Feastin' at Farmer Brown

After a few days of doing absolutely nothing, I ventured out last night to meet the girls for dinner at Farmer Brown in San Francisco. Unlike Vegas two weeks ago, people weren't afraid to grub and practically everyone ordered the fried chicken. Delicious, as usual.

A couple of things I learned from my married/pregnant/disgustingly-in-love/living-in-Australian-paradise friends (and, remind me to not hang out with them when I'm feeling particularly bitter):

1. Being preggers is a lot like how I feel while unemployed and depressed: tired and fat. At least I can still get drunk so I got that going for me, which is nice.

2. Whitestar and Blackstar are both cynical and slightly dick-ish. And while I complain about them all the time, I will easily choose this over Ms. Ozzie Ozzie Oy Oy's over-the-top-blindly-optimistic-quote-citing-machine-do-gooder-of-a-boyfriend who wears sunglasses at night. Sorry, its true. I guess this must mean I am also a dick. Oh well, did I mention I can still get drunk?

3. Sephora-tastic's stories of her alleged "fight" with Ice Man are crap. If there is no door slamming, cursing, or where you have seriously considered choking him in his sleep, then you have not been in a fight. Plus, the fact that we have to discuss whether your misunderstanding constitutes a fight, means that it is not a fight. Stay in your happy world, Sephora-tastic! No need to create or assume drama where none exists. And, please, come correct the next time you want to describe a "fight" to garner sympathy.

All in all, a fun filled night of laughter with the girlies.

I'm heading back to LA and back to my life at the crack of dawn. Ick ... morning flights are all bad, but better than flying out on Friday nights. Guess what I have to look forward to this weekend? Baby shower, followed by a bridal shower, and capped off with Grammy traffic and video hos. Woo-hoo! (read: sarcasm).

Drinking is all bad.

So, I am back in San Francisco this weekend, which OF COURSE means a trip to the farmer's market at the Embarcadero on Saturday morning for the oh-so-delicious porchetta sandwich. I think if I could be in love with a food item, it would be this sandwich.

BUT, a night out on the town with some former co-workers rendered me abso-fricken-lutely useless come Saturday. And not just Saturday morning ... ALL DAY Saturday. I couldn't even move. I couldn't even eat! I couldn't even make it out to see my delicious porchetta. I'm sorry dear porchetta.

Even worse than missing out on porchetta while I'm here in San Francisco? I couldn't even enjoy the incredible ass spanking that UCLA Men's B-ball delivered to Stanford on Saturday! I usually like to do a really obnoxious Balki-esque dance of joy around the house with lots of random "suck its!" in front of Whitestar's face, but couldn't even manage one pitiful taunt.

Lesson for the day? Beer before liquor, never been sicker.