I don't know if I even have it in me to remember everything that happened this weekend in LA. There was a lot, and not much sleep.

I got myself on an earlier flight into LA, which was a huge treat because I had sleepover plans in Moorpark. After not sleeping much at all, I drove to my parents' house and hung out with my dad for most of the morning... and then, naturally, went to Corrie's house to shoot guns and eat pizzaburgers. You ever had pizzaburgers? It's when you eat a cheeseburger and then eat a slice of pizza right away and have heartburn for 36 hours.

Monica's engagement party was that night, which was my purpose for coming into town. IT WAS SO MUCH FUN. I miss my friends so much. I forgot what it's like to just drive 20 minutes and hang out with people who love you and want to make you laugh all the time. I laughed until I (almost) barfed. Then Brad did barf.


I got home at 5 AM and watched Garden State with my dad. And ate some carbs to soak up the alcohol that had been fermenting in my intestines for a solid 2 days. Showered up and then decided it was high time to run into the ocean with my clothes on.


I cannot recommend this enough. It was 72 degrees at 10 in the morning and I got wet up to my ass. Then I went back to Brad's to give him some saltines and 7UP. Because he woke me up with his pukes. Again. Hope you can all take a minute to find someone to hang out with who doesn't bug you when they puke.

Six weeks. Six more weeks. You can do it, lady. Just six. More. Weeks.