Momemt of Weakness

Last night, after I got home from tennis I was frantic when I realized that the boy of the moment had not responded to my text from 2:40pm--it was an appalling 10:50pm!

In a moment I wish I could erase, I texted my personal Mr. Big: "How you doin'?"
He responded in the requisite 7-minute texting window. I hit the gym. He called, but I missed it.

I stalled some more thanks to this conversation with Tommy:
Tommy: Give me your phone.
Me: No.
Tommy: I need to make a phone call.
Me: No, you don't.
Tommy: You shouldn't text him back.
Me: I know.
Tommy: But you're going to anyway?
Me: Maybe.

Then I texted him back. He responded with a prompt phone call. He was in Boston on business--blitzed on a Monday, singing off-key with his cohorts. I berated him for not growing up. He laughed. I laughed. We're past the drama but that feels strange--so much of what connected us was angst, on my part at least. You can never get too close to a flame that's burned you--at least you shouldn't in theory. But I think that's another theory that's gone the way of Communism...great ideas failing in practice yet the practice continues.

Boy-of-the-moment STILL has not texted back. The window of my patience is quickly closing!

Hamptons Holiday

I spent a rainy weekend in the Hamptons with Special K and Leila. Karen was supposed to be our third but since her Frenchman has consented to meet her parents in Chicago she had DC Leila take her place.

The house was spacious with a pool in the courtyard and a tennis court in the back. Malibu meets South Beach in contemporary style yet set in a surburban enclave. Check out our Hamptons House!

I discovered just what a prude I was when I realized that though a few of the boys in the house were cute I had no desire to hook up with them given the proximity to them I would have to maintain in upcoming weekends. Of all people, I was quick to keep my distance and maintain a cool but congenial vibe. K picked out a mini Rob Loewe look-a-like to call her own while Leila proceeded to kiss, not one but TWO, boys who were guests of our fellow summer shares. Brandon was a tall, gorgeous vet student with closely cropped hair, an eyebrow ring and California style while Jon was a LI boy with a shaved head and East Coast attitude. K was viciously cock-blocked by Ja-nae-nae, a boy who was smitten with her--unrequited as his attention was--while she eyed his cute, ghetto friend--Chris--who pled defeat and fled the scene of our Saturday night toga party at The Surf Club. The photographer at Surf Club took a fascination to Special K and actually asked two boys to remove themselves from a photo so he could capture just her petite frame in his lens.

Leila and I danced on the platform at Surf Club while I DJ played all our requests and fetched us rounds of drinks for being "the cute girls on the dance platform". Jerry, a friendly drunk, bought us lemon drop shots from the hot toga-clab bartenders and his friend AJ's futile advances were shunned by us both. Though the Club was dead, we had a blast dancing with one another and the friendly boys from the house.

Friday night at Casey's the tacky '70s theme was mortifying but the scene was busier than expected for a rained out night. I had my first experience dancing with a gorgeous hip-hop gangsta guy--diamond studs, shaved head, polo shirt with baggy jeans and moves to make a sane woman melt--I was worried I wasn't keeping up till I busted out the Beyonce jiggle and he stood back to marvel and clap as all the jiggling...heehee, sometimes it pays to watch MTV. I pulled a drink and run on a friendly Manhattannite who bought me a Budlight as our house van pulled up--so I thanked him, took a big swig and ran out the door for the after party at the house.

Our housemates while cool were short guys and chubby girls--that's right, when I call a girl chubby...she's CHUBBY--which to my heart's delight made us the hottest girls in the house, hands down. Leila and K cuter than me for sure, but I was definitely in the running...will post pics as soon as Lei e-mails me her digital shots. My camera has yet to arrive, but I came home to Tommy graciously setting up my Dell with internet capability of the wireless form. Hurrah.

Club Getaway

Check it out:
Club Getaway

I'm headed to camp the weekend of Sept. 8 with Special K.
Pics and paragraphs to come then...I'm pumped!

My Digital Camera History

After many failed attempts at becoming a proud touter of the digital camera--I'm proud to say I'm finally joining the movement.

I was one of the first to get a digital camera was a birthday present in high school or maybe it was freshman year of college (late '90s), but I held fast to the throw-away camera and barely took my shiny Fuji, thin even for present day standards, digital camera out of its case, let alone out of my place.

A few years went by and the digital camera revolution gripped the world and my generation and I reached for my dusty, not trusty almost rusty, camera only to discover that the battery life was about 7-10 photos. Apparently turning on the LCD monitor drank up too much power. What's the point of having a digital camera if you can't use the monitor? I put it back on the shelf.

During my time at Pfizer, I signed up for a freebie digi-cam in one of the bonus point-reward systems. When it arrived it was a complete piece of crap. It had no zoom. There was no visible LCD screen. Apparently the only thing that made this camera digital was the port which allowed it to be connected to a computer--that's how you could VIEW your photos. No flash. What good does that do you on vacation--heck, what good does it do you outside your apartment?

My last attempt was thrust upon me by my mom's fiancee--who in an attempt to win me over--bought me a digital camera for my last birthday. While this was a HUGE improvement over the Pfizer flop, it was by no means an expensive camera. Don't get me wrong, it's not about the dollars invested but this camera could not have passed for an expensive camera...it was downright ghetto. While it has a lithium batter which never expires--yay. The picture quality is fairly horrific and being seen with it in hand is downright embarrassing. It did have a flash but it was finicky. You couldn't view your photo unless you switched to view mode. Most cameras will show you a quick flash post-photo before preparing for the next shot: saving both time and trouble. It is light weight but the pixels have little to do with my hand shaking and everything to do with the camera's limited featured abilities. No zoom.

I just bought a silver, 6x zoom, 4.0MP HP camera from Best Buy. It's not as slim as others on the market but by no means is it clunky. I'm delighted to finally be the proud owner of a decent digital camera. I can't wait to carry it about and photograph at will all the cool NYC sights. Perhaps they will find their way onto this blog. A camera phone just doesn't cut it but that is a rant for another day. I'm hoping my camera arrives in time for mom's wedding next weekend!

Check it out: Sweet Camera

Dell-icious

I bought a laptop yesterday, on a whim.

Well, my current notebook is from the '90s (albeit '99) and we have wireless in my apartment which we PAY for, so not having a wireless card prompted the purchase of a new system in lieu of buying and installing a wireless card into my existing laptop. Erring on the side of reason never did seem that reasonable to me.

The wait is on for delivery of said object...

Incidentally my bookshelf from Target arrived yesterday and I'm expecting my storage, wicker/rattan baskets from Crate and Barrel to arrive today. It's an online shopping frenzy in the Land of Me.

Now for that digital camera I've been eye-ing...

Tea-rapy

Last night at tea, we had a novel turn out.

Stella, Jo, Kelli, Karen, and Amy showed up; each with stories to tell. I was by far the least informative, though always entertaining...the highlights in my life have been moving and tennis. The gym convenant is less a highlight and more a "low-light"(as my German boss refers to the opposite of highlight). Tea-mail was delivered: Beth sent us a postcard of David from Italy with an excellent caption "Everyone needs a 14' man who won't talk back!"

Amy is moving to San Deigo with her husband. She was the wildest of the bunch and I'm sad to see her go. We got close fast and fell out of touch when life happened, but I'm going to miss her so much. She also is the proud new owner of a Mustang convertible--riding around town with the top down has brough out every last freckle and given her the most healthy sun-drenched look.
She insists she has the perfect Greek dentist for me. We will be taking a trip to his office in the Empire State building so I can see for myself.

Stella is maintaining relations with a minor league baseball player and reassessing her career path after being "excized" from her current post as one of the most stellar and stylish public school teachers in Brooklyn. She is also harboring a crush on a 14-year old student but smart enough to wait another 4 years before she acts on it.

Kelli and Darrin have been discussing leaving the city. Amy--Look what you started!

Jo may be moving in with Devon or she may not. More to come at future tea times.

Karen's French boyfriend is meeting her parents this weekend in Chicago. Her mother's level of comfort with having him share Karen's childhood bed and various comments indicating her knowledge and more frighteningly acknowledgement of Karen's sex life. She's the most WASPy JAP I've ever met--gotta love Kar Bear.

Beth didn't make it to tea. She just moved to 17th and 1st, taking her from the one who commutes farthest to tea to the one who now lives closest to it. She will need all the help she can get when she starts her OBGYN residency.

Lauren didn't make it either. She just returned from a scuba trip to Belize with her knave.

Developments all around!

Best in Class

The biggest problem with being the best player in the league--other than it being a beginner's league and thus discounting any kudos--is that the instructor instructs others to watch your swing, mimic your footwork, and emulate your grace on the court.

While I'm all for this level of attention and adulation, I'm quickly discovering that I also suffer from a mild case of performance anxiety--at least that's how I'm explaning why the ball fails to go over the net when everyone watches with baited breath. Boo.

It must be said that tennis is a sport rich with poise and dripping with grace--when played right of course--a part of me couldn't help lusting for the instructor just watching his perfect swing and optimal ball placement. He's a short guy with a heavy foreign accent--pretty much the antithesis of my type...but watching him play, hubba hubba hello!

Bathroom Stall

At Hunter College last night before my tennis clinic, I ran to the loo to discover some graffiti that melted my heart.

It read thus:
"Jenna and Nicki,
Hey! This is Rico. We met at Jake's party last night. I don't usually do this and I'm kinda embarrassed but call me--917-875-????. I had a blast and it would be grate to hang out again."

Tracey--CALM DOWN. That is not an egregious typo on my part. The guy spelt it grate. I've seen this time and time again. And just like with "definately" I just don't get how an error so grave can be made by a literate individual.

I've seen some smart people misspell these words--I almost misspelled misspell. ARGH. It's contagious. I'm going to stop typing now and return to the labor they pay me to do.
Adieu.

Memory Lane

Whilst home over the weekend, I was ordered (by Mom) to clear out my closets since she will be moving in with her future husband in two weeks and she wants the house to be packed up and placed in storage while the real estate dangles in a buyer's market.

As I chucked possessions willy nilly, I stumbled upon a GAP shoebox filled with notes from high school and unsent, angsty letters to my then love object: Norman. The very Norman who is the current lease signer of the apartment I reside in. The Norman whose calls I return sporadically at best because life is too hectic and Las Vegas is too far--that 3-hour time difference. I had forgotten how utterly forlorn I felt when he didn't call me promptly at 9pm on those nights in high school I'd sit by my phone waiting to talk to him for a few hours before bed. I'd forgotten how much he'd mattered in the grand scheme of my life. I'd just forgotten the intensity with which I burned for his attention and affection--both of which are now free-flowing and therein under-appreciated.

I was leafing through my freshman yearbook and it seems every person that signed my yearbook made a reference to my then crush, Charles T. Rush. Trace's "What's the Rush?" and "T wants you. I know he wants you!" Talk about obvious--I hardly recognized then, what a spectacle I'd made of myself crushing that openly. I was never a master of disguise, be it emotion or intention. I'd hardly call it my biggest shortcoming but it's definitely not my strength. It was remarkable and shocking to trek down memory lane.

In all my post-pubertal quarter-life crises, I'd forgotten just how painful and tragic and utterly consuming high school life had been. It wasn't really all that long ago for me to have so completely forgotten, but I guess that's just one way to cope.

Ron Jeremy

Tommy and I were coming home from Off the Wagon after a few fruitless games of beer pong when I spied Ron Jeremy sitting at an outdoor table with some of his co-workers at the Olive Tree Cafe. There we are moseying down W. 3rd and the most famous male porn star of all time is just sitting there eating and drinking like normal folk. I made the connection quicker than Tom--not a fact I'm proud of but it is what it is. In my defense, it was the Sublime song that got me wondering who Ron Jeremy was...that's the ONLY reason I know who he is...that and the copious amounts of porn I watched in after school in lieu of those ABC specials--with my gay then best friend and Tracey.

We must say that Ron is just as unattractive IN person as he is on screen. The bunny-type women with him had incredibly bleached hair and lacked pretty in the face department--but I guess they don't make the big bucks for their big smiles.

We walked by and walked back but before I could secure an autograph, a troupe of drunken girls descended on him--cameras in hand. The only thing to outdo that would be to have him sign a body part and being from Jersey coupled with the extreme trashiness of this endeavor kept me in check. Here are some of things Tom said to encourage me to show some boob: "When are you EVER going to see him again...LIVE?" and "I'll tell everyone we know you talked to him. This is a story to top many stories." I'd like to report my dignity is intact.

Being read aloud

Last night when Tommy and I were home, the reality that cable will not be installed for ANOTHER week hit us hard.

Tommy wisely said, "Think of all the shit we'd get done if we never had TV. I've been more productive in the last two days than I usually am in two weeks."

As Tommy and I pondered how much of our life we'd whittled away in front of the box with moving images...what we were consumed with was despair that we had two such boxes sans moving images in our collective possession. sigh.

Tommy's new age computer (has a fan which cools it down--coolest thing ever!) and readily accesses the internet floating about the apartment, so he watched some baseball. After that ended I suggested he catch up on the blog, so it read it aloud to me.

Gotta say, hearing someone else's voice reading your words--very creepy but very cool. I must say, he has a remarkable flair for verbal expression of the written word. He's the kind of guy you want for books on tapes--a real money maker that industry. I think Tom should launch himself in the voice-over business.

Mind you, I could have unpacked a whole bunch more given the absence of TV...but after working till 9, buying groceries, making dinner, hitting the building gym, and straightening my hair...I was beat. Besides, I had to be at my desk at 8am today. bah.

Are you being punished?

In an effort to ensure the seamless delivery of my afternoon class, I dragged a chair out of the nearest conference room and hunkered down in front of the lobby doors on the 11th floor.

As I sat there, patiently waiting--clad in all black office wear with requisite croc-skin stillettoes--every man that had an ID and admitted himself to the floor had a remark for me.

Here are my favorites:
"That's a weird place to sit."
"Do you need to see my ID?"
"You're not convincing as security."
"We don't have a reception."
"That chair doesn't belong in this hallway."
"Are you being punished?"
One guy flashed me his ID as he walked by without acknowledging me verbally.
One guy caught me on the way in and out...so he asked, "Get any business yet?" (this made me feel oddly like a hooker...especially when I chirped "Two down, two to go")

But it really got me thinking--if I sat here all day what kinds of things would I hear. Was I being punished? How many people find their daily jobs punishing?

(If you've never been to an investment bank or a college dorm in a major city--not sure if this is a global trend or just region-specific to the US--every floor requires you to swipe or place your ID against a card reader to permit you admission to that level in an effort to maximize security. Some floors at the bank are even restricted to employees due to the nature of business that takes place there--top secret/classified/confidential)

4-minute Commute

My commute is a 4-minute walk.

That's right folks. I walk down a flight of stairs, exit my building, walk for four-minutes, ride the elevator up 22 flights and am at my desk in no more than 10 minutes--accounting for elevator waits. No stoplights this far downtown--narrow roads and such.

Hurrah for walking to work.

The Gym Covenant

Tommy and I are in competition to see who goes to the building gym more. The average requirement is three times a week and a tally is maintained. The one to go the most at the end of the summer gets drunk off their ass on the loser's tab...given our paychecks and enlarged livers--this is no gentleman's bet. Why do I feel winning this thing will only lead to gaining back any tone acquired in a series of drunken nights in celebratory follow-up.

Well, it's on. Tommy already e-mailed me to say he made it. I'm going right as soon as I leave my desk at the office.

Tennis

My tennis clinic is going swimmingly. I am the best player, by far. Mind you, this is an introductory clinic for those who have never held a racket before while I started playing at age 8 and was an avid high school hitter. Of course, I haven't picked up a racket in almost ten years.

My racket, in protest, continues to emit black flecks from its original rubber wrapping. The strings are taut as ever but I need to get it re-wrapped.

My instructor, Blake, was dazzled by my game and at one point instructed a fellow player to watch my swing and mimic it. I am great at keeping to things I'm good at...I suppose it's human nature. Screw competition, give it to me easy.

Luckey Skeerels

Tommy, K, Gary, and I are officially in a skee-ball league. It was looking unlikely for a minute, when we showed up at the info session to find the league was full--I had not RSVPed with our team name in a timely fashion. Thankfully, a team dropped out and we're in like Flynn.

Brewskee Ball is the sport of skee ball elevated to drunken levels of competitive fun. Gary is an alternate and I'm team captain by default (as always my knack for finding unusual hobbies earns me undeserving titles).
Skeeson III starts this Sunday(I did not come up with this name!)

The team names are as follows: Skeelicious, Skee Patrol, Skee Amigos, The Great Gatskee, MSkee Hammer, Goatskee...you get the point--every title had a cheesy reference to the sport itself. I adore the dorkiness of it all..truly--ADORE it. I feel like I'm back in college with my enginerd crew...damn I miss those kids on D-Level.

Miller High Life is a proud sponsor--the champagne of beers indeed.

The Mighty Move

Big news of the week!
Moved into my new apartment yesterday. Hurrah.
Half-way done unpacking already. Slept 2.5 hours Sunday night to facilitate the mighty move...because I am a procrastinator. Boo me.

Now I have to go back to the UES to clean up the mess I've left and rid the apartment of Ditha's furniture. I may have a taker--thanks K!

I'm a dust bunny collector--since I never dust. EVER. I'm a frantic tidy-er. I tidy by the minute but cleaning is just not my thing. Organizing, moving, re-decorating...I'm your gal. Cleaning--hire someone!

The Catch

Having Fridays off means working 45 hours in 4 days which is no small feat. I know the bankers chalk this up to a light week--the first four days of which only took up 45 of the 80-100 hours they put in...but guess what I'm NOT a banker.

I don't get their salary or their bonus or the perks--not that I want to take clients to strip clubs--so I should not be on any comparable scale to the hours of their lives they devote to the green gods on paper.

I know it sounds like I'm complaining--I'm not--I'm merely stating the transition of living half your week in an exhausted stupor bowing to the drudgery of work and the rest recovering with much booze, laying about, and crammed social organization.

I've always lived me life in bouts but they've never been structured--it's a unique experience. So far so good, but it makes me nervous about burning out: not a concern I've had before. Time will tell--he always does.

To pack now or pack later....

I really need to get my act together and begin the packing process but I just cannot be bothered. The task seems daunting with no immediate reward, so I continue to procrastinate...

My move-in date is June 12, 2006.

eegads, less than a week.

Tennis

I joined a tennis clinic at Hunter College that meets on Mondays from 9pm-10pm.

The instructors are Zen in their approach, so my team went with Zen Doctors as our official team name. It's a beginner class, so I'm thankfully above the curve--but not by nearly enough to balance out the hundreds of rupees my grand dad spent on tennis lessons on me as a child in India.

For someone who played in high school, I've fallen. Though, much like riding a bike the basics come back even if the better part of a decade has gone by since I last picked up my Prince racket. Bits of fabric fell from the handle with each shot I took, reminding me that like old paper, my racket had fallen out of use and was falling apart...I don't think I'm going to invest in a new one since the strings are still perfectly taut--I will get the handle re-wrapped since it's a disgrace that currently leaves black, rubbery residue every time I change grips.

Luckey Squirrels

Back in the city, I found a fantastic new hobby: brewskee ball.

Ace Bar in A-city has a league. Tommy, Special K and I have formed a team: Luckey Squirrels. A compromise to K's suggestion: Squirrelicious. Every Sunday you will see us skee ballin' with brewskees. I've been nominated captain. Not sure I'm up to the challenge or why I was given this responsibility, but I'm flattered.

Acha, Amachi, and I

Since I have Fridays off, I took off for New Jersey on Thursday night to spend time with my grandparents who are here for their annual visit with my mom.

Acha (my grand dad), Amma (my grand mom), Jason (my 14-year old cousin), and Kyle (my 12 year-old cousin) were delighted to see me, but this would never have been apparent to you by the nonchalant manner in which they greeted me. It would seem to you they had seen me everyday for the last 25 years, the manner of familiarity and unimportance assigned to my visit. It was both comforting and disconcerting--but isn't that the way families go?

I was glad to see Luckey. He had missed me, after all. He definitely showed a predisposition towards me as compared to the other brown people in the house.

My mom was exhausted. She's a bit neurotic about tidiness and in India my grandparents and cousins have maids to clean up after them, so they tend to take that lifestyle for granted. My mom had turned into their American maid, much to her chagrin. There wasn't tension in the air as much as relief that another pair of hands had come to ease the labor of two.

San Fran

I had some of the most delicious Burmese food at a crowded little restaurant of Li's choosing. It was a quiet evening but one we needed after all the road-tripping we'd just done.

I love the look and feel of San Francisco. From the houses to the hills and the Mission to the Bay. It's not New York, but it doesn't pretend to be. There's a bustle to the city with a California stroll. If you haven't been you have to go--there isn't much I can say to do justice to the ambience.

I had my requisite Dim Sum at Mayflower and BIG burrito at a dinky joint in the Mission. I bought a few clothes on the Haight...marveling at the hippies and the Gap on the corner of Haight and Ashbury. Li humored me.

I caught the red eye home: landing at JFK at 7am on Wednesday morning and catching the A train to find myself at my desk at work at 8:50am. Another vaca behind me and a desk overflowing with memos, projects, presentations, and articles.

Carmel-by-the-Sea--17 mile Drive--Monterey Bay

Carmel-by-the-Sea was a collection of quaint antique shops and galleries. Pricey, I bet. We walked to the beach and watched the smattering of people picnic with their families--diverse--Indians, Chinese, European, American.

The mission in Carmel was classic in architecture and form. Just the air there smelled old--not musty--but aged. I could see the missionaries converting people.

We paid the requisite $8.75 to drive past Pebble Beach and take in the fancy homes of some of the richer residents in CA. Was it worth it? eh.

Drew insisted we visit the aquarium at Monterey as it is a location near and dear to any marine biologists' heart--we weren't sure why a business student would find it appealing, but no questions were asked.

Li and I decided the Baltimore Aquarium was a better bet. Less children.
I've only been to that one once, on a date with V--back when he loved me.

From Monterey we drove straight up to San Jose and dropped Drew at the airport. Three become two as Li and I continued to San Francisco.

Big Sur

The night in a tent was harsh compared to the night in the car--I was freezing. All Li's warnings of chilly California nights didn't prepare me for how cold it was at Big Sur by the lake at the end of May.

The campgrounds were packed with crunchy, granola types with their kids and families spending an all-American Memorial Day Weekend. We toasted marshmallows and gulped down cold Budlights as we enjoyed the dusk drawing to a close.

I wanted to stop at the Henry Miller library but decided to leave it for another visit since I knew the guys had grown weary of my desired shop stops.

I did pick up the most serene, photo embossed, ceramic coasters from the most graceful, curvy, hippie woman--no doubt an artist--who had a single, thick white stripe like a sexy skunk (I was reminded of the skunk from Over the Hedge) in her black, coarse hair..she donned a purple sarong around herself in a black dress. I found her charming and wondered how many artists she had charmed in her youth--no doubt she was still charming them at her current age...just a shade before over-ripe.

SLO

I felt like Mother Mary with two Josephs and no baby Jesus in tow as we tried inn after hotel after motel after hostel for a room in San Luis Obispo. NO luck.

After a few drinks at the Frog & Peach Pub we settled down for a night of slumber in the car. I gallantly, knowing full well the discomfort took the driver's seat--by far the worst pick. Thankfully I barely drank, given my pukey-McPuker night in LA, so I wasn't overcome by an urge to pee on someone's front lawn during the course of the night.

Not a peep outta me they heard--except when Drew awakened at dawn to drive us onwards to the journey that awaited us. I was nonplussed by his enthusiasm for the AM but appreciated the importance of savoring the day on a winding road with the fresh AC in our face and blue skies above bluer Pacific by our side.

Many a pitstop was made on Sunday as we took in scenic overhands and precarious turns on the PCH up to Big Sur. It was a roadmap to photo heaven.

Hearst Castle

My trip to Hearst Castle can best be compared to a child's first visit to Disneyworld. I was mesmerized by the mansion on the hill. San Simeon is a town that serves no purpose other than to house the castle.

The similarities to Xanadu from Citizen Kane were remarkable. No surprise since Orson Wells character was not too loosely based on William Randolph Hearst. Something about the architecture which mimicked the ancient in a modern era(built in the 1920s) scratched me right where I never knew I had an itch. The collection of art he amassed, though gaudy, deserves kudos not just for being thorough and expensive but more for the care taken in the collection of it. A conquistador of the artistic and a contradiction in terms.

The gardens and land were even more impressive than the buildings themselves in their preservation and historic value. I could envision politicians, artists, musicians, and celebrities of all sorts from the 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s being invited to visit the recluse--the king of the castle.

I'm not sure if Patty Hearst spent any part of her childhood in this castle but her famed kidnapping was another incident that rang a bell in the context of the castle.

So moved was I by this visit and the builder behind the structures I've taken to reading his biography by David Nasaw.

Burbank

Friday, May 26
10:00pm Landed at Burbank Airport
Cute, friendly building with old fashioned ramp to descend from airplane to ground level.

11:00pm Checked into Motel 6 off Hollywood Blvd. on N. Whitley

11:30pm Hopped in a cab to Saddle Ranch on Sunset Blvd.

12:30pm Drank many pitchers of Mai Tai and Gold Rush

1:00am Encouraged by Li and Drew climbed on the mechanical bull--much cheering

1:05am Was bucked off said mechanical bull and landed face first on moon pillow foam below bull--much jeering

1:30am In an inebriated stupor I decided it was necessary for me to preserve the memory of me riding the bull so I purchased a candid photo of me riding mechnical--like at amusement parks with the roller coasters. It costs $4 to ride the bull and the photo is another $9

2:00am Was a happy drunk, hunting for a cab which took almost an hour to hail down. They aren't kidding about traffic in LA.