Yesterday I had to take a coworker to the hospital for a fat tongue (not joking) and sit with him while he thought he had cancer. They gave him benadryl and knocked him out. That was my cue to go back to the hotel and chug a bottle of wine. Then I had to babysit some 22 year old Londoners and take them all out to dinner. What am I, momma moneybags? Then we went to some rooftop party in Hollywood and I immediately found the dudes with vicodin and took some of that because the designated driver needs to be RELAXED if anything, am I right? Then we went to some Irish pub where I kicked everyone's ass at table tennis. And finally, I made it back to the hotel and got two bottles of champagne because that is my actual medicine, doctor prescribed.
I promised I would write from LA, so that's that. I am owed one-beer by Madame Jerk. And now I have to drive to San Diego, pick up 15 cases of beer along the way, and throw a party for all my skater bros.
Does this blog make any sense? Probably not. But the doctor at the hospital yesterday was hella fine.