More April 11, 2009: happy hour

It's a shame that happy hour doesn't happen in Vancouver. It's a godsend that I don't have discount beer available to me back home. Or I'd be an unemployed, scantily clad burden to my family.
i started my glorious alcohol induced "hour" at 7pm. I got back just before 6am. Needless to say I was too tired to try surfing this morning. And the too-early-to-rise mature estrogen types had me awake before 8am. I berated my intoxicated consciousness for a couple of hours on my lumpy hostel bed before rising to Kelly's concerned texts.

Things could really get out of hand after she leaves town tonight.




 
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April 11, 2009: I've got balls

"You've got balls."
That's what he said.
He was Edward. A friendly L.A. local - the friendly type that I figured is a complete rarity after two days of staying here.
Edward also happened to be a surfing instructor. And I was embarressingly in need of help. You see, the board knocked me on the top of my head on the first wave that I didn't catch. If I were no so thick-headed, I would have ended up in a hospital making good use of my travel insurance coverage.
I didn't manage to pop-up on many waves, but my testicular fortitude kept me out there for a few hours. Now I'm dead tired again and will be back to tackle them. I just hope happy hour doesn't ruin my plans for tomorrow.




 
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April 10, 2009: s'alright

My first morning in LA began with the murmurs of my dorm mates quietly scrambling off their bunks to line up for the shower. I waited in bed and saw through dry eyes, the overcast daylight slowly make it's way through the single window. The snooze alarm kept ringing as I kept tossing in bed, dreading the hangover that was creeping in my mind to ruin my day.
Some hours before, I had found my way back from a stranger's house, narrowly avoiding my own drunk-sex horror story - the kind that I tend to tell my doctors too often.
By 10, I stumbled out the door to Kelly's hotel and was greeted with a hug that proceeded into a well-deserved lecture about my drinking. Devestating hangover aside, I was ready to seize the day and experience the credit-driven consumer glory that is L.A.
Thankfully Shannon ordered a rental after we gave up on trying to figure out L.A.'s public transit system. After an americano and Jamba Oatmeal (fucking delicious), we hit up WeHo's shopping spots in our mid-size Corolla. Navigating from Robertson to La Brea to Fairfax with a Lonely Planet map and a collective need for retail therapy. But the best parts of the day were spent at Roscoe's and Canter's Jewish Deli.
If I'm lucky I'll get back to La Brea before Monday and get inked at High voltage. But now I'm exhausted after 48 hours of disrupted sleep, drinking an dehydration. It's nearly eleven. And I'm going to bed to get the energy to ride the waves in Malibu tomorrow.




 
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