Week 7-Berkeley

Remember that week Buster and I ended up in an Asian mall in Richmond with Callan, my co-worker? Yeah.

For some reason I decided to go on another adventure with her, this time to Berkeley to meet up with our friend Andy for Indian food.

Why the hell I ever got in a car with her again is beyond me. I love Callan like she is my younger sister but she drives like a stereotypical Asian woman—Buster was flying around the car from all the abrupt stops she made, she can’t navigate to save her life, she stops in the middle of intersections at yellow lights, LITERALLY took an hour to find a parking spot and blames other people for all of it.  Needless to say when she asked me to go to Los Angeles with her this summer I said yes, but only if I do 100% of the driving. I value my life too much to let her do otherwise.

So Berkeley. Not exactly a place for a Chihuahua, more like skinny, half starved Pitbulls and pigeons. We definitely stood out, the 3 blondes walking down Telegraph together, shopping while we waiting for Andy to meet us from Fairfield.

I’m beginning to think that despite being blonde Callan has this secret desire to be Asian. The first place she wanted to go was another boba store, which was actually fine by me, as long as it wasn’t another Vietnamese restaurant full of hungry immigrants.

Andy always takes forever so we walked along Telegraph, getting stopped by all the bums that wanted to pet Buster and check out Callan and offer me drugs. This was also, surprisingly, one of the few times I got kicked out of a store because of Buster.  It was Urban Outfitters, a store I’ve never really loved, probably because ever since living with one, I don’t really love hipsters. They’re pretentious and fake and despite have great music taste have pretty shitty choice in clothing.  I guess when a tank top costs $60 you don’t want to risk having a dog peeing on.  So we got kicked out, not that I really minded. I wished Buster were better trained so I could make him pee on command as we walked out.

So Andy finally showed up with his friend from Fairfield. As terrible as it is I don’t remember that guy’s name mostly because he said maybe 3 words within like 4 hours. They took us to this random Indian place/grocery store in an industrial part of town.

Callan and mine consensus on Indian food: gross. Disgusting, and we will never eat it again. I didn’t even bother giving any to Buster (actually he wasn’t allowed in this place either) at the risk of giving him diarrhea—he had it once when he ate one of my chapsticks and it was gnarly.

First of all Callan in gluten-free and I’m on the verge of being completely vegetarian. Indian’s apparently are mostly vegetarian but it’s all curry spicy soup stuff—basically nothing is immediately recognizable as edible. But the décor was nice and you ate family style and we all played Draw Something and asked Andy about his upcoming trip to Asia on the way home while listening to Andre Nickatina and hanging Buster out the window.