I was initially going to talk about work, but then I realized that talking about work is arguably as interesting as an in-depth discussion about the mechanism of paint drying, so to preserve you all I'm going to skip everything. Well, skip everything except the portion where I get to go to Europe for 12 days. On a cruise. That's right, bitches, I'm going on a 12-day cruise to Venice, Sicily, Florence, Rome (well, Citavecchia, really, and yes, I enjoy tossing out random obscure Italian cities knowing that exactly 12% of the general populace and 0.2% of my readership knows what I'm talking about), St. Tropez, and Monte Carlo. I will be doing so on the Crystal Serenity, which is one of the few cruise ships that managed to obtain a Berlitz five-star rating this year. I know this because Cruise Travel magazine's annual publication says so (nyah nyah!)
The caveat? I will be group director for this cruise, which basically means that I will be the go-to bitch for roughly eighty crotchety, angry octogenarians. Is having to smile 12 hours a day worth a free trip to Venice? Obviously my answer was yes, but having gotten off the phone today with one of my irritating, demanding wards, I'm starting to have juuuuuust a few second thoughts. Ah well, worst comes to worst I can go with a ready supply of booze and a few caps of arsenic.
On a different note, I spent the evening playing beer pong with Darien and Brandon, knowing that Darien will be moving out of New York and going to LA come Thursday. Wait for it...wait for it...oh yeah, there it is. That sort of choppy sensation where you realize that a big chunk of your soul just went flying out into the uncaring void. I'm going to miss her a lot.
Mind you, I've gone months before without seeing Darien - most recently where she went to Italy for about three months. It's the sort of thing you get used to when you have a lot of friends in the theatre business. But...knowing that she won't be back in just a month or two, that I'm not going to be able to look forward to an evening of good Thai food and totally random discussions, and her ever solid advice about the pease porridge soup of my love life...that just sucks. If the expression "sucks" might be related to how much it actually sucks by a ratio approximated by the relationship of a Hoover to, oh, an F5 tornado.
Still, she's going to a better place, as it were. LA holds a lot more opportunity for her, and for what she wants to do, than New York does, and...well...as she's stated, it's really just time to move on.
Hrm. I'm usually a bit more eloquent when I'm mildly drunk, but I'm stacking a pretty spectacular hangover on top of that, so the best thing at this point is possibly to just head over to bed.
No comments:
Post a Comment