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I began my foray into the bartending world by starting as a barback. It was easily the hardest work I’ve ever done for less than minimum wage in my life.
You know those movies that have the slow-motion scenes when something horrible is about to happen?
The bikes were awesome although I admit to being a motorcycle coward.
I suddenly felt the way you feel when you have that dream where you aren't wearing any clothes and everybody looks at you like you're crazy? That feeling.
It's based on a scale that I can hang with; the usual wine rating systems award 50 points just for being wine. So if the wine really stinks, it still gets 50 points!
It was comfortable enough in the shade, but the shade was rapidly retreating. Fortunately, it's a dry heat. Not unlike a blowtorch.
My happy over-achiever psyche is gnashing because I really do want to know where I finished. I’m used to 90s and above, so this makes me crazy. But don’t get me wrong…I passed! I'm happy!
You may be thinking, "Irene you nitwit! You live in Las Vegas! What's the big deal?" The big deal is that just because I live here doesn’t mean that I actually *go* here. Like many locals, I have a certain snobbery when it comes to hanging at The Strip. So for two weeks, I went to Vegas! On The Strip, baby!
“It’s California,” I said to myself. “How hard could it be?” It was pretty damn challenging as it turned out. “This was a walk in the park,” said no CWAS student. Ever.
I know wine. I just have to have the pieces of papers (and pins) to prove to others that I do. Master level? Well, maybe. After all, while I'm at it...
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