need a volume button for life
I was up late last night. Brad is estimating I went to bed at 3:30 or 4am and that he climbed into bed with me 45 minutes later. Seeing as how normally he’s in bed at 9pm and I join him at midnight, one would think we had to have been good and drunk last night BUT NO! We were actually working till the wee hours.
Brad was managing Denzel Washington’s boy/girl twins’ (I know that has a specific name but I am too lazy and tired to look it up - fraternal??) sweet sixteen birthday party at the Factory in West Hollywood. He was walking around for a good 3 hours in a “Club One Six” t-shirt before he realized what his shirt meant.
He was undoubtedly standing there thinking of a zillion things that had to happen in order for everything to run smoothly when all of a sudden I picture him closing his mouth (for once! …he claims he has problems with his nasal passages and has to open his mouth to breath but I know he secretly just likes to make people think he’s a dimwit so they leave him alone and don’t ask him any hard questions or ask him to do stuff…) and thrusting his chin up into the air as he tilts his head back and shuts his eyes. “Oh!”
Duh, Brad. Big huge DUH.
I was in Pasadena doing a wedding. The bride and groom were handsome and happy. Gorgeous dress, tasteful bridesmaids’ attire, blah blah blah. I am still shocked and appalled at how little they got for spending so much at the Ritz Carlton! Bad service, mediocre food, boring flowers…
Whatever.
When I got home at 1:30am, I had to finalize some materials for a conference I’m producing up North in May. We’re having a huge production meeting on Monday morning and that the meeting handouts have to be compiled and that I had to get my info in. So I sat down after hastily removing my *ouch* high heels that were practically glued to my feet at that point. I hobbled over to my computer and got busy.
So, long story longer… we were not out drinking and having fun and that is not why I need a volume button today (although it should be.)
Somewhere outside my door in Los Feliz slash Little Armenia & Thai Town adjacent, someone is teaching a Whitey how to speak their language. Judging by the loudness and heartiness of the foreigner’s voice, you could assume it is a big fat Greek wedding man that is trying to spread his native tongue across the Southland. But knowing the geographic location we’re in, you’d be better off guessing Armenian, Hangarian, Romanian or Lithuanian.
Regardless, HE IS SO FREAKING LOUD! And he laughs even louder! Everytime Whitey repeats whatever nonsense he is teaching he WAH AH AH HAHAHAHAHAH NO NO SAY IT LIKE THIS!!
Kill me.
Now.
Please.
Or at least bring me some ice cream.