get through their script and hold you prisoner until they do. And you’re gonna like it. If you want anything done, give it to a Filipino or a Gay, but just know there’s gonna be a price to pay at the other end.

After ten minutes or an hour, we managed to get them to agree to deliver the food to me, not KoJa.

Then I get a text, Shakira has not been able to find my items and she is starting to make substitutions.

*

That’s right, she substituted my Campari for canned tomatoes.

So I try to message her and I get this:

*

So I get back on Door Dash because I am in it to win it and find out……BevMo delivers. Great. I challenge them to substitute tomatoes!

Meantime my phone just starts to blow up.

People are filling my order, folks are on their way (if the guy actually cards me I’m gonna laugh, but I got my ID out, just incase.) Anytime anyone stops at a stop sign or has to pee, I get another text.

I’m starting to think that it would have been so much simpler to have bitten the bullet, put on a bra (or not!, this is Oakland) and walked across the damn street.

But I’m in deep, and there is no going back.

Doorbell rings…and it’s taco time!

Only I have mysteriously lost my appetite.

Besides, I’m waiting for my booze.

Doorbell rings again.

Wait, it’s the neighbor’s doorbell. So I look out and Shakira is trying to deliver a bunch of alcohol and some tomatoes to my neighbor. She’s got two kids throwing a tantrum over there, so she tries to accept it and I have to yell out, no, no over here!

I say to Shakira that I’ve been laughing and crying ever since I got the text about the tomato substitution. She’s a professional so she was a little bummed. She said she asked the grocer about the Campari. She actually said she axed him, and I’m not too shy to say she said that because I love a good axe and this woman was as sweet and together and beautiful as any woman might be. So I’m leaving it in.

*

So it’s like 1:30 and I have watched zero movies so far, have had a few of the most delicious housemade tortilla chips, and I’m waiting on my Campari.

I think I’ll have a Sofia champagne. It’s really awful champagne but it comes in a little can, with a personal straw that bends, so that –  a) you can’t overdo it waiting for your Campari and –  b) if you wanna lie down you can sip without even sitting up.

Just got a text.

Bevmo will be here in another hour and twenty.

Gonna pace myself and go watch something.

This is the best day ever!