Shame on me for never telling you all about my trip home to Los Angeles this past May. I'm a naughty blogger.
It was a really wonderful trip home, though really too short. Poompy and I got to spend time with my friend Mich and her husband and their 8 week old baby. (He won't admit it, but Poompy totally got all weepy-eyed when he held the infant in his arms.) We spent lots of time in our jammies visiting with my mama. We broke bread with friends and family multiple times. We stopped by our beautiful Hollywood bungalow and visited with our old neighbors. We took a road trip to Huntington Beach with Dopey to spend more time with family. We spent an afternoon on the Santa Monica Pier with more family. I went horse-back riding with my neice and nephew while Poompy ate at our favorite sushi place with his big brother. (After which Poompy gloated for hours about how awesome the sushi was and how NY sushi "sucks major balls" in comparison.) But I think the very best story of all comes from our second night in town, when my best fried Dopey threw us The Most Awesome Welcome To LA Party EVER.
Dopey had planned this rad party for us and she'd sent out invitations to all our friends and I was super excited about it. So excited about it that the first thing I did when I arrived at Dopey's house to help her prepare for the party was pass out on the pavement next to her pool. Why? Who knows. My brother suggested that perhaps I shouldn't have started drinking so early in the day, but what does he know? Anyway, the next thing I did was spend a couple of hours stretched across Dopey's bed, holding my stomach and groaning. About forty minutes before guests were supposed to start arriving, Poompy managed to convince me that it would be a good idea to stick my finger down my throat. I won't go into the gory details except to tell you all about how you can tell someone really loves you when they sit on the floor in the bathroom holding your hair and rubbing your back while you wretch and sob and say things like: "blaaaaagh*wretch*gag* I'm dying! *sob*bleeegh*gag* I think I'm dying please *wretch* make it stop! *gag*blegh* I don't want to die! *wretch*sob*gag*" Throwing up is gross. And it sucks. And it is NOT dignified. Certainly not when I do it.
I barely had time to brush my teeth before the guests started arriving and by then, well I just felt so much better that I drank two gin martini's and spent the rest of the night dancing on Dopey's coffee table before getting completely sober and driving home while working on next years taxes. I know how to have a good time, you know?
