I’m into "vintage" collectibles

I’m trying to organize my wine cellar yet again.

Yes, I actually referred to the five wine racks and coat closet stuffed with wine as my “wine cellar.” Sue me.

The silly thing with me and wine is…I hardly drink any of it when I’m at home. I mean, I do here or there. But it’s either because I’m really depressed and need to get smashed, or I’m sharing with Aaron who gets on his wine kicks once in a while during gamefests. Beyond that…I honestly don’t consume that much wine. I can take bottles with me places, but I ultimately end up bringing them back because either my mum also brings bottles and we drink her stuff instead, or nobody else wants wine (Hmmm…TP Fest ’02 comes to mind).

So I come back from the barrel tasting weekend with four cases of wine that I bought on the spot. Yeah, I lied. I did actually get something for my money. Not much, but enough. Anyway, I’m now trying to figure out where the hell I’m going to put all this wine. I have diagrams of my wine racks, and a database listing all my wines…and I’m staring at it all going “What the hell…is this like rabbits? Do these things multiply when I turn out the lights every night?”

My five wine racks combined hold 79 bottles. They’re all small racks. And then I have seven cases of wine in my coat closet. EIGHT. EIGHT motherfucking cases of wine, people. Do the math. And now I’ve brought home another four cases. I’m going to have to start selling off parts of my wardrobe to find closet space for all this stuff.

I’ve started to look for reasons to get rid of wine. Donating is the best way, my friends. I donated 20 bottles to my high school reunion, and it made a tiny yet pleasantly noticeable dent (which I prompty filled in the next month during the Steele Winery Harvest Festival). And now I’ve said I’m going to donate wine to the Twin Peaks Festival…although how much wine will actually be consumed there will remain to be seen. I am no champ at gauging how many folks in a crowd are beer drinkers vs. wine drinkers. I could go either way myself, but I’m certainly no indicator of anything.

I’m wondering if I should start leaving cases of wine on street corners. “Free to good home.” “Quiet, doesn’t eat much.”

In other news…they’re moving more people around into offices around me. I’ve spent the past three hours listening to two guys chide each other in spanish that they think only they can hablan y comprenden while they drill and hammer and slam furniture and cubicle walls and office doors. And then the world’s bitchiest bitch Laura S. comes trotting her happy ass up the hall crying about how her office isn’t ready yet and she’s pissed off because someone won’t lift her PC up so she can put it on a riser.

If I don’t get out of this place soon, I’m going to go nutters. I swear to it people. I don’t stress. Not by a long shot. But jesus, this place is going to send me to the abusive psycho ward at Napa’s Queen of the Valley.

Oh goody…the hammering is getting louder. I think I’m going to take a walk now before I kill. Fresh air always clears thoughts of maim and torture out of my head…