Yurgh.

I'm back from Drum Corps Land.

Report: Los Angeles, as a whole, sucks not as much as I had anticipated coming in, which is saying a lot considering I am a die-hard northern Kahlifornian. It also helps that we were not really in L.A. proper, but in Glendale and Pasadena, where the sunshine is plentiful and, more importantly, the humidity is not, and, most imporantly of all, the traffic is not a complete and utter clusterf*ck. I am sad that I did not get any David Beckham sightings, however.

Oh, and by the way? Shopping on Colorado Boulevard in Pasadena = AWESOME. Eating at Hooters on Colorado Boulevard in Pasadena, on the other hand...well, also awesome. Not because of the waitresses with the huge boobies (Clearly, I am not as interested in them as I am in large wieners ... hotdogs fresh off the grill, people. Just hotdogs fresh off the grill.). In fact, I relish in the fact that the boobie size always seems to be directly proportional to the haggard-ness of face of most Hooters waitresses. But I digress... It is because our poor waitress became so befuddled when another girl and I pointed out that she had not taken half-off the price of our Happy Hour nachos, that she ended up un-knowingly taking them completely off the tab, thereby leaving us both with free dinner. Score!

Anyway, there's much more to share. Like how I nearly shoved a man in the security line at Sea-Tac airport for being obnoxious (read: I was PMS-ing). And how I got to drive around in the cutest periwinkle-blue (ladies, you know what I'm talking about) rental PT Cruiser* despite a) not having enough money in my checking account to pay for the deposit (payday was 2 days away...) despite some very generous emergency bank deposits from my wonderful sister, and b) having expired insurance cards in my wallet (I seem to have been issued new ones a week before and had not put a copy in my wallet). Tell me how I got away with that one, because even I am not sure. Oh, and how I was partaking in aforementioned awesome shopping on Colorado Boulevard, when some strange dude stood next to me at the crosswalk and said, "Hey. Nice sweater." And, yes, it's true I was wearing a lovely yellow Old Navy cardigan so I, trying my very hardest to conjure up the very last remaining vestiges of non-cynicism in my blackened soul said, "Thanks." And then he said, "I know it probably sounds creepy for some guy to say that. At least I didn't say 'Nice bod' or anything." And then I said, "...Hahaha. Yeah, I guess I can take a sweater compliment." And then as our signal turned green, he proceeded to walk next to me on the sidewalk and hand me a chocolate while saying, "Here. Have a chocolate." At which point I said, "Uh. No thanks." And then he said, "I swear I'm not being creepy. They gave it to me when I got my latte. Go ahead." So I took the Random LA Stranger Chocolate, while casually working into the weird conversation that I was on my way to meet a bunch of friends at Hooters which just happened to be a block up the road. So that ended that. Needless to say, I did not eat the Stranger Chocolate. I'm sure it was delicious.

In the meantime, however, I can only concentrate on one thing and it is this:

I had a lesson scheduled with a certain master of the devil stick -- he of Yes-I-Am-A-Complete-Bad@$$-And-Am-A-Former-Clarinetist-With-the-F*ing-Metropolitan-Opera-Orchestra fame -- tomorrow. That is, until I found out earlier today that I've got 250 boxes of band method books coming in tomorrow. Which means that I will be knee waist shoulder eyeballs deep in books and paper cuts all day long. Which means there is no way I would be able to make the lesson time. Which means I had to call the Devil Stick Master up to cancel the lesson. Which means he called me back to let me know that, while he appreciated that I gave him 24 hours notice and that he knows that life gets in the way often times (okay, this is good...), he wanted me to know that he is very busy (*starts sweating ever so slightly*) and had to turn down several other people for that time slot (*commences surge of self-hatred*) would appreciate it if I would schedule my lessons for a time when I am sure to not have to cancel (*stabs self in heart*). And if you know me, you know that this is something that I will obsess and kick myself in the nuts (oh, if only t'were possible...) repeatedly over this until roughly one month's time from now when things semi-settle down at work and I can reschedule another lesson with the Devil Stick Master, providing me the opportunity to behave in such a manner as to be both professional yet delightfully witty while in his company and playing the devil stick so soothingly that I am instantly thrown back into his good graces. Blaaaah.

And in the I-Apologize-To-My-Father-and-Brothers-In-Advance-Oh-and-What-the-Hell-to-All-of-My-Relatives-As-Well-For-What-I-Am-About-To-Say department: I think I may be getting a bacterial infection in my hoo-hah. The tell-tale signs are in the smell of my piss. Boooo stress!!!

*scampers off to drink 3 gallons of water*


* Which, by the way, while looking very cute, has not nearly the pick-up that my beloved (un)Lucky has, nor the ease of side mirror/blind spot viewing. So (un)Lucky wins this battle.