My apologies, dear readers, for leaving you malnourished for so long. Things have really picked up here at work. Que? You thought moi was a professional blogger? Oh, you flatter me so, mon cherie. But I make absolutely no money writing this amazing blog. I wish I could live off this blog! But if I did, I’d probably go broke and become one of those “mole people” living in the sewers. Sure, you get more sunlight as a homeless person, but the mole people take my long, luscious hair as currency, so I’d more power down in Pipecity. But that is all hypothetical. The reality is, I have to pay some people to read it, just to give it some traffic. So remember, every time you click on this blog, you’re giving a poor, third world country child a blog. Very philanthropical of me, I know. Soon, blogs will be referred to as “Dongs,” and hipsters will love then hate them, and normal people will hate and then love and then hate them again.
But yes! Thanks for asking about my work at Acacia Vineyard! I’ve somehow gone from “human paper weight” to “glorified delivery service” to “awesome joke teller” back to “attractive girl that randomly walks around looking bored” and finally, “indispensable.” So my prime blog-writing time (aka, lunch break at work) has been severely cock-blocked lately by my duties as a “working adult.”
As you Americans know, it was Memorial Day last weekend, and I am not particularly productive on 3-day weekends. I hope everyone spent at least a few seconds before popping open the beer kegs at 10am to thank those who had or are fighting for us. My brother and I drove down to LA to visit my aunt and uncle, who’s son is currently serving in Germany.
All in all, it was a great weekend, that could easily be summed up by my cousin’s Instagram photo:
My aunts and uncles tend to have a tendency to think my brother and I are starving children just because we live 3000 miles away from our parents or something. Did I mention my brother is almost 30 years old?! I don’t even know why I’m complaining. It was glorious and coma-inducing. Yes, pity the Luong siblings and shower us with your fancy cheeses and charcuterie and wine and weird Asian ice creams! Throw plates of Korean short ribs and bowls of ramen and garbage bags of popcorn and tubs of Vietnamese food I’m afraid to describe in public at me! I’ll take it all!
Don’t ever ask me “what is there to do in LA?” BECAUSE I HAVE NO FREAKIN’ CLUE. All I’ve ever done is eat. Even when I visit the Beastie, such as this weekend, what did we do?!
Oh wait, we also drank 2 bottles of Champagne at 10am.
Not that I’d have it any other way :)
By now I’m sure you’re brimming with jealousy that I can eat like a pregnant woman, drink like a frat boy, and still look like a fabulous 10-year-old girl from District 11. Let me warn you: it’s about to get worse.
The reason I am cooler / better / more likely to be asked to guest judge on SYTYCD than you is this:
Magical, isn’t it?
Love me, feed me, never leave me.
I plan on having this inscribed inside my wedding ring one day. Wait– do I put it on his wedding ring? Oh screw it. I’m just going to use it as my vows (remind me, dear reader, the night before my wedding when I’m still struggling to write said vows, will yah?).
You know how sometimes you meet someone, and you just KNOW you’re going to be friends forever? That’s how I felt when I saw this quote… scribbled next to the bathroom sink.