The other day someone said that my blog is boring. They said they used to read it, but then I got married.
And then I realized it: If I was to do a weekend recap about last weekend, I would have told this story about how I bought a Dyson Dustbuster (which, by the way, is fucking awesome) and went to the Getty Center to look at art.
10 years ago, it would have been a blog about how I was drunk and ended up at some random dude’s house before realizing that he wasn’t even that cute, and I never should have gone, at which point I decide to walk 3 miles to Amy Longeteig’s house, stopping at 7-11 on the way to get some Nachos with a huge heaping pile of “chili”, only to arrive on their doorstep and realize that it’s 2 a.m., and of course they are not awake, but luckily they’ve left their front door unlocked so I just let myself in while their watchdog Stella greeted me with kisses and then curled up next to me by the couch.
Seriously. The dog didn’t even bark when someone entered the home at 2 a.m.
Also, the only people who eat 7-11 nachos are me and these two.
Now I’m totally refined. My drunk food is left over marinated flank steak with a side of Gruyère cheese and Wheat Thins. And usually I’m eating drunk food at 10 p.m. before passing out at 10:12 p.m.
What in the cliche fuck happened to me?
I do not want to be Lester Burnam. Jerking off in the shower alone at 7 a.m. can not be the highlight of my day. Getting yelled at over using staples as opposed to paper clips can not define my career. Walking around the house obsessing about how to annihilate any form of cat hair should not be my lot in life.
For real though. I wander around with this thing like Natalie Portman in The Professional. Do you see what they’ve done to dustbusters?
But this is totally NOT a blog about vacuum cleaners. This is a blog about how there is a 7-11 down the street from our house, and how I am making it my mission to stumble over there this weekend and eat Nachos.
Basically, what I am saying is that you don’t need your publisher to front you the money to do your own little Eat, Pray, Love type of thing. You can Eat, Pray, Love for about $1.99. First, you eat 7-11 nachos. Then you pray that your husband still finds you attractive (honestly, have you ever watched someone eat “chili”? It might look like a scene from 2 girls, 1 cup, so unless your husband is a total FREAK, he may not be feeling your “chili” lips), and then you love it up old-school style (i.e. you don’t complain about how tired you are. You also don’t say anything about ovulating, or how you need to be positioned a certain way or it won’t work.)
It’s Friday, and I’m on a mission for a super fun, NON boring weekend. Yay!
Geez. You think this is a blog for young people who laugh at words like balls and fart? Well, it’s not. This is a blog for old people. Like me.
Last week I celebrated another birthday, and inched my way slightly closer to 40. No big thing, really. I even bragged on my Facebook page that I stayed up until 1 a.m. on Friday night celebrating. Then I celebrated all day on Saturday. I was totally patting myself on the back all day Sunday. Feeling like a cool kid after staying up past 9 p.m. TWO NIGHTS IN A ROW!
Apparently, I was feeling so good on Sunday, that Laef and I decided to go play tennis. By play tennis, I mean hit two balls over the giant 50-foot fence within 5 minutes and try as hard as we could to have a rally that reached 5.
This ain’t table tennis, yo.
After a while it became clear that this was the first time Laef had ever played tennis. So, I pretty much dominated him with my sick back hand and my wicked serve (I’m testing him here to see what it will take for him to comment on the blog). He tried to make me run back and forth all over the court, but I just kept yelling, “Marathon, Bitch! I can run all day!”
Nothing will make you feel more youthful than dominating your 20-something husband on the court.
However, everything starting going downhill midway through our tennis “match”. Honestly, we were the youngest people at the courts by at least 70 years. And while we were struggling to rally, these freaking pension-livers were playing like they just swam with alien Cocoon’s. Seriously. It was embarrassing. I mean, the courts are HUGE, the fences around the courts are HUGE, and yet we somehow managed to hit balls onto their court in the middle of their super-intense match time and time again.
So, we are now signed up for tennis lessons, and I shit you not, the age group on the web site says: 18-100. And, I bet there will be some 100-year old there to remind me that, I am in fact, playing a sport that old people can play (and play well).
Later that night, Laef and I went to the movies to see Iron Man 2. Nothing makes me want to stab myself more than sitting in movies with teenagers. I’m thinking that makes me old.
I won’t even tell you how old I felt when I watched the MTV Movie Awards. My favorite part of the night was Sandra Bullock, and she’s well into her 40s. Kristen Stewart is the most awkward person ever, and I have absolutely no idea why anyone would want to put their mouth on Robert Pattinson or Taylor Lautner. But right there in front of my eyes was Tom Cruise and J-Lo doing what they had to do to stay relevant: booty shake it for the kids who weren’t even alive when Top Gun came out. They know that the Twilight generation is running things now, and they wanted to impress them. I sure do miss Jenny from the Block, though.
ANYWAY, I went to bed Sunday still trying to think that I was young and cool.
And then Monday morning BITCH-slapped me.
I am definitely not able to bounce back after so many weekend drinks activities.
The blog is suffering. I guess I can attribute it to writers block. There’s also a small part of me that rebelled after finishing the marathon. For months, I had to be diligent about running. The training became another thing in a never-ending to-do list.
Blogging is not necessarily a “to-do”. Obviously, if I don’t want to write, no one makes me. But, I do feel a little guilty when I leave it for weeks on end. Like I’m letting the domain go to waste. I mean, what is the point of owning the domain or having a blog if you never write on it?
This past weekend, Laef and I drove to the Bay Area to visit my family. If nothing else, I wanted to put something up for my sister and Art, who claim to check everyday.
So, here’s a brief history of what’s been going on post-marathon.
The weekend after the race, I went to San Diego for a girls night with Erin, Debbie and Kristen. It was exactly what I needed to get me out of my funk. I hadn’t been able to run the whole week, and I definitely felt “off”. Maybe it’s because my feet looked like they went through the woodchipper Fargo style. Seriously, my feet were a hot mess, and my girl Erin either didn’t want to be seen with me in flip flops, or she’s just a sweet girl (all signs point to all of the above) so she treated me to a pedicure in San Diego before the start of girls night.
It is amazing how far a little pampering can go. I didn’t even know my toes could look that cute. I ventured way out of my comfort zone (I’m usually a black nail polish kind of girl) and got bright pink toes with little white flowers. Again. WHO am I? It was so fun to sit with a friend, read trashy magazines and have my feet rubbed.
Debbie sent us a message the morning of girls night and warned “Make sure you carb load for lunch. You’re going to need a solid base for tonight.”
Erin and I decided that wine and sushi were a perfectly acceptable base.
Girls night was, um, goofy. Pictures have been deleted to protect everyone. You know, in the event they decide to run for public office. Let’s just say that there were multiple costume changes, wigs, sunglasses, bright red lipstick, and a lot of vodka. We capped the evening by watching Betty White on SNL. I may or may not have passed out on the couch in full makeup and a sparkly blue tank top I stole out of Kristen’s closet. (I wanted my girls night clothes to be as cute as Debbie’s, and felt very un-girly in my UCLA sweatshirt).
This past weekend, Laef and I headed North to visit family. What it boiled down to was the usual – my sister and Neil did a lot of cooking (I made the mimosas so I did contribute something); my sister stole from her younger baby brother; I dominated everyone at Wii table tennis (wakeboarding is a totally different story); Laef, Neil and Mike actually combined to drink 5 beers; I somehow convinced Neil to allow the TV to be on collegiate softball; I gave Sophie candy at 10 a.m. which is apparently a big no-no for kids; and I left my cell phone sitting on a park bench only to realize it once we made it all the way back home. (Surprisingly, it was still sitting there when I went back. Damn. Kind of wanted an excuse for an iPhone).
Hanging out with the family is complete and total chaos BLISS. I actually love the madness and wouldn’t have it any other way. On Sunday before Laef and I headed back home, I took Sophie to a yogurt shop that lets you do everything by yourself. You serve your yogurt and then you get to put whatever toppings on that you see fit. In the end, you are charged by weight. Of course, being the aunty (and being that I got to leave before her sugar high hit), I let Sophie get whatever toppings she wanted. I can tell you that she opted for: Gummy worms, chocolate sprinkles, Reeses Pieces, Reeses peanut butter cups, chocolate syrup and M&Ms. All on top of rasberry yogurt. Who would of thought chocolate syrup and gummy worms go together?
We are back home now, and because I don’t have running to keep me occupied, I am focusing my time on moving. Sadly, we will be vacating our little beach bungalow in July. It is definitely bittersweet as we have so many great memories from living in Manhattan Beach. However, we have outgrown the place and are tired of commuting to work everyday. So, on the bright side, we will be living closer to UCLA to avoid the madness of the 405 freeway, and we will finally have a guest bedroom!
Because of my excitement re: more space, I may or may not have already starting packing. This type of behavior makes Laef insane. I’m just trying to avoid one of those 13-hour moving days where you do everything in one day – pack, load the car, unpack. Those days SUCK. I’m pretty sure I will see the Longeteig’s on my doorstep in July since I think I’ve helped them move once. Or 9 times.
We’re heading home to my parents for Easter weekend. All of my siblings, nieces and my nephew will be there. Should be tons of fun.
And educational.
When you hang out with a group of small children, you learn very quickly that most of your vocabulary is not acceptable. Therefore, E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G has to be spelled out. Many times, this includes multiple words in one sentence, which after 3 cocktails (absolutely necessary during a family weekend, and any member of my family who is offended by this statement, should glance at the d-r-i-n-k in their hand), is extremely hard do to.
I used to wonder if it was necessary to talk like your competing against a 5-year-old for first prize in the spelling bee. Like, do we really need to spell out b-a-t-h? Don’t they figure this shit out after the tenth night in a row? I figure they hear the letter “b” and they are like, “F this. I’m outty.”
Then we got The Sanch, and while it is evident that he definitely knows what we are saying (“come here”, “NO”, “get the fuck off the counter”), he ignores everything that is ever said to him.
EXCEPT for the word treat. That little biatch learned that word immediately. He could be in the deepest REM sleep of his life and if we say “treat”, he is up and at ‘em immediately. So, I can definitely understand the need to spell out certain things when you are trying to avoid conflict.
My sister, Brooke, stopped through LA on her way to Mexico last week, and she brought her two daughters with her. Brooke and I were reminiscing about the last time she visited. The time we got absolutely shit-faced on Tequila on a Thursday night.
Me: “I have not been that drunk since”.
Brooke (whispering to Laef and I): “Shhhhh…don’t say drunk.”
Laef: “Remember that time when you visited and you hung out with your friends Dru n’ K?
My niece: “You were drunk!”
Sadly, there is an age limit to the spelling/play on words tactic. So I guess this weekend I will have to use huge words like inebriated and lavation.
UCLA is shut down this week for Spring Break. And, because of furloughs, they actually closed most of the departments in the school. Therefore, I am home drinking lime vodka and soda, sunning my gams and mentoring The Sanch. To be honest, The Sanch is not playing along with my Spring Break bliss. He is normally on a very tight schedule: Up at 6:30 a.m., fed at 6:31 a.m., licking the shower door at 6:43 a.m., perched on the windowsill at 7:10 a.m. to say his good-byes.
Today started with him crying at the bedroom door at 6:30 a.m. I exercised the “let him cry until he falls back asleep method” and he was quiet for a while. Eventually we all fell back asleep, but at 9:20 a.m., The Sanch was starving. I was also scarred by my morning dreams, which included Laef engaging in a private volleyball match and super secret text messages, both of which he told me I couldn’t know about. (When I told him about my dream, he informed me that there’s a cease and desist order on my reading coverage about Sandra Bullock and Tiger Woods).
Anyway, I woke up relieved to know that my husband is not Jesse James, but that my cat doesn’t appreciate change. I fed The Sanch and he then proceeded to walk around the house meow-ing. Non. Fucking. Stop. It’s like he was messed up by the fact that I was there and couldn’t do his super-secret Tiger Woods shit (lounging on the counter, drinking from the toilet, texting the skank next door). Or, he wasn’t tired enough to nap.
I’m a nerd and so my first order of spring break was spring cleaning. Then I made a fruity drink and sat in the sun. Then I watched a double feature of Swingers and The Proposal.
Basically, I was killing time until March Madness starts up again. I finally revisited my bracket today to figure out where I’m at and if I even have a chance to win. It’s still too hard to tell, but I know this: If West Virginia loses, I am fucked. It would be great if Kentucky lost to Cornell (doubtful) or to West Virgina. Even then, I’m not sure if I’d be in it, but I have WVU in my final so it beating Washington is a must. (Sidenote: Money and pride aside, I would love to see the Huskies win).
So, day 2 of Spring Break will be all about the hoops. I would love to be in Vegas again, but I’d probably lose my ass AGAIN so it’s better to be on my couch high-fiving The Sanch if WVU wins.
As I think about starting a new decade, I can’t help but think about all of the wonderful things that happened to me over the last 10 years. In short, I became an auntie four times over, I got married, I worked a wonderful job that allowed me to travel to Hawaii, Chicago, Miami and many places in between. I graduated from college.
I turned 30.
I lost some of my baggage.
And, I had a great group of friends who have been with me since the beginning of that decade.
That means, 10 years of memories. 10 years of good times and bad times. Many times of them holding my hand as I try to stagger home from Rennies. Many times of them wiping my tears while I cried over a broken relationship. Many times of tolerating my good sides and my bad sides.
Despite babies, weddings, moving, jobs and life’s general chaos, we have all remained in each others’ life.
So, it was the most perfect timing that the Oregon football team played in the Rose Bowl this year. A year that I happened to live in LA, and can actually afford to be a part of it. A year that doesn’t require me to buy a plane ticket anywhere, and where I can offer a small space in my tiny house for people who may not be able to come if hotel rooms were part of their travel expenses.
A year that allowed us to be together for the end of a decade that saw us through so many things together.
My last day of work was Friday, December 18. The very next night I was part of Lady Gaga’s little monster crew with my friend Annett in San Diego. I can’t think of a better way to start a two-week vacation than to scream every single Lady Gaga song while escaping from my reality for two hours. I dreamt of a life that was guided solely by my loves and inspirations. A life in which I could make a living doing things that I love.
Aside from inspiring me to sing Speechless at the top of my lungs for three days straight, she truly inspired me to think about what exactly it is that I love to do and trying to figure out a way to make that my reality.
I was still doing the little monster hand greeting as Laef and I headed up north to visit my family for Christmas. Thankfully, my nieces know what is up and actually enjoy dancing to Poker Face instead of whatever bullshit Miley Cyrus is putting out these days. (OK, I admit, I do secretly sing to Party in the U.S.A. if I hear it, but I can’t take her pole dancing and short black biker shorts).
After a few days with family, I headed back home to regroup and get ready for the Oregon peeps to arrive in LA for the Rose Bowl.
Even though our little house can barely handle Laef, Sanch and I, we had Chris and Alissa Hansen, my brother, and Amy Detwiler staying with us for a few days.
The Hansen’s were the first to arrive, coming in on Dec. 30. We took them downtown to Ercules in Manhattan Beach where we also met up with Michelle and Jeff Eberhart, Angie Sit and The McNamara’s.
For some reason Michelle kept saying that all she wanted was to be in the blog. But, I don’t know how to best explain to her that being in the blog usually means I make fun of you.
So this is what I will say about Michelle: She is the only grandma I know who wears knee-high boots with tassels. And, she is the craziest, most-fun 41-year 29-year old I know.
But, the line of the night goes to Chris Hansen.
I was talking about how I used to have a crush on this guy. And, it has recently been brought to my attention that said guy is “fat and bald”. I could barely contain my excitement over this new development when Chris said:
“So. He is fat? And bald? I am trying to figure out what is so wrong with that.”
We finished the night with some food and shots of Patron at Hennessey’s. It was a great way to start off the weekend.
The next day, New Year’s Eve, (OK, I need a minute. That seems like 4,980,343 brain cells ago) …
Ah, yes.
Chris, Alissa and I went to the UCLA men’s basketball to watch Laef in action. We tried to get him to do the “O” hand signal from the bench, but all we got was an eye roll. UCLA ended up holding on for a 2-point win over Arizona State so it was a good game to watch.
We raced back home to lay on the couch and watch The Hangover while re-energizing our already tired bodies. It’s amazing how two days of activities become much more difficult as life presses on.
Once Laef got home, the four of us headed to Sashi for our NYE dinner. It’s hard to put into words how amazing the meal was. The presentation of everything was so beautiful. The flavors were overwhelmingly good. Every bite seemed to have some larger purporse that left us baffled and wondering, “Exactly how does one come up with a Kobe Beef Cone thingy?” Or, “How do you make a red pepper ribbon?”
So, we not only ate, but we talked about food and took pictures and marveled at how decedent everything was.
Amy Detwiler and my brother arrived that night, and we decided to stay home so that we could be up early for the Rose Bowl. We sat around the table and played the dice game. That was until a car crashed into a utility pole near our house and the power went out.
What else to do but stand on the corner in sweatpants, with the neighbors, watching a car explode?
And, that my friends, is how we rang in 2010.
Seeing as the power was out, Laef and I were unable to inflate the air mattress that we were going to sleep on. So, we slept on a deflated air mattress with as many blankets as we could muster, and did not feel a day over 84 when we woke up.
It didn’t really matter because it was ROSE BOWL DAY!!!
I am not going to lie. I might have taken tailgating very seriously. I might have had one of the best days ever.
The game, as you might know, was a bummer. It wasn’t the Oregon offense we had seen for most of the year. It was frustrating to say the least.
I won’t say that it was a moral victory just being there. But, I will say, win or lose, I was taking in every bit of the experience in spite of fumbles, missed field goals and lack of possession time.
I met all sorts of people. The vibe was very pleasant. Duck fans seemed happy. OSU fans were very nice.
It was an amazing day.
It was the perfect end to a decade of memories with my peeps.
So it should come as no surprise that after Allison blogged 80% through the honeymoon she has sputtered out. Her blogging well is dry. So she has played another wife card convinced me that I will do a much better job of blogging out the last day of the honeymoon than she would.
Up to this point, we had seen a lot, but we still had a few things we wanted to do: Today Show Friday concert, Little Italy, Chinatown, Rockefeller Center, Ed Sullivan Theater, and watching the sunset from the top of the Empire State Building.
One of the things we wanted to do this week was to see a show taping. I know, we live in LA, the capital of show business, but who does touristy things in their own town? So, on Monday we found out that the Today Show’s summer concert on Friday was Katy Perry. We decided it’d be a twofer and see a show taping and a concert at the same time, so we made ambitious plans to get up early on Friday. Very ambitious – the concert starts at 7:00 a.m. If you want to get up front and be on TV you have to get there well before 6:00 a.m. or have a fancy sign. Nowhere in the 150 pounds of luggage we brought to New York was there posterboard. And in NY posterboard runs about $28/sheet.
We had yet to get up before 9:00 a.m. this week. And the hotel room did not have a coffee maker.
We got up at 10.
Sorry Al.
I’m not a big KP fan anyway. We skipped ahead to the next thing on the list: seeing the adjacent historic neighborhoods of Little Italy and Chinatown. We hopped on the subway like cityfolk and popped out right in the heart of Chinatown. At this point, Allison mentioned that there is a famous fabric store very close by that she wanted to see. So we start walking to the fabric store. After 9 LONG blocks I’m about to point out that this is NOT close when she gets all giddy and announces that we are here! At this point I notice that we are the only tourists at the fabric store.
Me: “Why exactly is this store famous?”
Allison: “Honey, it’s Zarin Fabrics!”
Me: …
Allison: “As in Jill Zarin!”
Me: …
Allison: “Jill from RHWONY!!!!”
And our marriage was tested for the first time.
So we walked 9 long, silent blocks back to Little Italy and searched out an authentic Italian restaurant to eat lunch. We settled on La Mela. It seemed very authentic: huge meatballs, lots of wine, pictures of famous Italians dining there, and lots of flat-screens, which circulated through all of the security cameras. I’ve seen enough episodes of The Sopranos to understand why you need lots of security cameras. So we’re sitting there, drinking wine, eating meatballs and Parmesan and feeling pretty proud of ourselves for finding such a perfect spot. That’s when we look up and see this:
It was just hanging above us like some weird Italian mistletoe. I started to get a little nervous, wondering what type of ritual you’re supposed to do underneath such a mistletoe. I mean, we’re on our honeymoon and all, but I’m not much for PDA. And then I remembered the security cameras and the flat-screens.
Check please!
After our close call, we got back on the subway towards Rockefeller Center. We saw the skating rink, 30 Rock, and Radio City Music Hall right across the street. Then we walked up Broadway to see the Ed Sullivan Theater, where Letterman is filmed. The EST doesn’t offer tours, and Letterman doesn’t tape on Fridays, so there wasn’t much to see. We walked around the side to see the Hello Deli and meet Rupert Jee. Rupert was in his deli looking very pissed at all the people that were coming inside and taking a picture with him and leaving without buying anything. So we decided against taking any photos with him.
After running around the city that never sleeps for 3 1/2 days, we were exhausted. As soon as we got back to the hotel, Allison instantly fell asleep, but I was too juiced (editors note: NO PUN INTENDED. So he says) to sleep because the Cardinals had just acquired Matt Holliday in the greatest baseball trade ever. I sat up and watched ESPN coverage of the trade for an hour until they ran out of different ways to say how awesome the Cardinals are. Then they put Rachel Nichols on.
Nap time.
I was awakened from my nap by the room door closing. Allison had gone out on her last NYC shopping excursion: 2 miniature bottles of Absolute Citron, 2 mini bottles of Absolute Vanilla, a Coke Zero, a 7-up, a bag of salt and vinegar chips, and 2 Snickers ice cream bars.
After she assured me that she had not somehow gotten high while I was asleep, she explained that she was determined to enjoy the last night of the honeymoon.
So we enjoyed our fine cuisine and well drinks. I don’t know if Allison was planning on me sleeping through her party or she just totally underestimated our lushiness, but the alcohol was gone in about an hour. We were wide awake and still ready to party so Allison suggested breaking open the mini bar and opening a couple of the $25 mini bottles.
This suggestion worked as intended.
I grabbed the umbrella and headed down to the liquor store.
It closed at 10 p.m.
It was 10:04.
Shit.
I started wandering around NYC on a Friday night with the bums, looking for a liquor store. Google was no help. Park Avenue was no help. I finally found a grocery store, but it did not sell liquor, only beer. Because it was my honeymoon, I appeased my wife by buying a 6-pack of Corona.
For $12.99.
I don’t even like Corona at regular price.
For better or worse…
Upon returning to the hotel, I opened the door to find my party bride…asleep. At 10:45 p.m.
On the last night of our honeymoon.
I guess we’re just not cut out for New York life.
All in all, we had a lot of fun and saw almost everything we wanted to see while in New York, but we were both ready to get back to LA. We missed the beaches, weather, and (I never thought I’d say this) prices. We’re beach bums and proud of it.
Although I think we’d both trade the 405 for the 6 train any day.
I realize I’ve been slacking on the Lush Train blog. Amy and Andrew were in town a couple of weeks back along with Angie Sit and I have yet to dish the details. A big part of the reason was that my camera battery is dead and despite the fact that I live in a shoe box I can’t find it anywhere. Major bonuses of living in a tinsy beach guest house are the following: 1. It takes five minutes to clean and vacuum, 2. If you lose something you don’t have to look in very many places and 3. You tend to get rid of stuff that you don’t need that in a bigger place you might just put somewhere.
So, anyway, I couldn’t get the pics off my camera and pics help me blog. For example, I know there is one picture on there of Andrew crashed out on the air mattress with a full beer next to him. I can paint the picture for you myself, but seeing it only aids in the process. Basically, after a long night of drinking Andrew says, “Let’s go back to your place and drink some more and hang out.” I am all up for it because on this particular night I am actually not drunk. I had to drive us home from downtown LA in pouring rain and was stone sober. We get home, I crack a couple Pacificos, go into my bedroom to put on some comfy clothes and come out to….(this is where the pic would be!) Andrew curled up in a ball on the floor with the Pacifico inches from him.
This was on Saturday night after Built to Spill. Which, by the way, it should be noted that Andrew had us in the car driving to the show at 5:50 p.m. And he was stressed that we didn’t leave at 5:30 p.m. We arrived at the show by 7ish. Low and behold we were the FIRST ONES THERE. Like a couple of teenie bobbers at a Hannah Montana show. Literally, the place was desolate. Built to Spill went on at 10 p.m. So, we had ample time to eat chicken strips, catch up on old time and make fun of Andrew.
Anyhoo..they arrived on Thursday. Seeing as I know all of four people in the LA area, I was very excited to see my friends. Also seeing as Andrew pulled a Longeteig move and flew in on a different flight than Amy, he arrived later. He called to tell me that he was on a flight from Portland to Eugene to San Francisco to LAX. He said: “I’m delayed.” I said: “No fucking shit? You didn’t make your eight connections, one of which is through SF? Well, Amy and I are going to dinner and if we’re sober enough by the time you arrive, we’ll come get you.”
Sober never happened. I believe Andrew touched down around 10:30 p.m. Laef, who wanted no part of the Aross/Amy show was at home…drum roll please…..playing World of Warcraft and was instructed to go get Longeteig. By the time Laef and Andrew found us at some random bar in Manhattan Beach we had taken a cab to AM/PM for treats (it should be noted that I bought the cabbie chips), stood in the rain as I tried to convince Amy to sit on the beach with me and had drinks with real blueberries. I was in no shape to be socializing in public. So, I pulled the old Taco Bell move and passed out in my clothes.
The next morning I went to my car for something and realized that my diet was still intact as half the Taco Bell — lettuce, cheese, meat, sour cream, etc. — was all over the back seat. Yummy. I’m sure I was the picture of beauty hammering t-bell in the back seat.
I did my best to rally that next day, but it was a struggle. We walked around MB during the day and headed to Marina Del Rey for a yummy dinner that night. Afterwards, we returned to downtown MB where we were met by Greg Walker. Another photo seemingly missing from the blog. I got a photo of 3 of the 6 original media services crew and also some fab-tab-u-lous pics of a woman with a side-boob showcase that was unprecedented. I am tempted to go into the house and turn the couch cushions over to find my camera charger. I promise the pics will be posted at a later date. The side-boob was a big topic of conversation throughout the night. Yes, the L Word is like my third-favorite show.
The following day we did several LA things: Hiked to the Hollywood sign, ate In N Out Burger, had Pinkberry for dessert and went to Sunset Blvd. to watch Built to Spill.
Sadly, the weather was never great while the crew was here. It was the day after they left, but what am I to do? I should have had Amy phone God and return the clouds for something a little more acceptable. Alas, we made do.
Below are the photos that Amy had on her camera that at least show proof of their visit. The minute I download the other pics, they’ll be posted.
