too many planes

So, I think the secret is out: I was out of town this weekend. Since Matt had won the stand-up finals here in Austin he was getting to perform at the Los Angeles Finals at the Improv last Saturday night and we wanted to go out and support him. We decided to make a long weekend out of it and stop in San Francisco Friday and see Bill, eleanor, and a couple of friends of mine who had moved out there recently.

Tip #1: Don’t take three plane trips in three days.

We arrived rather early in San Francisco Friday. Bill picked us up from the airport and we walked around his neighborhood and had coffee. We all went to lunch with my (no longer Austinite) friends and then went for a nice massage. Yea! Nice massage! Yea! I can’t feel any of its effects anymore, but for the three to four hours immediately afterwards I was one relaxed puppy. Eleanor came by during our post-massage nap and we went for more coffee before heading to the beach for a bonfire and meal.

Tip #2: It’s harder to pee outdoors than you think. If you are a man, you have no idea, so shutup.

I swear it took me two hours to get up the nerve to pee outside. I mean, this was really outside, like just off the road outside and I really had a hard time just pulling down my pants and going, you know? I knew it was dark so no one could really see me, but the beach was slanted, and I knew wherever I squatted there would be pee running down into my jean cuffs. I didn’t want that, you see. Eric walked over to find me a secluded spot by a dune. I hemmed and hawed for like fifteen minutes with my pants down screeching, “I don’t know how to do this!” See, I’ve never been camping. I’ve never had to pee outside before. I had no idea how to position my body. I finally pulled my pants up and gave up. Eric walked over and said he was going to do his business, since he’s got the better mechanics for outdoor urination. As I walked away to give him privacy I heard “Hey! What are you doing?” “Sorry, didn’t see you,” came Eric’s reply. Apparently there was a couple sitting on the dune the entire time, and only stopped to complain when it wasn’t my naked butt they were looking at, but Eric’s stream. Jesus. Talk about making the bladder even more bashful.

After two glasses of wine it doesn’t matter anymore, and I found a way to make an impromptu toilet out of some discarded tires. Let’s not talk about this anymore, shall we? Oh, the good news was I got to pee. Bad news? Dropped my wallet. Good news? It didn’t hit the puddle. Huzzah!

Tip #3: When you think you should stop drinking, do it.

“I think I’m going to stop drinking.”

“Baby, we’re on vacation. Just have another beer.”

It seemed logical at the time. In fact, it’s the last bit of logic I remember about that evening. Here’s all I remember after that: We all met at a bar. Everybody was there. Drinking. Drinking. Smoking. Drinking. Huzzah! Hey, the bar is closed! This walk is fast. People are funny. I should go be sick so I can have fun all night. I think I had too much to drink.

Tip #4: If you aren’t a drinker, maybe you shouldn’t drink ever. Like, ever.

I was sick for over an hour. Sweet Eric checked on me every five minutes and brought water and cooing and all of those things you want even when you’re screaming, “Don’t look at me, I’m hideous!” My friends said goodbye through a closed door. Ick. Nasty. I thought I was going to have to go to the hospital. After the room stopped spinning, Eric put me to bed.

Tip #5: It’s always the Tequila that does you in. Never drink it again.

I swear, I was fine until that one tequila shot. Never ever again.

After a rejuvenating breakfast Eleanor drove us to the airport where we flew to L.A. and promptly got lost. After finding the hotel on Sunset we had a quick dinner across from the Improv (and possibly seated next to Lionel Ritchie) and went to see Matt’s show. It turned out it wasn’t a competition at all, but rather a showcase, so the initial reason for going was sort of blown. We had a great time, though, and all of the laughing cured both of our hangovers/jet lags.

Don’t have stee’s number, don’t have diane’s number, being a bad journaller, blah, blah, blah, L.A. party, blah, blah. No, we had a good time at the party seeing friends who had moved away while looking over the Hollywood Hills. We pretty much fell right to sleep.

Hey Los Angeles: Shhhh! There’s no need for motorcycles at five in the morning.

We spent Sunday with just the two of us walking around the Santa Monica Pier area.

Tip #6: You like crab. You like nachos. Why would you ever like crab nachos? Don’t order ever again.

Tip #7: If you do happen to ever move to Los Angeles, make sure you don’t have a credit card.

We got home very late last night and Cal and Taylor proceeded to keep me up all night long with their fighting and running. I bought a new catnip toy for the two of them, and apparently this stuff’s got some sort of mewoie wowie crack-type catnip in it because those cats were friggin’ nuts. So, I’m cranky, sleepy, and ready to go back to bed.

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