Soggy Zucchini

Today's verdict is that I am not very good at cooking.

But, I am very good at drinking red wine.


Aside from preparing soggy, over-oiled zucchini, I have sucked at life on multiple levels today.

At work I made just about every mistake it would've been possible to make. Never mind that I read a customer's mind and, when asked whether we sold adult books and told she was looking for something romantic, promptly picked out the exact book she'd been wanting. She was thrilled, and told Carol so, who seemed mainly unimpressed.

Still flitting about, supported by my victory wings, I then promptly mangled the next sale. I forgot to deduct the gift certificate amount when running a customer's card through the machine. Upon confessing to Cathy, the accountant, I then learned I had also rung up the sale as a gift card rather than a gift certificate.

"Well," said Cathy, "you've just got all kinds of crazy things going on here, Christina."

And when I apologized, in the most mortified of manners, she simply shrugged her shoulders, laughed drily, and said, "Well. Hmm." And shrugged again.

Later, during restock, I once again turned in a sheet on which I had forgotten to circle an item to note that I had indeed found all of the copies of said item.

Fail. On so many levels.

After work, whilst trying to achieve some level of Zen at the beach, I was pooped on by a seagull.

Probably the same seagull that bit my toe while I was sleeping last week.


So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly . . .

At least let me take some comfort by drawing parallels between my life and a classic work of literature . . .