Everybody's Working for the Weekend, Pt. 2

THE LONELY CRITIC

Stuck in a four-hour work meeting on Thursday I was desperate for a burger and a beer so I went to Fishlips where I spent 15 minutes whining on the cell phone to Christina about how she is my only friend. I have other friends, but Christina's the designated one I whine to, thus must deal with my unfortunate mood swings. You'd think as a reporter it would be easier for me to meet people and make friends and you're right — it is, if you're up for it. But if you're a moody, sometimes depressed ball of nutso like myself sometimes it can prove difficult because I make it so.

"I have no friends," I kvetched while abusing my French fries, a la Elizabeth Berkley in 'Showgirls.' "I walked around the newsroom and realized there was no one I could ask to get a burger with me. Back in season one and two* I could have totally asked anyone, but now? No one."

(*Season one and two is code for our first two years at The Californian, the TV sitcom that is our real lives. She started six months after I showed up in January of 2002. We're so at that season where they've replaced all the leads and suddenly I'm Noah Wyle and this is "ER." It's like I'm Rog on "What's Happening, Now!" and there's no Rerun.)

"Dude. You could have totally asked anyone," said Christina, the voice of reason.

"No I couldn't," I whined in all whiney-ness. "Everyone I used to be close to doesn't work her anymore. I mean, back in season one and two I used to literally ask people to dinner and lunch all the time, but you know how in the last couple years I don't do anything anymore. I miss season two."

"You don't really miss season two*."

("Season Two." While it made for excellent drama it was grossly unpleasant. It involved much pain and suffering for all parties. It was the season with the fake Danielle Robot, the "Evil Twin," the switched-at-birth story line and the "Who Shot JR?" moment. I think we jumped the shark during the finale of season two when I found out I was my own mother during a musical episode that ended with the plucky girl and the sexist pig ruining all the tension on the show by finally doing it and then the star left to start a failed movie career and was replaced by one of the Miller Lite twins.)

"Well, you know what I mean," I said. "I miss feeling like I knew everyone. I'd ask the new people but they probably think I'm all weird and aloof."

"They do not think you're weird and aloof."

"I am. I'm weird and aloof. I've turned into ____," I said referring to the one known as ____.

"No one thinks you're ____."

"They totally think I'm ____! I am ____! It has finally happened. But at least he had a weird cult of friends. I have no one."

"Just ask someone to lunch. I mean, how hard is that? Was it hard to ask people to lunch two years ago when you asked people to lunch? You can make friends. You're very friendly."

"What do you know? I've turned into ____!"

Yeah. I'm so ____ it's not even funny. My friend, who has a life, had to get off the phone with me so I ended up bonding with the bartender who introduced me to a tasty blonde beer and his theory on the cheap brew known on colleges throughout the land as the "Rolling Rock."

"The only people who drink Rolling Rock are people who smoke weed," opined the barkeep. "Seriously. I've never been to a bar where Rolling Rock was on tap. It is totally a college thing."

Rolling Rock is a fake beer. Like Fosters which isn't from Australia. Or Corona which is made in Chicago.

"People ask me if I have any Mexican beers on tap," chuckled the Barkeep. "I say, 'yeah, I got Budweiser y Bud Lite y Coors Lite ... "

The joke is all those beers are made in Mexico, he said. That Corona is with lime not.

"I've never seen a Hispanic person order a Corona. They drink Bud Lite. And people are always saying they get cheap Coronas in Mexico and they're like four dollars a bottle just like they are here."

I could only nod. I don't know jack crap about beer. He's the bartender, man. I'm the woman who writes.