...I think I'm fucking coming down with a cold or something.

So I didn't actually fall asleep until like, 8am.

Jean calls at like 10 or 11ish in the AM. Says she's called in sick to work 'cause she's not feeling well and would I like to go to breakfast?

Does the Pope shit in the woods?

So I fall asleep 'til she arrives and then scramble to put some clothes on.

We hit IHOP. I make the mistake of ordering a chicken fajita omelette. Thought I was clever by telling 'em to hold the sour cream, but the fucking thing was slathered in this foul salsa that was clearly made in New York City. Ick. So I scraped as much as I could off and dealt with it; I didn't have the energy to try and get replacement food. Fortunately, it came with pancakes, so I didn't end up feeling like I'd gotten screwed; I think I actually ate a bit too much. Next time there'll be no funny business at IHOP; I'll just order the fucking pancakes and be done with it...:)

Of course, the sweet potato pancakes that my father makes are fifty times better, but that's not relevent here...

So afterwards, we hit the bank, Vinyl Fetish 2 on Vermont, and I have her drop me there, so I can hit PsychoBabble, Los Feliz' cozier replacement for whatever the fuck that other coffee place was that had the freaky artwork in it. If anyone can remember what the fuck that place was called, lemme know.

Anyway, I'm early, so I take forty with a few articles in the LA Weekly 'til the Abberant One arrives. She hits quarter after and we immediately begin the official Hanging Out process.
Fun.

Few people I know are as easy and comfortable to talk to. If I'm lucky, she didn't notice me trying not to stare at her tits too much. I used to laugh at people who couldn't keep their eyes from falling down to the chest level, now I've become one of them. How sad is that?
All my cloves are smoked. Probably for the best.

Thing is, I think Jean gave me a fucking a cold. If that's the case, allow me to apologise now to anyone I've infected in the past 16 hours.

As soon as I got into Erik's car to hit the Kitty, I realised how tired I was and thought heading out was probably a bad idea. Wasn't too bad, though; would've been better if the time could've been compressed from 4 hours into like, 2 or 3. I only did two songs, but that was enough for me. Crowd liked 'em and, really, that's all that counts. Didn't drink anything but water and it was when I got there that I noticed my throat was hurting. Hurts like a motherfucker right now, so I'm go get up in some NyQuil in a minute, but I'll finish this first. Anyway, the Kitty was cool. Emme was there, looking smart and sexy. I was too out of it to swing with her when Derek went in for Jump, Jive and Wail, but I didn't embarrass myself too badly, since some of things that our local swing experts once showed me almost kinda came back, but barely. Still, could've been worse for a guy on 3 hours of sleep wearing cowboy boots. Oh, cool thing; dig. I wore my black KFI t-shirt to this thing 'cause it's what I decided to wear after I got out of the shower this afternoon and I figured, what the fuck. So I get there and this chick that's been chatting up Derek half the night asks me where I got the t-shirt. I tell her a friend gave it to me, asking why she wants to know and she says she's a producer for the Wayne Resnick show. How weird is that? Wayne does one of the few tolerable shows left on KFI, IMO, so I thought it was pretty cool. Said she be back next week, so maybe I can work some kinda angle here. I never even seen KFI studios before, y'know...

Anyway, the night was pretty fun even though I started feeling like a can of smashed assholes early on. (And why? 'Cause people knew I'd fucking be there! It's all about communication...)