(The following story has no purpose.)
On New Year's eve eve, Patrick and I were desperate to get out of the house.
Well, that's not really true - he had to return some keys he had accidentally taken that belong to his brother who lives in Studio City, and since Steve (Patrick's brother) needed those keys, we thought it would be a fine act of charity if we actually delivered them to him.
So we loaded up the Honda with keys and ourselves, and I drove us over to Studio City.
Patrick had told me of this plan (to return the keys, please pay attention) earlier in the day, and he asked me to think of any restaurant I had been wanting to go to that was out in that general direction (Hollywood, Studio City, Sherman Oaks...) but I couldn't think of anything, which is surprising, and a bad sign, because normally I can think of at least one thing, but this time, not so much.
The drive over was fun, because I had a podcast of Terry Gross interviewing Jenna Fischer and Rainn Wilson from The Office, and we laughed and talked and enjoyed ourselves immensely during the drive through downtown LA and the valley from our Long Beach home. Then we got to Steve's house, dropped off the keys (the car was suddenly much lighter, gas mileage improved), and we were in trouble, because we were both hungry, but clueless of where to go.
This is why I don't go grocery shopping when hungry, because it means I will come home with bags full of Diet Cokes and pre-made Fresh & Easy pasta dishes.
There is one restaurant close to Steve's house that he has taken us to that we liked in the past and never go to unless with the family, and that restaurant is The Great Greek. So, it being a Tuesday night, we figured it wouldn't be crowded, I could have some avgolemono soup (really, maybe the best chicken soup in the world), and we'd be all set. Except, we've never been there at night before, and we realized that we might've made a mistake when the guy seated us... literally six inches in front of the band.
It was ridiculous, that table (Patrick swears that he saw other empty tables but the place seemed pretty packed to me), because there we were, in front of a guy playing a Bouzouki (he looked just like Leo Laporte, The Tech Guy) and another guy playing a giant keyboard. The music was lively, interesting, slightly familiar, and... loud. We could neither hear each other (Patrick resorted to mouthing nonsense words to me so we could at least pretend we were having a conversation) nor could we hear the waiter. The service was amazingly slow that night, and we had to ask, twice, for refills on our drinks (which we did using pantomime and by exhibiting great thirst); meanwhile, the waiters and some of the other diners were embarked on some sort of great Greek musical.
It was, actually, fun to watch, and could we have enjoyed it together instead of staring at each other mutely, we would probably have had a better time. The food was fine (my soup was the highlight), but after awhile, getting out of there seemed like our only chance at survival.
Then we came home, and the next day (New Year's Eve day), Patrick went to work and I stayed home. I visited the Salvation Army and the Public Library to make my last minute donations (interestingly, I've had these items ready to go for about two weeks) and left a silly message for my friend Bo which required me to use a version of "Mahna Mahna." Our New Year's Eve night was pretty quiet, and I think we were asleep by 11:30. I refuse to be ashamed of this fact, because I think my parents were asleep by 9:30, so at least we beat them. Yeah, they're 70. Shut up.
I've been home all this week, and I have to say, it feels great, being home. I've had a good time, and I've accomplished a few things (laundry not being one of them). I've actually been productive, and I think that surprised Patrick, because yesterday, when we were both home, I demonstrated to the fullest my ability to lay on the couch and watch TV (the Rose parade, of course). Really, I'm quite good at that. And I think the disruption to my week-long habit of industry was... him.
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