Playing Ketchup Part 1

I've definitely been through some crap in my life, but the Universe (my arch-nemesis) decided to throw my way a rather eclectic slew of challenges both big and small within a relatively short period of time. With every new shitstorm, I would chuckle and utter, "Well played, sir, well played." Then I would burst into tears because eventually even the most minor of hiccups would send me reeling at the cruelty and injustice of fate. Once the clock struck 2013, however, life became just a little bit brighter. (After I stopped vomiting all over San Francisco, details to come). I know it's insane to think that things magically change when one year ends and the next begins. But the proof is in the pudding. Mmm... pudding.

Playing Ketchup

How do I summarize six months worth of drama, heartbreak, transition, and triumph? Why, let's make a list! (I feel like this is the start of a very bizarre musical number, but then again, that's how I feel about 90% of the time).

1. My Body Has Declared Mutiny

After hardly being sick a day in my life (other than a random week of vertigo in high school during which I tried to walk down the hallway and ended up swaying and stumbling into lockers like the love child of Lucille 2 and a drunken sailor), I managed to end up at the doctor at least a bajillion times (more like 7 or 8, but still). While the issues I faced were in no way serious or life-threatening, (trying to maintain perspective), it definitely felt like it at the time. Ultimately I blame the stress from my job at Studio City for completely fucking up my immune system. I'm still dealing with some health problems, but everything seems to be under control at the moment. Of course now I find myself frantically WebMDing even the slightest twinge, cough, or tummy rumble. The experience has made me a raging hypochondriac, so thanks for that new diagnosis as well, Universe.

Lucille 2
My imaginary mother

2. RIP Stan 1989-2012

My beloved car and oft-mentioned Partner in Crime, Stan, perished on October 5th, 2012. I was coming home from Sally Tomatoes practice late at night when I noticed he was making strange chugging noises up the 405 near Sherman Oaks. All of a sudden, the lights went out. Whatever strange car disease he caught must have been contagious, since he sidled up right behind another car that was also stopped dead in the right hand lane. They had to shut down the whole frickin' freeway which was still crowded at 10:30pm on a Wednesday, so a CHP car could literally push me up the hill and roll down the other side to the offramp. It was very dramatic. While I waited in the cold for a tow truck, I curled up in a ball in the front seat, sobbing. I had a feeling this was the beginning of the end for my dear friend. Sure enough, Pep Boys would have had to basically rebuild the whole frickin' engine. Not worth it for a car this old and admittedly shitty. So I donated his body to charity and adjusted to the harsh reality of being a pedestrian in LA.

3. The Schlep

I had only just transferred to my new property in Pasadena, originally a mere 20 minute drive from North Hollywood, when suddenly I had a two hour commute on my hands. This involved two trains and a thirty minute walk through ghetto NoHo. Because LA public transportation is stupid. Adding two hours on either end of my work day was just killing me. Not literally. But it did suck.

4. My 25th Birthday

Speaking of suck, October 16th was my 25th birthday. Arguably the last milestone birthday I will ever have (if you consider finally being able to rent a car as a milestone). I had to work that day, so I carried my party dress, cute shoes, and makeup all the way through the Schlep for my birthday dinner at Cheesecake Factory in Old Town Pasadena. I invited fourteen people. Guess how many showed up. One. My dear gay husband Eric, who still made the whole affair fabulous. But when you're already having a hard time, you just want to have fun and cheesecake with the people who love you. While I know that this is not the end of the world, especially compared to everything else that was going on, it was definitely the rancid cherry on top of a crap sundae.

Fun Fact: My birthday was at the same Cheesecake Factory where Penny works in the Big Bang Theory. It looks nothing like this and I'm not sure why on earth she wears that ridiculous uniform that also bears no resemblance to the real thing. In any case, the more you know!

5. The Big Move

This one is actually a good thing. Because I could no longer stand losing four hours of my life commuting, I knew I had to move to Pasadena STAT. Ever since I left UC Irvine, I vowed never again to have a roommate. Not that my experiences with roommates were so bad, but I love being Queen of my own castle. I finally came to the realization that I could either spend $775 for a terrible one-bedroom in the ghetto with no A/C or heater, but plenty of cockroaches, or spend substantially less to share a discounted luxury two-bedroom in glorious Pasadena at one of my company's properties. Needless to say, my place is BOMB (to borrow a 90s colloquialism)! Also, my roommate Smita is awesome. We very rarely see each other, but when we do, we hang out and watch Say Yes to the Dress or forensic cop shows.

Another Fun Fact: the exterior of City Hall from Parks and Rec is also in Pasadena. I fucking love this town!

6. Boy Drama

a. Winston.
I took a break from boys while I was figuring some stuff out. But once I thought I was back on my feet,  I met a guy named Winston. He was very sweet and I thought the name Winston was the best thing ever. Sadly Winston gave me the creeps. I could never put my finger on why exactly. I tried to give him a second chance by inviting him to watch Community over at my place. I was still commuting at the time, so I ended up falling asleep on the couch halfway through the second episode. Yes, I was exhausted, but I have a feeling if I had liked him more, I probably would have powered through. Poor guy, will probably always be traumatized by that. He tried to kiss me good night and my gut instinct was to basically shove him out the door. The last time that happened was with the French Creeper. Has this impulse ever happened to anyone else?

"Are there other black nerds, or is it just you and Urkel?" -30 Rock

b. Patrick
Patrick was a good guy. Imagine Toofer from 30 Rock, only slightly less pompous. We went on a fantastic first date to a South American BBQ place that must have been really expensive. (I'm not used to that). We got along great, talked for a few hours at Starbucks, and he walked me home in the rain. Then I was an adorable romcom heroine and couldn't get the damn security gate unlocked with my fancy new laser fob thingie. I ended up having to call myself on the intercom to buzz myself in. Which he thought was hilarious. And then I never heard from him again. At least not until a few weeks ago. I was used to guys disappearing though it always drives me nuts. But he sincerely apologized and explained himself to my satisfaction. When I told him I was dating someone else, he gallantly said, "I knew I couldn't be your only fan." Sweet, right? Though now it sounds kind of creepy and stalkerish. But I swear, it wasn't like that. I hope.

c. Matthew
Frickin' puppet master. Not even worth a whole paragraph.

I find this picture highly unsettling...

d. James
The first time I ever said "Fuck you" to someone, and genuinely meant it. I guess it's my own fault. Damn those twinkly blue eyes and devilish grin. That boy is poooooiiiisoooon.

7. Family Drama

I don't really want to go into the details of this one. Basically, the one thing I always thought I could count on, my family, nearly fell apart around Thanksgiving. As a whole, we seem to have moved past it, but it's still not ok with me.

Corporate espionage!!! Dun dun dun!

8. Selling Out

The Monday after Thanksgiving, my company found out that our two biggest competitors bought us out and were going to divide us up 60/40. The well-established, flourishing company that I finally had grown to love (after transferring to Pasadena and realizing that it was just Studio City that was Hell on Wheels), no longer exists. Imagine if McDonald's and Carl's Jr. randomly decided to buy out Burger King. It's kind of like that. No one saw it coming. At the time, we didn't know if we were all still going to have jobs, or what the new company would be like. The term "drinking from the firehose" was thrown around a lot. The sale is finally complete, but we are still in the painful process of transition. It's turning out to be ok, just awkward. The only thing that remains to be seen is whether I my kickass employee housing discount will be cut in half. That would suck. But we shall see.

9. Grief

Not long after attending a friend's funeral, I lost two members of my own extended family. Some of my other friends have experienced similar tragedies and my heart just breaks for them as well. It definitely comes in waves.

I wish I looked this pretty when I'm sick...

10. Vomitting on BART

To top off a truly banner year, on New Year's Eve I christened a Bay Area Rapid Transit train with the contents of my upset stomach. Specifically, copious amounts of pasta mixed with vodka. Sorry about that, people of San Francisco! But that's what you get when your best friend who moved to San Francisco leaving you alone and miserable in LA is a former alcoholic and drinks vicariously through you and you just happen to be a lightweight. After a lovely day visiting with Eric and exploring the city, we had decided to watch the midnight fireworks over Fisherman's Wharf from on top of a faraway hill. But the entire time the fireworks were exploding and Eric was sharing the traditional New Year's kiss with his boyfriend, I was blorching like a champ. I like to think that I was vomiting up everything bad about 2012. I still had a nasty hangover on January 1st, but once it was over, a fresh start lay ahead.

So that's just a sampling of everything that sucked about 2012. This is already a really long post, so I think I'll leave the sort-of happy ending for next time. Ta da!

Obligatory Holiday-Themed Post

Since commenting on the arrival of any given holiday always seems to be a proven goldmine for blog topics, I thought I would continue my grand tradition of lameness and discuss this most glorious of days, Easter. And by glorious, I mean, 'meh.' Seriously, if you're not a kid, you don't have kids, and you're not religious by any means, Easter kind of sucks. Especially if you don't even have any family nearby to at least use it as an excuse to gather boisterously, eat too much Orange Goop, play an overly competitive round of Apples to Apples, and drink boxed White Zinfandel (is that just my family?).

Happy Easter Island!

Because I disdain of most religions, I'm not obligated to give up my Sunday off and sit around in a drafty church getting high off of incense or torn up bits of Wonderbread (that last part makes since if you are now or ever were Mormon). So that tradition is out. Because I'm four and twenty, not just four, I can't rationalize a good Easter egg hunt (because that would look kind of creepy for a childless grown-up to hang out around an event meant for children. Plus, the best hunts were always at my Grandma's in Sacramento). And because my mommy is five-hundred miles away, I can't even re-enact the best of my childhood memories: searching for my skillfully concealed Easter basket. My mom was seriously a Wiz at hiding our baskets. Our house was not huge, and yet it always seemed to take me at least an hour and a half to find it. But when I did, there would be waiting a giant chocolate ostrich-sized egg filled with fudge or peanut butter. *DROOLS*

Sorry, Chuck. Never a good idea.

Mom came to visit me last year right before Easter. She left the morning of, but left me a note that I had to find my "basket." And by "basket" she meant the white, plastic kitchen colander she re-purposed and filled with Ikea chocolate she bought when I wasn't looking the day before. Pretty sneaky, Mom! So that was awesome. But then the rest of the day I spent doing laundry and drinking a bottle of Two Buck Chuck Chardonnay. Then the rest of the night I spent puking up the Two Buck Chuck Chardonnay. (The lesson learned was that if you're going to go with Chuck, stick with red. And eat something besides Ikea chocolate first, for God's sake!) Maybe the Easter bunny will bring me some Cabernet Sauvignon, since I'm on a diet and can't technically eat most treats associated with the occasion.

Totally irrelevant, but this made me giggle.

But this year, I'm all by my lonesome. Just sitting at my computer, reminiscing about holidays and massive chocolate eggs gone by. Woe is me! But at least I had eggs for breakfast. That's somewhat festive, right?

Why thank you Rob Pattinson!

Happy Easter to you too!

(I don't think he actually knew he was posing for an Easter-themed greeting, do you?)

(Sidebar, I'm not really a fan. I just thought this was really random.)

A Very Long-Winded Update

Yes I am aware of how much time has passed and I have multiple bruises from the amount of times I have kicked myself for being lazy and not writing when I really had no excuse because I had plenty of time, energy, and topics and I am now writing this uber-sentence to prove how many words have been bottled up inside of me because I suck at writing even lame little blog entries even though they're really the only writing project I've stuck with because I can't finish anything to save my life and even starting something takes a Herculean effort on my part and I've never been a big fan of Hercules.

Unless he's played by Kevin Sorbo.

*BREATHES.*

So what has Hutch been up to these last several weeks? Well I will update you all in the form of a list: The things I meant to blog about but never got around to!

1. My painful inability to keep anything to myself, especially when it comes to boys I take a shine to. Namely, Sexy Jesus (no, it's not his legal name, but it damn well should be. He's the most attractive man I've ever seen in real life and he bears a striking resemblance to our lord and savior. If our lord and savior moonlighted as a latin-flavored Chippendale's dancer. Now that I would pay big money to see... Sorry I was waiting to see if I was going to be struck with lightening just then. All clear! But seriously, he's like the ridiculously attractive Carl in Love Actually that Laura Linney could totally have tapped and was like, no I have to go hang out with my brother who looks like a lumpy John Cusack and tries to hit me even though I'm trying to get the Pope and/or Bon Jovi to exorcise him, the ungrateful loon!)

"Rock me, rock me, rock me Sexy Jesus!" ~Hamlet 2

Holy Sacrilege...

Long story short, every single one of my co-workers, including the Big Boss Man knows that I am head over heels in love with Sexy Jesus (even though he's married and his wife is going to have a baby. Now I'm really going to Hell). I have got to learn to not blush, giggle, fawn, and in all other ways swoon over this man and any other attractive menfolk that walk through my door. But it's just not possible. Sigh. There's also the Nutcracker (so named because he could crack many-a-walnut with that ass. Not that anyone would want to eat an ass-cracked walnut. But still, impressive, right?), but he has since moved out, much to my chagrin. But everyone knew I had the hots for him too. Why can't I play it cool like Don Draper? Why do I lack any sort of mystery whatsoever?

2. The Downtown Pub Crawl with my UC Irvine/Bordeaux Study Abroad/Vegas Shenanigans girls. We discovered the second greatest Irish pub, called Casey's (A-MAZING, but still not quite as good as Maeve's), and the Library Bar (which is exactly what it sounds like. Super pretentious and hipster-y which we celebrated by drinking grapefruitinis and reading aloud Shakespearean sonnets to complete strangers.) We also unearthed a libation entitled the Pickle Back, which is a shot of Jameson followed by a pickle juice chaser. This made my friend Jessica who did it on a dare, promptly vomit moments later.

Have I mentioned how much I love Irish pubs?

The Pickle Back is not to be confused with the band Nickleback, which sometimes can have the same effect. This night was also momentous because I discovered that I could resolve my hatred of Downtown (most of which stems from difficult and expensive driving, parking, and navigating) by taking the Metro. Who knew? Of course the night ended when we decided to skip the expensive taxi and take the bus back to my friend's place. I must have been pretty drunk if I willingly agreed to take a bus, because not only did we trek super-far to the bus stop, but I did it walking barefoot on the nasty-ass Downtown streets in lieu of wearing my painful heels. Who knows what gnarly things have oozed, splattered, died, or crawled on those sidewalks....Not the smartest thing I've ever done, but at least I wasn't driving!

3. I finally went to an LA Kings Hockey game! I scored a deal on Living Social and it was glorious! Again, I took the Metro, which proved to be an excellent decision. Only we weren't sure exactly where the Staples Center was, so we just followed a group of burly guys in jerseys until we found the place. For a girl from Sacramento, it was super weird to root for the LA Kings. (I've been bred to loathe all Los Angeles-based sports teams, especially those that have the same mascot as my sometimes-beloved basketball team.) I consider myself a Ducks fan, though it's mostly because I love the Mighty Ducks trilogy, and that was the first (and only) game I ever went to.

It's a beautiful thing.

It. Rocked. My. World. I love Canadians. I love big burly Canadians. I love big burly Canadians beating the crap out of each other on ice. Hockey really is the greatest thing ever. Only we lost by three in a shut-out which was kind of embarrassing. Plus, there were no fights. LAME!! But it made for a great date, which was followed by a second visit to Casey's (conveniently within walking distance of the Staples Center!). Yes, I was dating someone for about three weeks (who knew that Plentyoffish would work out after all?), but it just kind of fizzled. No one's fault, but if the chemistry isn't there, you can't force it. But the point is, yay hockey!

4. My 24th birthday on October 15th! (Technically my birthday is October 16th, but since I spent the entire anniversary of my birth regurgitating bile in my very understanding friend's toilet, I'm gonna stick with the 15th). We celebrated with another one of our legendary Sally Tomatoes' visits to Gabe's, the karaoke dive bar extraordinaire since that tradition began on my birthday last year. You should know that I have very strict rules when it comes to drinking. These are my rules and a description of how I broke most of them (here comes a list within a list. Blow your mind just now, did I?):

a) Always eat a big carb-y dinner. I am currently on the South Beach Diet and carbs are in short supply. I didn't have time to grab real food, so I wolfed down a salami sandwich on that thin, round bread that resembles a whole grain hockey puck. It was not enough. And for some reason, I was trying to be good and refused to eat any greasy, starchy french fries that might have absorbed some of the booze and prevented me from tossing my non- existent cookies. (It occurs to me that I talk about vomit way too much on this blog. My apologies.)

b) Make sure you have a ride home. Thankfully my friend Eric took over designated driver duties and drove Stan and myself back to his place to crash. Not literally, because then he wouldn't be a very good designated driver.

c) Never drink sugary drinks. For one thing, they're bad for you. For another, the sugar is what makes you super-hungover. Every single one of my drinks, excluding the tequila shot, was a delicious, sugary catastrophe.

d) Speaking of tequila shots, Never never never ever mix liquors. Pick your poison and stick with it! I learned this lesson the hard way at my brother's wedding where I sample shots of every kind of liquor available at the open bar. But I ended up paying for it in vomit for hours on end afterwards. But since my friends were paying for the drinks, they insisted that I mix an AMF with a White Russian, with a Long Beach Iced Tea, etc. DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME!

Drinking anything this color is never a good idea.

Audios Motherfucker indeed.

e) Know your limit. I am usually very good at this. I know exactly how much I can handle to feel pleasant, but to avoid getting sick and/or sloppy. No one likes a sloppy drunk girl, even if it is her birthday. I was done, but the DJ who quickly became my best friend after high-fiving me for choosing "18 and Life" by Skid Row, bought me a vodka tonic. I'm a sucker for free drinks, but I should have 'Just Said No.'

f) Drink tons of water before, during, and after drinking booze. This one I actually followed faithfully, but I still was hurting so bad I could barely get out of bed until 5pm on the 16th. Not the best way to spend a birthday.

So that was my birthday. It was totally worth it too, so thanks ladies (and Eric) for the serenades and for not judging me for christening the toilet at Gabe's with low-carb stomach butter!

5. Speaking of my birthday, I got Target gift cards for gifts (always acceptable!) I finally bought myself a real dresser, since I had been using plastic and fabric storage containers for the past 6 years. I had picked it out and put it back for months before finally pulling the trigger. I put it together almost all by myself, a fact that I was super proud of. One month later, the damn thing is completely falling apart. It was expensive too, even with my gift cards. Stupid crappy Target furniture. One day, I'll own things that aren't terrible...

I was so proud when I took this picture.

Future Me laughs derisively at past Me.

6. Halloween and the Monster Massive that Wasn't. My big brother Scott flew all the way down here from Northern California to see Armin Van Buuren ("The World's Number One DJ" according to him as I shrugged in ignorance) perform at Monster Massive in Orange County. My friends have gone to Monster Massive in years past and from what I understand, it's a massive concert/rave/spectacular filled with tens of thousands of bedazzled club kids in crazy/slutty costumes. I was down, even though I didn't know crap about techno music. We were about to leave when we decided to check the website one last time. Monster Massive had been cancelled a few weeks before. Seriously. They never sent an e-mail, they just refunded the money without a word.

See, World's Number One DJ!

Which to me is like being the World's Number One Pole Vaulter.

It's certainly impressive, but it's still not really my thing.

He is rather attractive though, isn't he? No Kevin Sorbo, but still...

So we had to find something to do on a Saturday Halloween Eve in Los Angeles. Seems easy enough, but while there were a myriad of parties, costume balls, and other events of debauchery, all were either sold out, super lame, or really expensive. We ended up going with our back-up plan which was to see DJ Sasha (like the Number Seven DJ in the World, don'tcha know) spin at Club Avalon in Hollywood. I had never been before, but apparently Avalon is, like, super famous. It took us two hours and forty bucks each to get in and from the moment we walked through the door, our ears were assaulted with the loudest, most obnoxious music ever. Did you ever see that episode of How I Met Your Mother with subtitles? It was like that, only worse. There were costumes. And Asian tourists who push you around. I hate to be pushed around, especially when the floor is vibrating so hard my esophagus was shaking. But we had a good time nonetheless. After a while, we walked down Hollywood Boulevard and saw all the crazies out and about at 2am. Many of which were entranced by my shiny, silver, satin, sequined dress (that I bought for South Pacific in 10th grade. Nothing goes to waste in my closet!). That weekend, we fit in trips to the Hollywood Overlook, the Santa Monica Pier and Promenade, The Getty Center, and The Griffith Park and Observatory. Pretty damn good considering Scott was barely here more than 24 hours. It's nice having someone come to visit so you have an excuse to do all the touristy things you never get around to doing when you live here. Plus, Scott and I hadn't hung out just the two of us since I was 13 and he was 23 and he took me to an N Sync concert in San Francisco (what a stellar brother!). By the way, the Getty is the coolest place ever. Go.

7. Thanksgiving Vacation in Foresthill. I actually scored 6 days off in a row and had my first real time off in about a year. I got to go home to Foresthill and jammed literally 10 pounds of fun in a 5 pound bag. There was the Mountain Mandarin Festival (like the orange, not the Chinese), where I saw about eight people I used to know, most of which I tried to avoid, including the mythical Skank who stole my man in high school, that bitch. Then the reunion with my friends I've known since 5th grade and that I haven't hung out with altogether in about 5 and a half years (they have kids now! Weird!) There was also our annual visit to Apple Hill, which is this awesome apple orchard with delicious pies, beautiful views, and cheesy crafts for sale. It's the best way to celebrate my favorite season.

Post-Soggy Turkey Trot.

The morning of Thanksgiving itself, my friend Jenna and I decided randomly to do the Roseville Turkey Trot 5K for charity. Not sure why, since I usually hate running, doing good works, missing the Macy's Parade, and being outside in the rain, but overall it was a fabulous experience that I totally want to do next year! I came in 812th out of 997, badass! The meal afterwards was epic, and pie at my grandma's was even better. I loved being surrounded by the adorable mini-mafia that is my nieces and nephew. We started decorating for Christmas the next morning, before I visited with more of my best friends that I never get to see. Then I flew home and it was back to reality. Or as real as Studio City can get.

8. I guess I'll go ahead and toot my own horn too and announce that I have lost about 36 pounds since August 16th! Toot toot! Turns out that eating healthy and powerwalking every morning is a potent combination. I even survived the terrifying obstacles of my birthday and Thanksgiving, and managed to come out unscathed.

One of these days, I'm hoping to take the iconic,

"Look at how big my pants used to be!" picture.

Normally when I lose momentum, I can't get back on that proverbial horse for another 8 or 9 months. But I refuse to beat myself up about eating pie on Thanksgiving, because you can't deny yourself everything. You can't indulge every craving either. I'm striving for balance and so far it's working. But ask me again in a few months. We'll see. December is going to be a bitch.

9. Oh I almost forgot! I also survived the freaking delicious Sally Tomatoes Formal Dinner Pah-ty (you have to say it with a hoity-toity accent)! Survived as in I was strong enough to eat Dana's monumentally amazing food without going crazy on it. You can read more details and get recipes on her delightful cooking blog here!

So that brings us back to today when I had to fit in nine days worth of work into one since it is now my regular weekend. But at least I got to spend a good hour showing potential transfer apartments to Sexy Jesus (and his pregnant wife who is annoyingly delightful and normal looking so I can't even hate her). If you are still reading this, congratulations! You must have even less to do than me!

Vomit on the Freeway (And Why it's Kobe Bryant's Fault)

Let me just state right now, I effing HATE the Lakers. I was born in Sacramento and although I am not obligated to be a Kings fan, I have been raised to loathe those sell-out bastards and everything they stand for. I knew this would be a problem when I moved to their stomping grounds. What I did not count on was the fact that whenever they're in town (or the Clippers for that matter), they completely clog up the 10 freeway, turning my 15-30 minute commute into over an hour. On top of that mess, a Friday night rush hour commute in Los Angeles is already a colosseum-sized bitch.

Fuck the Lakers, man. Especially since they just beat the Kings.

Today, for a number of reasons, I developed a migraine. One I couldn't shake despite several rounds of tylenol, tums, and a dose of the big guns, exedrin (which is like crack to my caffeine-sensitive body. But dammit, if it doesn't work like a charm. Usually.) The migraine took its course and before I knew it, I was puking at work. Classy lady. My boss must have had a moment of clairvoyance because the second after I exited the bathroom, she called down from three floors above to see how I was feeling. I got to go home about ten minutes early, but still had to make the dastardly trek to my car in the far-off parking garage. My stomach was still disagreeing with me (it felt like the gastrointestinal equivalent of a Glenn Beck vs. Jon Stewart smackdown).

I prayed for decent traffic on the 10, so I could drive the ten miles home in relative haste. No such fucking luck. Goddamn Lakers. But tonight was bad even for Laker traffic. Five miles an hour, I swear to god. I tried to sing along to the radio, but that failed to distract me from my misery. So I called home (hoping to get some sympathy from my Mom). My Dad answered, and I told him about my current predicament. He just laughed. I didn't blame him. Finally I just asked him, "Do you think I could just stick my head out the window and let 'er rip?" To which he replied, "Go for it."

So I hung up the phone, because this was going to happen with or without my consent. I was stuck going less than ten miles an hour, with no time to merge off the freeway. So I indeed poked my head out the window and with little provocation, there was my half-digested salad and French toast lunch back for a visit from beyond the grave. I was still driving, mind you. (I am nothing if not the Queen of Multi-Tasking). Luckily I didn't veer too far out of my lane and for the first time that night I was grateful we were going so slow. I don't know if the other cars saw it happen. But I'm pretty sure one or two noticed the streak of vomit down the side of Stan's door.

I'd post a picture, but I'm pretty sure

that description is enough to make you feel queasy too.

The worst part was I didn't make it all the way out the window and basically slimed my entire sleeve and the interior of the door as well. And we were still going 5. miles. an hour, with 8 miles left to go. So I had to sit in my poor Stan, covered in regurgitated spinach (that smelled like rotten ranch dressing, just so you have the full sensory effect), for another 40 minutes at least. I called my dad back just to give him an update on the Situation, and we both had a good laugh. I was in pain, but I could still recognize how hilarious this all was. I had to drop the phone, ninja-style when I spotted a cop though. The last thing I needed after throwing up all over myself like some rookie sorority girl was a ticket for talking on my cell phone.

Finally I arrived at Crenshaw and parked. I immediately dashed into the house for some lemon-fresh Mr. Clean and paper towels. I pray that you will never have to know what it's like to scrape off stomach butter from your beloved car of seven years, whose more like a best friend than an automobile. So now I'm home, and thanks for asking, I feel remarkably better now that I've purged (in the most disgusting/amusing way possible).

This mother-fucker.

I'm thinking about suing the Lakers though for the cost of thoroughly detailing and washing my car. No, I think just make Mother-Effing Kobe clean Stan himself with his own goddamn golden toothbrush. They need to relocate the Staples Center to somewhere not directly on my way home, so I don't have to deal with their crap, especially when I'm feeling under the weather.