I have a wine tasting tomorrow night that I’m half-heartedly planning at this point. I really ought to be finished with the tasting notes and well on my way to doing other more interesting things right now. Alas, I’m so not there.
I decided to go a bit off the beaten path this time and feature two completely unrelated (yet very compatible) varietals…Rieslings and Cab Francs. Mostly because I wanted to not feature all white or all red because frankly that bores me to death, and I think it’s sad that our tasting group is mind-numblingly unable to reach beyond the chardonnay boundaries or ridiculous theme tastings. (cowboys and indians? valentine’s day? Halloween? Did I blink and we all reverted to Kindergarten?) Plus they have this staggering narrow-mindedness when it comes to selecting the varietals we feature. They avoid off-dry wines (oh come on…not everything tastes like a white zin), most white wines and anything that might require them to become a little educated before they present their goods. Folks have become too reliant on “flavor of the month” sales and Nugget’s wine stewards.
I just know I’m going to be wildly disappointed come Sunday morning. I have a bad feeling about how this will turn out and the more I think about it, the more annoyed I get.
Bright side: Coworker Sean and Coworker Tom will be joining us, along with their Significant Others. So either there will be this total separation of church & state, with the wine group on one side of the room and the Coworkers on the other, or we’ll have this bizarre melding of factions that will inevitably lead to the trading of Mandi-running-along-the-sidewalk-without-her-pants-on stories, complete with photos and eye-witnesses. Mom documents everything.
Let’s just hope Coworker Tom refrains from his usual obscene hand gestures. Which I find entertaining, but I’m pretty sure the 50-somethings in the wine group will find slightly…um…out of place.
In other news…
The pants are still here.
I found myself growing quite anxious about the pants over the last couple of days…their location on the side lawn is rather close to the sidewalk and I fear that someone will make off with them. But I can’t very well relocate the pants further up the sidelawn out of casual reach of passersby because I’m afraid to touch the pants (going back to that whole “are they magical and can I ruin said magic?” theory from my previous pants post).
My only concern when getting in my car or arriving home from someplace is whether or not the pants are still there. It’s literally my sole focus from the time I turn onto my street or walk out the front door until I catch sight of the tiny pants laying there in all their olive green glory, still puffed out and ready to serve their enigmatic purpose. I can’t rest until I know that the pants are safe. It’s very bizarre, but I’m OK with it for now.
As a side note, when I perform a Google image search on “tinypants”, my profile picture from MySpace comes up. Wave hi to me and Jared. Because I totally know you just did a Google image search for “tinypants” yourself. Sooooooooooo predictable.
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