So I’m sitting here on the plane, finishing a glass of Orange Juice. Or am I? I distinctly remember ordering a vodka/OJ from the stewardess/flight comfort-and-safety-engineer before take-off. What’s disturbing is as I am finishing this beverage, I can’t tell if there is vodka in it. Which means either one of two things: one bad, the other benign.
First, it might just mean that she forgot the vodka. That’s fine – it just sounded refreshing tonight, but I doubt they serve Danzka on this flight, so who cares.
Second, it might be that I can’t taste the vodka, which is distinctly NOT fine. That either means I’ve grown so accustomed to vodka that it simply appears to my palette as a slightly off water, or it means that I need approximately a fifth of vodka before I notice. Either scenario is sub-optimal from a liver-health standpoint.
Time to dry out. Bud Light Lime is all I’m drinking for the next week. Just after tonight – we’re all meeting in the hotel bar for some debauchery. Then I promise- only Bud Light.
Side note: There is a dude across the aisle from me writing a mail – and his font is FRIGGING HUGE thus enabling my favorite pastime of corporate espionage via dumbasses who don’t have privacy screens on their machines – but here is the first sentence, verbatim:
Predicated upon the assumptions hereinafter set forth and such further assumptions as may be required for you to prepare a letter that based on the assumptions, as lease of the 185th street property would constitute an operating leads and not a capital lease under Canadian regulations.
No, I didn’t transcribe it incorrectly – that is what it says. If the poor bastard who receives this mail has the foggiest clue about what to do with this sentence, other than drop a couple of stamps of acid and just ride his mellow, I want to meet him. Actually no, I don’t. If he understands that blather, I want to punch him in the face.