Sunday, April 09, 2006
Grand Theft Curry: San Marcos
Anyway, yesterday started off painfully as I sat through several hours of lectures on orthopedic spine surgery. I was all set to spend the next several hours breathing in cadaver fumes and practicing surgical procedures when fortune struck in the guise of scut work - I was asked to drive one of the visiting professors to the airport. After he was safely dropped off, I grabbed Hooch and headed to North County to partake in the best form of birth control there is - spending the afternoon with friends with small children. I hung out with my friend Brooke, her two boys, and her boxer Lucy. Several hours later, we had decided that Hooch and Lucy were cute together, I was lucky not to have children, and that I needed a boob job. You see, I have the tiniest of chests. This would be fine if I was a waif who also had the tiniest of thighs. But god has a cruel sense of humor. I said I wanted something subtle, just a solid B, but Brooke said someone my height should go with a C or why even bother. So I left with the name of a plastic surgeon and an offer for free anesthesia (Brooke's husband is an anesthesiologist).
I then drove to San Marcos to see Waltzing Matilda's new house. I arrived with three bottles of pinot noir and Hooch in tow. She made a lovely chicken curry and we decided the Four Graces pinot was our favorite. Now, there is a pool in her backyard that has a waterfall/slide which she thinks is an eyesore so wasn't turned on. Hooch was being his usual nosy self and checking every corner of the yard and kept cutting across the top of the waterfall. She warned me it was very slippery, and I assured her it was only a matter of time before the dog was going in the pool. After dinner and another bottle of wine, it happened. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hooch lose his footing, go down the slide backward, and SPLASH! I spit pinot noir out my nose and Matilda was kind enough to help him out of the pool. He sulked for quite a while.
In order to keep him company while we dried, we decided to sit in the hottub. Now, if any of you are looking to do a short comedic film, two drunk blondes trying to fire up a hot tub with the assistance of a flashlight might be a good topic. Matilda can now turn the lights to the pool on, scald me, freeze me...just about everything but actually get the jets going. You see, after we realized it wasn't quite working right, I volunteered to sit in the hottub and holler when something changed. Not one of my brighter ideas. We never did get the jets working but we soaked for several hours and chatted. The final decision of the evening - no boob job. Bigger boobs means I would have to start wearing a bra on a regular basis.
I ultimately passed out on the couch, and Hooch (little traitor) slept in bed with Mathilda. When they came down this morning, she asked if I'd done the dishes. Uh, no. Why? Oh, because all the left-over chicken curry was missing, the pan was licked clean, and there was one guilty looking boxer skulking out the door. We were puzzled. It was a pretty heavy pan, and neither of us heard it hit the floor. There was not a scrap of evidence, and I'm pretty sure Hooch doesn't eat green beans. The only other possibility was that i was binge eating and then housecleaning in my sleep. But no, I didn't take Ambien last night. Well, let me lay any questions about the case to rest. Upon returning to Coronado, Hooch and I went for a walk. Let me enlighten you (in case you were losing sleep). Dogs don't digest green beans.