Today I awoke to the housekeeper barging into my bedroom. Upon seeing two naked dudes fast asleep, she uttered a cheerful “Eeek!” and slammed the door, ne’r to be seen again.
So much for fresh towels.
I brewed a pot of coffee for my friends and they rose like zombies from graves in search of caffeine and tobacco.
Corey and I went to the restaurant for brunch where, thank God, a totally normal person waited on us. The food was rad. They have an organic garden here from which they harvest their vegetables. More importantly, our waitperson understood what it meant to WANT COFFEE.
Growing up north of the Bay Area, I was spoiled by coffee service. Up there, you usually don’t get to the bottom of your mug before someone fills it. In LA, you have to f**king launch a g*ddamn publicity campaign signifying that you want another cup. And then you need to get your agent to find you more cream.
The ladies joined us later, both feeling much better after a night of sleep. Corey went out in search of a hammock, and Carrie, Logan and I settled by the pool, making sure we kept hydrated by knocking back beer and Bloody Marys. (I watched the bartender make them and I swear they contained a dash of everything you find in the condiment aisle of a supermarket. I’m pretty sure I saw her add mayonnaise and microwave popcorn to the shaker.)
Carrie & Mary, poolside.
Basking in the glow of the midday sun, Carrie, looking beautiful as always, suddenly sighed, breaking the contended silence.
“I never get my knees totally shaved,” she said sadly, “I even tell myself to get them, but I’m afraid I’ll cut myself.”
There was a thoughtful pause.
“I’m putting that in my blog,” I announced.
So much for fresh towels.
I brewed a pot of coffee for my friends and they rose like zombies from graves in search of caffeine and tobacco.
Corey and I went to the restaurant for brunch where, thank God, a totally normal person waited on us. The food was rad. They have an organic garden here from which they harvest their vegetables. More importantly, our waitperson understood what it meant to WANT COFFEE.
Growing up north of the Bay Area, I was spoiled by coffee service. Up there, you usually don’t get to the bottom of your mug before someone fills it. In LA, you have to f**king launch a g*ddamn publicity campaign signifying that you want another cup. And then you need to get your agent to find you more cream.
The ladies joined us later, both feeling much better after a night of sleep. Corey went out in search of a hammock, and Carrie, Logan and I settled by the pool, making sure we kept hydrated by knocking back beer and Bloody Marys. (I watched the bartender make them and I swear they contained a dash of everything you find in the condiment aisle of a supermarket. I’m pretty sure I saw her add mayonnaise and microwave popcorn to the shaker.)
Carrie & Mary, poolside.
Basking in the glow of the midday sun, Carrie, looking beautiful as always, suddenly sighed, breaking the contended silence.
“I never get my knees totally shaved,” she said sadly, “I even tell myself to get them, but I’m afraid I’ll cut myself.”
There was a thoughtful pause.
“I’m putting that in my blog,” I announced.
