I love martinis. The crisp, cold chill of vodka with a faint splash of dry vermouth, some olive juice, and olives. If you can make me a perfect dry and dirty martini, you'll be in my good graces forever. Unfortunately, so few can accomplish this task (and I've yet to find anyone in southwest Wyoming who can make me a good martini, the best martini of late came from Albuquerque of all places!). After a tough day on the job, and a challenging one wrangling resources for my Ph.D. class (okay, so my dirty little secret is that I prefer to work alone, rather than rely on a group, probably why I'm afraid to be a manager, I think I can do things on my own because it stresses me to no end having to rely on others), tonight I made myself a perfect martini. It was icy cold (I keep the Ciroc vodka in the freezer - I shunned my former favorite Gray Goose in favor of Ciroc), slightly dirty with that elusive, sexy olive juice, and jalapeno stuff olives. Mmmmm ... Just one is all you need to take off the edge, to feel like things are going to be okay, to taste a bit of perfection in an otherwise craptacular day.
I am on top of my classes, taking 9 credit hours of doctorate-level work. The classes thrill me, entice me, challenge me, even while working full time (which is not fulfilling at all of late). I've found purpose and meaning. And I find I have very little tolerance for incompetence. Which is probably to my detriment. But now I'm sounding like a snob. I love my education, and I place top priority on this endeavor.
Now that I've had my one martini, I'm moving on to reserve Chardonnay while I watch American Idol, a guilty pleasure for an overstressed HR worker.
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