A Thing That Happened to Me Over the Weekend: I Didn’t Order a Bloody Mary

A Bloody Mary I actually ordered and drank one time.

High quality photo of a Bloody Mary I actually ordered and drank one time.


I was going to tell the story of how I left my glasses at a bar on Friday night because I wore them while I was singing karaoke and dropped them or something – I don’t remember – so I had to go back there on Saturday night to pick them up and while I was walking there, already full of feelings like shame and self-loathing, a dude rejected me via text message. I don’t really want to go into it but it does have a little bit to do with how I ended up with a Bloody Mary I didn’t order on Sunday.

I went to see Django Unchained on Sunday with some friends because it seemed like a good idea when we were partying very early that morning, after partying until sometime kind of early the previous morning, to buy tickets for a 2:30 PM show. When we got to the theater, all of us were obviously feeling, for lack of a better word, great. This particular theater has waiter service which is usually super nice. This time, it ended up being kind of stressful.

To be fair, maybe I was a little confusing when I gave my order to our waitress. Because at first, I was like, “I will have a water and a Bloody Mary.” You know, because I was hungover and I needed to hydrate but I also thought I needed a little hair of the dog. But then I realized I was the only one ordering an alcoholic beverage and I felt like maybe I needed to chill on the boozehoundiness, so I was like, “Actually, no. I don’t want a Bloody Mary. I’ll have a Diet Coke.”

She repeated my order back to me. “OK, a water and a Diet Coke.”

And then she said, “Are you going to order an entrée? Because if you do, a Bloody Mary comes with it.”

To which I said, “ I’m not going to have an entrée. And I just don’t think I can handle alcohol right now?” (This was probably true.)

I really don’t remember if anything was said after that. The waitress moved on to the people in the seats next to us and I waited for the movie to start. Right after it began, a shadow appeared with three drinks for me: a water, a Diet Coke and a Bloody Mary. Which was confusing, because I didn’t think I had ended up ordering one. However, I didn’t tell anyone, not even the person who delivered my order of tater tots – my second order of tater tots in twenty-four hours – that I didn’t want the Bloody Mary. I proceeded to drink the water and the Diet Coke.

I let the Bloody Mary sit there for three-quarters of the almost three hour-long movie – the ice melting, the celery wilting, the olives still uncomfortably skewered on their extra long toothpick or whatever it is that they spear the olives on. (I never eat the olives; I hate olives.) I kept thinking, maybe I should drink this thing as long as it’s in front of me. But I didn’t. Not for a very long time. Finally, just before the waitress came with my check, I removed the paper from the straw and  took a sip of the Bloody Mary. It was vile. Like, probably the spiciest thing I’ve ever tasted and it immediately gave me heartburn.

But then my check came and I just…paid for it. Of course, now, I’m asking myself why I did this. And I guess it was because I still wasn’t sure if I had said something that would have made this waitress think that I did indeed want a Bloody Mary even though I said I wanted a Diet Coke instead. (So probably, on a deeper level, because I’m afraid of any situation that could possibly lead to confrontation.) And also because that movie was like a million hours long and I just wanted to get the F out of the (OVERWHELMINGLY hot) theater, especially considering the last half hour was some really unnecessary and self-indulgent garbage.

Friday Roundup

Let me start this off by saying that everyone should read How Should A Person Be? by Sheila Heti. I just finished it this week and I regret that it took me so long to get around to reading it because it was probably the most thought-provoking novel I read in the last year. (I feel like I maybe say that about every other novel I read, but I really mean it about this one.) Incidentally, I came across this recent review in the London Review of Books, which was pretty much like every other review of this book except the author used examples from a British reality series to illustrate her points.

And some other stuff:

Why Are You So Intimidated By Girls Liking Rap Music?
As a girl who casually listens to rap music and gets really into it every two years or so, THIS was interesting to read. I almost feel less entitled to claim that I like rap now because I only got like half of the references. (Likely because I haven’t been keeping track of everyone’s thoughts on Chief Keef.)

Speaking of Chief Keef and who can listen to/critique rap music these days: I meant to post this excellent thing by Dave Bry from The New Republic last week, but I never got around to it. (Personally, I think that EVERYONE can listen to and critique rap music now that we have Rap Genius.)

Anyway, it was Belle and Sebastian Week on Fluxblog.

Turntable Interview with Angel Olsen
I’m not sure how much I like these interviews conducted on turntable.fm, but I really like Angel Olsen, so I found this worth reading. And if you haven’t listened to her, you should! I really like this new song of hers:


And finally, because I love a good McSweeney’s list, here are some Jewish Movie Remakes from the writing staff of Bob’s Burgers.

Cleaning, Or Thinking About Cleaning

I made this dip to serve at my New Year’s Eve party on December 31. It was full of all the kinds of things that you want in a dip – shredded cheese, cream cheese, salsa, heavy cream, and for some reason, defrosted chopped spinach. Up until last night, it was still sitting in my refrigerator. This is what two-week-old dip looks like:

photo (32)
Why was it still there, two weeks later? I wish I had a good answer for you. I looked at it every day and I thought, I should throw that out. Even on January 1st, when arguably, I could have heated it up and it would have been fine. But last night I decided that I needed to stop acting like a mess, so I threw it out. And then I cleaned my room and hung up some things in my closet and put some clothes in a pile that I need to be dry cleaned. And then I rested because things take time and I am not going to become a non-mess overnight.

I’m sure for that for a while, I’m still going to find birthday cards from three years ago in my purse. I’m still going to drop wadded up dollars on the ground every time I take my hand out of my coat pocket. I’m still going to write everything I need to do during the week in my planner but then not do half of those things because somehow my planner ended up under my comforter, which I will only discover after I can’t find my phone anywhere and I take my comforter off my bed because I know that I often leave my phone on my bed before I get in the shower in the morning.

Or maybe I will always do these things because this is just how I am. If that’s the case, then I apologize to my roommates, who will always have to look at things of mine that have been left in the fridge for too long. And for that matter, I apologize to everyone who comes into my apartment, because our front door’s hinges should be on the opposite side and you sort of have to walk into my room to enter and most of the time, there are things like clothes and bags and umbrellas and receipts and my broken Nook and the lock I use at the gym scattered across my floor. Also, I took my air conditioner out before Hurricane Sandy and it’s still sitting next to my bookshelf.

A Thing That Happened to Me Over the Weekend: A Person Was Friendly To Me

In an attempt to make myself write something/anything, I’m going to, each Monday – probably – write about one thing that happened to me over the weekend.

Yesterday afternoon, I was in Chelsea Market standing on line for coffee. This is not a place I go often because it is both far from my apartment and my place of work. But last night I was going to cook dinner with my friends Jen and Liza in honor of the weirdest televised dinner party of the year, the Golden Globes, and Chelsea Market is close to Liza’s apartment and we figured it might be a good place to purchase groceries and coffee to improve our energy levels so that we would actually get around to making dinner. Anyway, this is how I ended up on line for coffee in Chelsea Market, even though it’s not necessarily important to this story.

I had a feeling that this particular coffee place was CASH ONLY and so while I was waiting I looked around for a sign that said CASH ONLY and wouldn’t you know they had one and it was framed and everything behind the counter?

So, I looked at Jen and Liza and I told them I had to go to the ATM.

To which Liza said, “I can spot you.” I really appreciated this but I have weird feelings about people spotting me money because I tend not to remember to pay them back and then when I do remember I feel super guilty, even if it’s like $3. So, I told her not to worry about it and I went to the ATM, withdrew some cash and went back to the coffee place, where Liza and Jen were now waiting for their drinks at the other end of the bar.

There was this older white-haired woman with a wooden cane standing sort of to the side of the line when I got there so I asked her if she was in line and she said yes, so I just stood behind her, very quietly, because that’s generally how I am in public when I am alone.

The line seemed very slow-moving because 1) it was, 2) I really wanted iced coffee and it wasn’t happening fast enough and 3) the woman in front of me was tapping her wooden cane on the ground like she was either very impatient or performing some shamanistic ritual. This last thing made me anxious. But I know that everything is temporary, so I knew that eventually this tapping would stop.

And then it did and the woman was now staring up at me – her face was really close like, almost under the brim of my hat – and talking to me.

“You’re really pretty!” she said, smiling a little too maniacally for my taste.

I didn’t even get a chance to respond. I mean, I was going to thank her because that’s, I think, what you should say when someone tells you you’re pretty. But then she said, “You’re not from here, are you?” As if I couldn’t be pretty and from New York OR – and I think this is more likely – as if I couldn’t be from New York and in Chelsea Market.

“Uh, no, I’m from here,” I said. I was kind of offended.

Then she smiled at me and said, “You look like my daughter!”

I highly doubted that. Still, I smiled and nodded like a nice, regular human. She turned around and ordered her coffee. I ordered mine. We didn’t speak after that. I immediately told Jen and Liza about what happened because I’m sure I was flattered by the attention. We went on our way, merrily buying all of the things we needed for dinner. It was a lovely evening. But I had a weird day today and now I have to think it was because this lady was a witch.


For lack of a better image, here’s what our dinner looked like.