Want to read about my day?
Sure you do! If you didn't, why the hell are you reading this to begin with?!?! Sheesh!
Anyway, it all started early this morning...
I went on a beach skate, as I knew that I'd be busy for the rest of the day and I needed to get my exercise in. Things were going fine until I blew out a wheel bearing north of Santa Monica on the bike path. I live south of Santa Monica, about 2 miles inland. DAMMIT.
So I started slowly scooting back from whence I came, and I ran into one of the sequence directors with whom I worked with over the summer. In fact, it's one of the guys I was writing about yesterday. He's Example B, btw. He's getting ready to go surfing, so I stoopidly don't offer to make him take me home.
I should have.
My wheel completely stopped turning about a mile down the bike path, and so I had to scoot myself home for the remaining 3-4 miles with one foot and trying to coast on the other foot. Sounds easy, like riding a skateboard, right? IT'S NOT. I almost face-planted about five major times, and got verbally acosted by a group of hobos in Venice. They liked redheads and let me know in no uncertain terms just HOW MUCH they liked redheads. Like I needed that crap.
After scooting across hellishly busy intersections, almost running into various joggers, other hobos, and old ladies, and trying to skate up a damn hill, I finally got home. Just in time to take a shower and run more errands.
I stop to pick up my portfolio in Burbank. As I'm packing up the bike, four WWII-era fighter planes cruise by overhead. I stop and gawk, 'cos I love planes. Especially old planes. A studio security guard is sitting by his car (a Mustang! ooooooooh!) and tells me what kind of planes they are(I forget specifically what they were, except that they're from McDonnell-Douglas). He then tells me about some place at the Van Nuys airport where one can fly those planes, which is pretty damn cool. I ask him if he flies, and he says he has. I said that it must take a helluva lot of concentration to fly, and he tells me that actually it's about as much as it does to ride a murdersickle. Really? I'm surprised. He then surprises me some more by telling me how nice his day is when he gets to see a woman dressed in leather riding motorcycles and appreciating planes. Bwahahahahaha!!!! At least he was cute.
So I skedaddled to meet up with Cute Friend Becca and my Bunny-Hugging board artist from the summer. After getting the literal runaround from the studio about where I can park the damn bike, I caught up with the ladies and we had a very entertaining lunch. Gossip and hilarity ensued.
Then it was off to my second tattoo removal appointment in Beverly Hills. I was early, so I sat and read Vogue. I can't believe women give a damn about stick figures in expensive clothes. Absolutely baffling. I get called in and get zapped. The strength of the laser was increased, and so the tattoo and the area immediately surrounding it is swollen and red as hell. It's nasty looking, actually. I'm icing the area as I type to keep the swelling at bay. My next appointment is in 8 weeks...the week of my birthday, as a matter of fact. Oh joy.
And then I came home to the fatass diabetic cat having a very mild reaction to his insulin. Good grief.
All that's left for today is going to watch derby practice at the beach, and then packing up for this weekend's adventures. In the meantime, have fun kids, and don't get any wooden tattoos!