I wish I was moving there.
Don't get me wrong--I'm so excited to move to Germany. But part of me feels like I'm reaching a point in my life where I should be doing something more. I want to start my career. I want to start the rest of my life. *sigh* I want to settle down.
At the same time, I know that moving to Germany (and having Boise State pay for it) is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. And I would regret not going. Who knows. Maybe I'll fall in love or get a job offer and move there forever. I just have to remember that things are happening the way they are meant to happen. Everything will fall into place if I'm just patient and don't fuck things up too badly along the way.
So let's quit being serious.
Basically, this trip was a chance for me to get the fuck out of Boise. After the whirlwind week I had, I was soooo fucking ready for a break. There was far too much crying and people leaving and so much drama. I try to avoid the drama, but apparently little bitches have issues with growing the fuck up, so I do what any normal person does and I just leave. Last time I went to L.A., there was a lot I had to cram into a few days. This time, I was there for three days, and two of those three days I was going to use to lay on the beach. And that is precisely what I did. I usually turn my phone off when I go on vacation, because the whole point of a vacation is to relax. This is now something I need to work on. Apparently my connection to my phone is deeper than that of a mother to her child, and I could barely stand to be away from it for more than an hour. I need to go back to a foreign country where a) there is no cell phone service or b) if there is cell phone service, it's going to cost me my right leg to make a two-minute phone call. Fucking technology.
I got in Thursday afternoon and made a beeline for WeHo. I needed a salad and I figured what better place than West Hollywood to find a truly horrendously expensive salad. The thing I love about West Hollywood is all the gay men. It's the only place in the world, I'm betting, with so many shaved man legs and Pomeranians. You can't argue with that. If anything, people watching is fucking rad there. I ate at this cute little place called Tempered Greens (I think?) and went clothing shopping in some of the S&M shops. I then decided to head over to Redondo Beach. This place was amazing. I walked around the pier for a little while and then laid on the beach for the rest of the afternoon. So gorgeous.
Friday I went down to Venice Beach and laid out for a good four hours. Mind you, whitey-McWhiterson was wearing SPF 50 and I still managed to get sunburned. AWESOME.
There was some sort of freak windstorm in the middle of the afternoon, so I basically got sand in every possible crevice of my body. I'm still finding sand in my hair and ears. SICK.
I drove to Pasadena to check out apartments for my little sis since she will be moving there for school in September. I'm SO FUCKING JEALOUS that she gets to move there. I fell IN LOVE with that city. It's so cute. I'm definitely, definitely going to have to visit her when I get back to the states. I met my cousin and her fiance and friend from work at this fantastic place called Vertical Wine Bar. They had happy hour specials on Stella. So of course, I got myself all sorts of wasted. I'm so good at that. I also made friends with our waitress, Deborah, who happened to be a costume designer. She had some great life stories.
Oh, and should you ever visit Pasadena and figure that you don't need to pay the meter, FYI, it's a fucking $50 ticket. FUCK YOU, PASADENA!
I have GPS on my cell phone so I can figure out where the fuck I'm going when I'm on vacation. So imagine my surprise when my GPS failed me on my way from Pasadena to Chatsworth at around 10 o'clock at night. I have no idea where the fuck Pasadena is in relation to Chatsworth, nor do I know how to read a real map, so I was pretty much fucked. Thank GOD for Nicole, who got me at least to Chatsworth. Turns out Stella has an effect on my ability to recall addresses, and I'm pretty sure I transposed Des' house numbers, so I ended up in some business district of Chatsworth. Nicole had to hang up the phone because I was stressing her shit. I seem to do that a lot to people. I promise it's not panic in my voice--it's the gin talking! I forget there are people in this world who, unlike me, plan shit in advance. I tend to fly by the seat of my pants and hope for the best. This is probably going to get me in some serious fucking trouble somewhere down the line, but for now, it works for me. Eventually I made it home and passed out until it was time to hot tub at 12:30. Life was rough.
Saturday was Des' friend Dena's graduation party, so we got to dress up and I got to do what I do best--get completely shit-faced.
In my shit-faced state, I decided that yes, yes I DID want to get my belly-button pierced, so we loaded up in the car (we totally had a driver for the night--SWEET) and went to Studio City Tattoo before we met the party in WeHo. This is apparently the place where bat-shit-crazy Britney Spears went to get her piercings. I have a slight claim to fame.
Des took about 400 pictures of this whole process, but in most of them I look like I'm getting ready to cry or shit myself.
Here is the finished product:
Please ignore my incredibly white stomach.
Being sufficiently inebriated and now PIERCED, we headed down to the Abbey to meet the rest of the graduation party. I LOVED the Abbey. SO MANY GAY PEOPLE! And a lot of straight people. It was sort of like the Balcony, but with way more people and better music. NOT TO MENTION, HOT MEN DANCING ON BARS! I made friends with this dude, and Alice managed to take some very inappropriate pictures.
He was actually straight. At least that is what he said before he told me that he got off work at 1:00 and we should hang. Awesome dude. I would LOVE to hook up with the straight guy dancing on the bar at the gay dance club in a fucking speedo.
Speaking of which, ALICE CAME with her awesome girlfriend. I love visiting Alice. She makes me laugh.
I don't quite remember leaving the bar or anything that happened after that. I do remember having to wake up this morning at fucking 5:00 a.m. to catch my 8:30 flight back to Boise.
Point-of-order: should you decide that it would be a good idea to high-five the Homeland Security guard at LAX while showing off your new piercing and bragging about your "awesome hangover," I would recommend against it. I got searched. And so did my bag. Apparently terrorists also come in the form of 26-year-old drunk girls from Idaho.
I'm hoping I can make it down to L.A. one more time before I go to Germany. But I have some other trips I want to take (not to mention I'm going to Portland 900 times this summer), so it may just have to wait.
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