I finally meet up with Nell for dinner and drinks. I ride my bike to the restaurant – Venice Beach Wines – and get lost on the way. Stupid google map directions. It takes about 30 minutes instead of 10, but it’s OK; Nell texts and says she’s only just arrived. I lock up my bike and can’t find her anywhere. Yea, Nell, if you’re right by the door then we’re not in the same place. Nell went to James Beach instead. (This is so something I would do, so I’m just glad I didn’t mess up our whole night. Nell did.) Thankfully, it’s not too far away. She’s walking, though, so it takes another 15 minutes or so for her to arrive.
It’s nice to relax and actually go out with a friend – someone from New Jersey, no less. Nell moved to Santa Monica with her fiance at basically the same exact time Mike and I moved to Venice. She’s also working in a bar, and hating every second of it. Nell is so over waitressing. She went to culinary school in New York, and is hoping to open up her own place out here. She’s even thinking of doing an online company. (I won’t go into details so no one steals her idea!) Our conversation unsurprisingly goes to the Turtle Club, where we worked together in Hoboken. I still have dreams about that place – and not good ones. We text our former co-worker and friend, Nuttle (at this point I’d say it’s drunk texting after five glasses of wine). After an evening of reminiscing and talking about our goals and dreams for California, it’s probably best I head home.
But I don’t. Nell and I walk to another bar, Nikki’s, where her fiance’s brother is hanging out. Sure, why not, let’s keep the party going. As soon as we walk in, there are pink shots for us. I don’t know what’s in it but don’t hesitate to throw it back. Stupid, stupid. We proceed to drink and chat with anyone at the bar. I make friends with some people but our conversation is fuzzy in my mind. At one point I turn to my left and Nell’s fiance, Paul, is sitting there smiling at me. Paul! Hey! He’s just got done working, so I’m sure he’s sober. And I’m sure Nell and I are obnoxious drunks. I remember walking out to my bike, but I don’t remember the actual trip home. My guess is Paul walked with me and he probably walked my bike, too. I could be wrong.
I wake up hung over and immediately go online to cancel my spin class I’m supposed to go to. Not happening. I lay around all day until work that night. I still don’t feel right when I go to sleep that night. The next day is St. Patrick’s Day, and I still don’t have much of a desire to drink. It’s better this way. I have work tonight anyway. I’m hoping it will be busy, but Lilly’s is a French restaurant – most people will probably go to Irish dive bars today. I know I would.
Mike does. He and Katy and some other interns do a pub crawl in Hollywood – St. Patty’s Day west coast style. One would think St. Patty’s Day in California would be warm and sunny. On the contrary, it’s cold and raining all day. Even weirder, it’s gorgeous in New Jersey. I don’t understand what’s happening, but I’m forced to wear my green rain boots to work. I can’t help but be excited about that. I get all decked out in my green for the night, actually happy to not be out drinking all day. It’s not very busy tonight, but I do have celebrity sighting #8: Peter Gallagher, better known as Peter Callaghan from While You Were Sleeping; a favorite among all the Stetson girls, especially Mom. I’m pretty sure it’s her favorite movie of all time. We have car bombs on special and Magali manages to sell only one. Just one? Who does a car bomb by himself? “They’re going to share it.” Oh my God, where am I? When Magali gets done she asks if I want to do a car bomb with her. Well it IS St. Patty’s Day. We chug one and it’s delicious. Cheers to St. Patrick’s Day!