I'm officially unemployed.
A week from today, Lui & I leave for the East Coast. Ten days later is the wedding. I feel like I'm behind on everything: I'm behind on blogging, I'm behind on making a wedding day schedule, a seating chart, a list of important shots for the photographer, a packing list for those two weeks we'll spend in Rhode Island and the honeymoon that follows closely on their heels. I'm even behind in the little dayplanner where I write down one note-worthy moment every day, in an effort to keep me in and appreciating the present instead of dwelling in the past or focusing too much on the future. Ok, so I'm behind in that little dayplanner again.
So instead of trying to catch up on any of these things that might actually matter, I'm going to tell you about how, just a few days after her huge fucking romantic disappointment, C-List ended up in my brother's bed last night.
Anyone who knows me knows that I have a tendency to randomly invite people to come to my gym with me, using Casual Anonymous Sex or, better yet, Combat, as an answer to everything. And I would say that, at least nine-point-five times out of ten, I'm met with mild annoyance, or lauged off as Elle-the-crazy-gym-girl. So you can imagine my surprise - and utter delight - when C-List called me after one such online conversation yesterday afternoon, to tell me that she was totally on her way down to San Diego (from Ventura), and that she was totally going to come to the gym with me, and that we'd then need to stop by a Gap-or-similar so that she didn't end up wearing the same clothes to work two days in a row because, oh yeah, her new editor already thinks she's crazy.
The afternoon went beautifully according to plan (unless the plan was supposed to be making a wedding day schedule and seating chart...): C-List and I went to Combat, where we beat up a couple Republicans and various other exes (Piano Man is my standard), then she sat through my appointment with the in-house aesthetician and I wandered the clearance racks of Mervyns's juniors department while she found a suitable ensemble for today. We came back to my house, quickly showered, collected Lui (who was in the process of buying a new used car) and went to Red Robin for dinner. We drank at Red Robin, which I don't think I've ever done before. We came home and played a rousing game of Scattergories, which I won. We went to bed (Lui & I in ours, C-List in my brother's), and this morning I heard C-List in the bathroom at like 5:00, preparing for the long drive that would get her to work by 8:30. The whole experience was deliciously spontaneous and cathartic - undoubtedly moreso for her.
Oh yeah, and her romantic disappointment? No rhyme or reason to it whatsoever. Seriously. She told the story at least twice, and still neither Lui nor I could figure out, well, anything.
Oh yeah, and my brother? Got back from Japan this afternoon.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Bachelorette Weekend, Chapter 6: Hungover Celebutantes
For the record, I was not hungover on Sunday morning. Not physically, anyway. The emotional hangover, however, lasted much longer than it should have - but I'll get into that later.
We slept in as long as we possibly could, had breakfast, and then stopped at the Coffee Bean on our way out of town. Amanda had to be back early for Mormon church, so I let her and Pigeon go without me, and opted instead to ride back with the LA party train, then have Lui pick me up at Sunshine's house on his way back from Brokeback Mountain (it's a long story...). While at the Bean, Monica & I had the genius idea of taking "hungover celebutante" photos:
I think this may have been my favorite moment of the entire weekend.
After getting lost trying to get out of Palm Desert while having a conversation about various grief recovery programs (inspired by Sunshine's dead mom and Monica's dead grandpa), we stopped at Jack-in-the-Box for lunch. By the time we got to the outlet mall where the girls had been planning to spend the afternoon, we really only had half an hour to spare. This did not stop Sunshine from spending upwards of $400, nor did it stop Suzy from buying a Coach purse herself. Actually, it was kind of scary: we got out of the car and the two of them took off running in different directions, leaving me and Monica stunned on the sidewalk.
Finally in the car heading back, we were driving alongside a minibus full of what Suzy guessed were wrestlers, but were actually boxers. They kept waving at us, and one of them stuck a note up to the window with his phone number. So we called it. We told some lies about all of us being married, they told some lies about all being between 20- and 30-years-old (they were so obviously like 18), but for the most part, we just couldn't hear each other: 2x speakerphone + 2x moving vehicles + 2x multiple people talking at once... not so conducive to conversation.
We were late getting back, of course, and Lui was pissed at me for making him wait.
We slept in as long as we possibly could, had breakfast, and then stopped at the Coffee Bean on our way out of town. Amanda had to be back early for Mormon church, so I let her and Pigeon go without me, and opted instead to ride back with the LA party train, then have Lui pick me up at Sunshine's house on his way back from Brokeback Mountain (it's a long story...). While at the Bean, Monica & I had the genius idea of taking "hungover celebutante" photos:
I think this may have been my favorite moment of the entire weekend.
After getting lost trying to get out of Palm Desert while having a conversation about various grief recovery programs (inspired by Sunshine's dead mom and Monica's dead grandpa), we stopped at Jack-in-the-Box for lunch. By the time we got to the outlet mall where the girls had been planning to spend the afternoon, we really only had half an hour to spare. This did not stop Sunshine from spending upwards of $400, nor did it stop Suzy from buying a Coach purse herself. Actually, it was kind of scary: we got out of the car and the two of them took off running in different directions, leaving me and Monica stunned on the sidewalk.
Finally in the car heading back, we were driving alongside a minibus full of what Suzy guessed were wrestlers, but were actually boxers. They kept waving at us, and one of them stuck a note up to the window with his phone number. So we called it. We told some lies about all of us being married, they told some lies about all being between 20- and 30-years-old (they were so obviously like 18), but for the most part, we just couldn't hear each other: 2x speakerphone + 2x moving vehicles + 2x multiple people talking at once... not so conducive to conversation.
We were late getting back, of course, and Lui was pissed at me for making him wait.
Bachelorette Weekend, Chapter 5: Speakerphone drunk-dialing
Sometime shortly after getting back to the hotel, we decided that it would be a good idea to call all of our exes: Amanda's ex-boyfriend who cheated on her, Pigeon's ex-gay-best-friend, my & Monica's ex-roommate, and of course, Piano Man.
In our defense, we were actually trying to get ahold of that mutual friend who got my stuff from Piano Man with the intent of finally (three years later) giving it back to me. But unfortunately that friend knocked up his ex-girlfriend, who then decided, shortly after giving birth, that she "didn't want to share her baby with him." So last I heard, he was moving out of state. He's not on myspace, he's not on facebook, and the phone number I had for him just routes to a "full mailbox" message, so... Really, what else could we do?
And of course, like an idiot, Piano Man actually picked up his phone.
"How come I didn't get to be flower girl?" was the first thing Pigeon asked. Monica, who was actually holding the phone (although it was on loudspeaker), repeated: "Pigeon wants to know how come she didn't get to be flower girl."
"...I dunno," he said in the same halting-yet-hurried, nervous, annoyed, frustrated, and uncomfortable tone of voice he'd used the last time I talked to him, when I was asking whether he'd read my story.
"What do you mean you don't know? It seems like a pretty simple question," Monica countered. This too was reminiscent of that last conversation.
"I dunno," he said again. And this.
"Anyway, we just wanna know where [friend] is. Can you give us his number?"
"I don't have his current number," he said, mumbling something about them not really talking anymore. Why? Did [friend] tell your wife about how you cheat on her too?
"Ok, well, can you tell us what state he moved to?"
"I think he's living in California..."
Then Pigeon, in keeping with her unending quest to make people uncomfortable, interjected, "How's married life?"
"I dunno." Then a pause before he said, in the same uncomfortable, hurried tone, "Please don't call." And oddly, another pause before he hung up.
I, like a right idiot, sent him a text: "Sorry. That was Monica. We really did just want to know where [friend] is. But for what it's worth, I still miss you sometimes. Have a good night."
He never answered. And I, I am pathetic.
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A few days later, I would open up to Monica about the extent of the lingering Piano-Man damage, about the way he creeps into my thoughts at random, about the recurring dreams where we're trying to be friends (as I write this, I have to admit I had another one last night), and about how when I wake up from these dreams, I always feel so guilty because there's Lui sleeping next to me.
"And unlike Piano Man, Lui loves you," she interrupted.
"...Right. Exactly."
In our defense, we were actually trying to get ahold of that mutual friend who got my stuff from Piano Man with the intent of finally (three years later) giving it back to me. But unfortunately that friend knocked up his ex-girlfriend, who then decided, shortly after giving birth, that she "didn't want to share her baby with him." So last I heard, he was moving out of state. He's not on myspace, he's not on facebook, and the phone number I had for him just routes to a "full mailbox" message, so... Really, what else could we do?
And of course, like an idiot, Piano Man actually picked up his phone.
"How come I didn't get to be flower girl?" was the first thing Pigeon asked. Monica, who was actually holding the phone (although it was on loudspeaker), repeated: "Pigeon wants to know how come she didn't get to be flower girl."
"...I dunno," he said in the same halting-yet-hurried, nervous, annoyed, frustrated, and uncomfortable tone of voice he'd used the last time I talked to him, when I was asking whether he'd read my story.
"What do you mean you don't know? It seems like a pretty simple question," Monica countered. This too was reminiscent of that last conversation.
"I dunno," he said again. And this.
"Anyway, we just wanna know where [friend] is. Can you give us his number?"
"I don't have his current number," he said, mumbling something about them not really talking anymore. Why? Did [friend] tell your wife about how you cheat on her too?
"Ok, well, can you tell us what state he moved to?"
"I think he's living in California..."
Then Pigeon, in keeping with her unending quest to make people uncomfortable, interjected, "How's married life?"
"I dunno." Then a pause before he said, in the same uncomfortable, hurried tone, "Please don't call." And oddly, another pause before he hung up.
I, like a right idiot, sent him a text: "Sorry. That was Monica. We really did just want to know where [friend] is. But for what it's worth, I still miss you sometimes. Have a good night."
He never answered. And I, I am pathetic.
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A few days later, I would open up to Monica about the extent of the lingering Piano-Man damage, about the way he creeps into my thoughts at random, about the recurring dreams where we're trying to be friends (as I write this, I have to admit I had another one last night), and about how when I wake up from these dreams, I always feel so guilty because there's Lui sleeping next to me.
"And unlike Piano Man, Lui loves you," she interrupted.
"...Right. Exactly."
Monday, June 11, 2007
Bachelorette Weekend, Chapter 4: What happens in Palm Springs...
I'm not at liberty to say much about the night out itself, since we instituted a strict, "What-happens-in-Palm-Springs-stays-in-Palm-Springs" rule for the sake of the boyfriends. It's interesting to note that most of my friends' boyfriends are in fact even more jealous than Lui, and that those of us with husbands/fiances seemed the least worried about what happening in Palm Springs possibly getting leaked in a less arid climate.
Dinner was marked by almost everyone ordering what was written across their chests, my first admirer - a tall, middle-aged African American man who claimed he'd been honking at us as we crossed the street to the restaurant, and Pigeon blaming Barbie for the loss of her innocence. The girls also gave me a card they'd all signed, in which most of them told me how much they love me, which meant a lot - especially coming from a few that I know have vulnerability issues.
The hunt went well; I got to do body shots with some guy that Suzy decided looked like Jake Gyllenhaal (I tend to disagree), but other than that, it was a pretty dry, if totally awesome, event. By the time the two teams reconvened two hours later, upstairs at a bar called the Blue Guitar, everyone was exhausted. And unfortunately sober. Finally Monica grabbed me and said we were going inside to find people to buy us drinks. And this, this is why I love her so much. Because she got that when I said I didn't want to get hammered, I didn't mean I wanted to stay totally sober and go to bed before midnight. I do believe in drinking at least enough so that my shoes don't hurt.
The bartender gave us two-for-one on shots of Patron, and me a free Blue Guitar T-shirt. Then we convinced one of the two ex-military Republicans who'd been flirting with our group outside that his friend had mentioned he'd buy the next round. Somehow, this, three shots of tequila in about two hours, was more than enough for me, and true-to-form, I started flashing everyone. Then we went next door to the karaoke bar, where I drank water, sang along to Backstreet Boys with my friends, told my new Republican friend to stop wearing his old wedding band on his watch (I actually wrote "It's time to move on" backwards on his stomach, in Sharpee, and only later realized that this might have been insensitive), and made out with Monica while Suzy and Pigeon sang "Don't go breaking my heart" on karaoke.
There was a slight mishap getting back to the hotel, as C-List had wandered off with her new Republican friend, who I'm going to call Cornwall, right around the time when we wanted to leave. By this point, my shoes were hurting again, which meant I was damn near sober, and my Republican was obviously annoyed that it meant he couldn't go home either. Eventually, we found all our friends and all our cars, and headed back to the hotel.
Dinner was marked by almost everyone ordering what was written across their chests, my first admirer - a tall, middle-aged African American man who claimed he'd been honking at us as we crossed the street to the restaurant, and Pigeon blaming Barbie for the loss of her innocence. The girls also gave me a card they'd all signed, in which most of them told me how much they love me, which meant a lot - especially coming from a few that I know have vulnerability issues.
The hunt went well; I got to do body shots with some guy that Suzy decided looked like Jake Gyllenhaal (I tend to disagree), but other than that, it was a pretty dry, if totally awesome, event. By the time the two teams reconvened two hours later, upstairs at a bar called the Blue Guitar, everyone was exhausted. And unfortunately sober. Finally Monica grabbed me and said we were going inside to find people to buy us drinks. And this, this is why I love her so much. Because she got that when I said I didn't want to get hammered, I didn't mean I wanted to stay totally sober and go to bed before midnight. I do believe in drinking at least enough so that my shoes don't hurt.
The bartender gave us two-for-one on shots of Patron, and me a free Blue Guitar T-shirt. Then we convinced one of the two ex-military Republicans who'd been flirting with our group outside that his friend had mentioned he'd buy the next round. Somehow, this, three shots of tequila in about two hours, was more than enough for me, and true-to-form, I started flashing everyone. Then we went next door to the karaoke bar, where I drank water, sang along to Backstreet Boys with my friends, told my new Republican friend to stop wearing his old wedding band on his watch (I actually wrote "It's time to move on" backwards on his stomach, in Sharpee, and only later realized that this might have been insensitive), and made out with Monica while Suzy and Pigeon sang "Don't go breaking my heart" on karaoke.
There was a slight mishap getting back to the hotel, as C-List had wandered off with her new Republican friend, who I'm going to call Cornwall, right around the time when we wanted to leave. By this point, my shoes were hurting again, which meant I was damn near sober, and my Republican was obviously annoyed that it meant he couldn't go home either. Eventually, we found all our friends and all our cars, and headed back to the hotel.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Bachelorette Weekend, Chapter 3: Penis for breakfast, coffee for lunch
Saturday morning was marked by a pajama-clad trip to Walgreen's so C-List could get some Visine ("The desert makes my eyes red, and it's totally misleading: I'm a pill-popper, not a stoner!"). Then we hit the breakfast line, where eggs were being cooked-to-order - unless you're me and wanted them poached.
When we got to our table in the hotel dining commons, some of the girls had already decorated it with caution tape ("Caution: Bachelorette Party! Danger: Wild Women!") and balloons featuring a drawing of a short-but-muscular guy in a g-string. We had mimosas (only some were with cranberry or apple juice). Pigeon insisted on drinking hers through her glow-in-the-dark penis straw; we were all impressed with her juicy balls. Anabella's balloon popped at the end of the meal, which made for good jokes about her man being all flacid.
We split up then: half of us wanted to go and get real spa pedicures (and oh, they were - complete with saran-wrapped calves!), and half wanted to save their money and just work on their tans by the pool. I went to the spa, and ended up getting pedicures next to Anabella, who admitted she always chooses hot pink polish. I admitted to almost always choosing orange, so we decided to pick the color we'd usually get for ourselves and then swap. It worked out pretty well for both of us.
Sunshine came and found us after her manicure appointment, and the three of us went to get coffee for ourselves and Dawn, who had arrived separately and later, and was still upstairs getting her toenails massacred by some white woman. I had my first blended coffee drink in probably upwards of two years, but I figured I'd need it to stay up past my usual bedtime of like 10:00, and with a little preventative Imodium, I wasn't too worried about the effects on my stomach.
Back at the hotel, I joined the girls who had been lounging poolside just as they were going back up to the rooms - but not before Amanda had chucked the frat boys' beachball into the bushes after they kept mis-aiming and nearly hitting her in the head with it. She stayed to lay out with me for like 45 minutes, and then we stood in the pool and talked about wedding plans, briefly, and for pretty much the only time all weekend.
Then we headed up to the rooms to shower and get dolled up for the big night ahead. Suzy & Sunshine kept commenting on things like my bra showing through my wifebeater (which read, "Something Blue on the Rocks" - all our shirts boasted our creative margarita orders), so I kept having to run down to the other room to ask the girls without a sense of propriety whether I looked ok. I did, of course. With my veil secured, we met in the downstairs room - an executive suite, complete with conference table - to tell embarrassing stories about me (C-List told the most, and the best ones, despite not having known me very long compared to the other girls) and go over the rules for the scavenger hunt that Monica had prepared. And then, after a minor emotional blip when Sunshine realized that the last time she'd been to Palm Springs had been with her mom, we were on our way.
When we got to our table in the hotel dining commons, some of the girls had already decorated it with caution tape ("Caution: Bachelorette Party! Danger: Wild Women!") and balloons featuring a drawing of a short-but-muscular guy in a g-string. We had mimosas (only some were with cranberry or apple juice). Pigeon insisted on drinking hers through her glow-in-the-dark penis straw; we were all impressed with her juicy balls. Anabella's balloon popped at the end of the meal, which made for good jokes about her man being all flacid.
We split up then: half of us wanted to go and get real spa pedicures (and oh, they were - complete with saran-wrapped calves!), and half wanted to save their money and just work on their tans by the pool. I went to the spa, and ended up getting pedicures next to Anabella, who admitted she always chooses hot pink polish. I admitted to almost always choosing orange, so we decided to pick the color we'd usually get for ourselves and then swap. It worked out pretty well for both of us.
Sunshine came and found us after her manicure appointment, and the three of us went to get coffee for ourselves and Dawn, who had arrived separately and later, and was still upstairs getting her toenails massacred by some white woman. I had my first blended coffee drink in probably upwards of two years, but I figured I'd need it to stay up past my usual bedtime of like 10:00, and with a little preventative Imodium, I wasn't too worried about the effects on my stomach.
Back at the hotel, I joined the girls who had been lounging poolside just as they were going back up to the rooms - but not before Amanda had chucked the frat boys' beachball into the bushes after they kept mis-aiming and nearly hitting her in the head with it. She stayed to lay out with me for like 45 minutes, and then we stood in the pool and talked about wedding plans, briefly, and for pretty much the only time all weekend.
Then we headed up to the rooms to shower and get dolled up for the big night ahead. Suzy & Sunshine kept commenting on things like my bra showing through my wifebeater (which read, "Something Blue on the Rocks" - all our shirts boasted our creative margarita orders), so I kept having to run down to the other room to ask the girls without a sense of propriety whether I looked ok. I did, of course. With my veil secured, we met in the downstairs room - an executive suite, complete with conference table - to tell embarrassing stories about me (C-List told the most, and the best ones, despite not having known me very long compared to the other girls) and go over the rules for the scavenger hunt that Monica had prepared. And then, after a minor emotional blip when Sunshine realized that the last time she'd been to Palm Springs had been with her mom, we were on our way.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Bachelorette Weekend, Chapter 2: French Hotel Room Dance Party
...was the name of a mix tape Dougan and I made in 1998. Really, just a fancy way of saying that hotel rooms are so awesome.
Monica's first order of business was to climb up on top of the closet; I joined her, but someone convinced me to get down again, which only made room for Pigeon to climb up. I tried on my new bra that I'd brought to wear on Saturday, only to have all the girls tell me all the ways in which I was wearing it wrong. It was kind of like the time in college when someone (I think it was Monica) informed me that I'd been putting the toilet seat covers down backwards my entire life. (And they're letting me get married?)
At one point, security came up to tell us there'd been a noise complaint - which was surely on account of the six of us, and not the UCI frat formal that was also happening in the hotel that weekend. If the security guard hadn't been like 70, we might have invited him in to strip for us.
When the SB Party Train finally got to the hotel, Pigeon, Amanda, & I went out on the "balcony" (more like a fire escape) to show them which room we were in by flashing our headlights - the real ones this time, not the grapefruits.
Monica's first order of business was to climb up on top of the closet; I joined her, but someone convinced me to get down again, which only made room for Pigeon to climb up. I tried on my new bra that I'd brought to wear on Saturday, only to have all the girls tell me all the ways in which I was wearing it wrong. It was kind of like the time in college when someone (I think it was Monica) informed me that I'd been putting the toilet seat covers down backwards my entire life. (And they're letting me get married?)
At one point, security came up to tell us there'd been a noise complaint - which was surely on account of the six of us, and not the UCI frat formal that was also happening in the hotel that weekend. If the security guard hadn't been like 70, we might have invited him in to strip for us.
When the SB Party Train finally got to the hotel, Pigeon, Amanda, & I went out on the "balcony" (more like a fire escape) to show them which room we were in by flashing our headlights - the real ones this time, not the grapefruits.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Bachelorette Weekend, Chapter 1: Road Trip!
Amanda, Pigeon, & I left late: after Amanda & I had gone to BodyPump (which, thanks to a weekend veto on talking about BodyPump, will henceforth be referred to as "Casual Anonymous Sex," for at least the recounting of this weekend, but most likely for the rest of eternity); after I had showered and finished packing; after Amanda had insisted on sticking to her South Beach diet and eaten only salad & meatballs while the rest of my family had spaghetti & garlic bread to go with it; after Pigeon had come over and joined me in eating frosting out of the can while on the phone telling her boyfriend what an asshole the choreographer from our old children's theatre group is; after my mom had tried to get us to take hats for the sun/snacks for the car/all sorts of other mom-like things that we tuned out and refused.
Then we made the mistake of following Google Maps' directions to our hotel in Palm Desert - a mistake that must've saved us a good two hours of driving time, but took us almost entirely through the mountains. We did, however, stop at the best gas station/mini mart ever, where they sold retro items like Kool-Aid Bursts, as well as futuristic items such as blue cow water. We also convinced Amanda to break down and break her diet, which resulted in the purchase of chocolate pretzel Flips, powdered Donettes, some sort of potato chip, a Nerds Rope, and sour Peachy-O's.
Temecula turned out to be a very excited little city: we found "Temecula! Dental", "Great Wraps!", and "For Golfers Only!" in the space of about five minutes. It also turned out to be the last of civilization we'd see until we got to Palm Desert, so we listened to Avenue Q while braving the pitch-black mountain roads, keeping tabs on our cell phone reception so we could check in with the other cars. The LA Party Train was our ticket to check-in, as the reservation was in Suzy's name; the SB Party Train had a man down, puking in the bathroom of some rest-stop mini-mall.
We got to the hotel first and had to kill some time in the parking lot, while waiting for Suzy to get us in. Pigeon found a grapefruit tree and climbed it, then started throwing grapefruits down to Amanda, who had the brilliant idea to put them in her shirt. The sprinklers came on before we had all six grapefruit boobs, but Pigeon's such a trooper that she stayed up there and got them for us anyway. We stood out by the back of Amanda's mom's car for about 20 minutes with our fruitastic racks, turning away from anyone who passed us so they wouldn't harass us for stealing produce, as it were.
Finally, the LA Party Train pulled up. Suzy was the first to notice.
"What are those?" she asked, laughing.
I sauntered over as best I could without, erm, falling out. "Those," I said, reaching into my shirt, pulling out the grapefruits, and handing them to her through the open window, "are breakfast."
Then we made the mistake of following Google Maps' directions to our hotel in Palm Desert - a mistake that must've saved us a good two hours of driving time, but took us almost entirely through the mountains. We did, however, stop at the best gas station/mini mart ever, where they sold retro items like Kool-Aid Bursts, as well as futuristic items such as blue cow water. We also convinced Amanda to break down and break her diet, which resulted in the purchase of chocolate pretzel Flips, powdered Donettes, some sort of potato chip, a Nerds Rope, and sour Peachy-O's.
Temecula turned out to be a very excited little city: we found "Temecula! Dental", "Great Wraps!", and "For Golfers Only!" in the space of about five minutes. It also turned out to be the last of civilization we'd see until we got to Palm Desert, so we listened to Avenue Q while braving the pitch-black mountain roads, keeping tabs on our cell phone reception so we could check in with the other cars. The LA Party Train was our ticket to check-in, as the reservation was in Suzy's name; the SB Party Train had a man down, puking in the bathroom of some rest-stop mini-mall.
We got to the hotel first and had to kill some time in the parking lot, while waiting for Suzy to get us in. Pigeon found a grapefruit tree and climbed it, then started throwing grapefruits down to Amanda, who had the brilliant idea to put them in her shirt. The sprinklers came on before we had all six grapefruit boobs, but Pigeon's such a trooper that she stayed up there and got them for us anyway. We stood out by the back of Amanda's mom's car for about 20 minutes with our fruitastic racks, turning away from anyone who passed us so they wouldn't harass us for stealing produce, as it were.
Finally, the LA Party Train pulled up. Suzy was the first to notice.
"What are those?" she asked, laughing.
I sauntered over as best I could without, erm, falling out. "Those," I said, reaching into my shirt, pulling out the grapefruits, and handing them to her through the open window, "are breakfast."
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