I’m drifting around my apartment late for work. The sun is breaking through the morning fog in Hollywood, which means it’s my brief opportunity to get some sunlight before making my way to the gloomy beach. This dude I work with has diagnosed me with S.A.D. – Seasonal Affective Disorder. Which just means that I’m sick and f-ing tired of the June Gloom in Los Angeles. I didn’t realize that summer doesn’t actually exist at the beach for an entire month.
I forgot to mention that while dining at Houston’s in Century City last night, Ron Jeremy walked his fat ass past my table.
I just got this instant message from a friend of a friend, who knows who I am, although we have never met face to face:
“okay, i had a dream last night in which you and i were locked in a james bond type battle to get a miniature replica of the witch’s castle in The Wizard of Oz. And although i knew in the dream that you were Flora’s friend Jefferson, you looked like Jay of Jay and Silent Bob. I’ll seek psychiatric help immediately.”
I actually used the words “fantastic fruity” in a previous post. Shoot me.
I had some story notes somewhere, but I seem to have filed them in a mystery location.
Screw it, I don’t have a thing to say.