In just under 3 weeks, I will be off to start my adventures overseas. I still don't have a Paris hostel booked, and I should probably do that this week so I'm not stranded somewhere. I definitely should have budgeted better over the course of the year. What can ya do?
Speaking of course or courses, I can't get into one of the photography classes I asked to switch into (story of my life), so I'm either stuck in the Italian cuisine class I signed up for or I'm going to have to pray like mad to get into another one. I love to cook, but I really don't want to get up at 9:30 in the morning after being out late and possibly hungover, put on a fluffy hat, and run around like I'm on Top Chef. Please let their be an Italian I class open. Per favore?
On the topic of food, I went to St. Pete Beach this weekend and had a lovely time. I jet-skied for the first time since I was a tot, hit a five-footer, and flew off like a champ. However, I did lose my favorite pair of sunglasses. The poor things are always victim to the water. Rats. Anyway, back to food. A few friends and I searched for a solid place for dinner after hours of splashing around in the sun and found a hole in the wall resembling a submarine 5 & Diner. The parking lot was fairly empty, and the shiny aluminum craft, I was sure, would be perfect for a few glorious burgers for a few beach bums. I opened the door to find a small, lavish restaurant with wines galore, intimate lighting, a party of about twelve and older guests dabbing their mouths daintily in cushioned booths. I peered back at my friends, thinking we must have stepped into the Twilight Zone. We asked the host if we were underdressed, but he quickly shooed the idea away and led us to a table nearby.
Instead of a burger, I decided to order a - shoot, I always forget the names of things no matter how simple - fish sandwich. The word Galapagos keeps running through my head, but that is completely irrelevant. Trouter...Grouper! A grouper sandwich. Trouter isn't even a word. Lord help me. Anyway, I had my grouper sandwich, and another friend ordered this incredible burger with a knife jabbed into the center. It raised quite a fuss with a few diners from the party, and they asked to snap a few photos of it. We didn't mind, of course, and agreed it certainly looked stellar. Unfortunately, he had some childish meltdown (something about a movie ticket going to waste because we wouldn't be back in town in time), left the restaurant claiming to use the men's room, and disappeared for the rest of dinner. Too bad for him, we only took two cars, neither of which were his, forcing him to twiddle his thumbs while we took our sweet time. God bless that waiter for being understanding and taking the food off the bill. Our friend wasn't so lucky as he got quite a lecture from the four of us responsible adults. Hopefully, he learned, but there's no knowing with people of that nature.
He's not a bad guy, and he apologized for his behavior. My resentment subsided after a few hours, but I'm still disappointed. It seems he's the type to have had a lack of discipline and lot of luck in his life. He's one of those characters you meet only a few times in life where sheer luck has gotten him by, and an attitude adjustment always seems just out of reach. It's peculiar. If I behaved this way, I'd have a hell of a time getting through life. I don't really believe in luck, but I do believe everyone has some sort of unique equilibrium, that, when disturbed, leads to a series of tumultuous events. I am always on the strugglebus, for instance. There is always a small blemish on everything beautiful that happens in my life. I tend toward some pessimism, and it certainly sounds like a defining characteristic of mine, but I wouldn't consider myself so. It's just the way my life goes.
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