The last handful of days have been an arm load of crazy.

My bestie Teeter, (Teeter, Teeter) recently in brand new LoVE and on tour with Bon Jovi (JBJ) rolled into town, and by town I mean Anaheim.

It did not take a lot of wordsuading to convince her to get the hell out of Anaheim and away from the sad, angry cronies hauling JBJ’s washer and dryer around America (DO NOT WASH TICO’S SHIRTS!) and making Teet’s life 89.6% miserable. So together, we ripped up Los Angeles and specifically the Cha Cha lounge on a packed Thursday night. Teeter kept telling people, and by people I mean boys, that we were from Chattsworth and I told one group of guys that I was a wee girl of 24 only to have them not believe me because they thought I was EVEN YOUNGER. I also got to re-meet a gal pal (who I had met thru Teeter ages ago and hadn’t seen since her last visit for no good reason why cause she’s awesome) who believes herself to be on the verge of dating Scott Speedman, whose celebrity is in question, but is most likely solidly in the B-tier. We had ridiculous amounts of fun, spent a lot of time and money in the photo booth, the dude who I told was 24, who actually WAS 24, never called me, and the next day we sat in traffic for the two hours and forty-five minutes it took us to get to the Honda Center and Teeter’s two solid hours of work.

Teeter is in charge of a JBJ contest where people can spend $2 to text message a number for a chance to win a 3 song vantage point on the side of the stage. Mere feet away from the very well pickled JBJ, his “High Volume Mullet,” and his bedazzled vest as shirtwear. If I had known that my sister-in-law was in the audience, we could’ve just chosen her, but sadly these dots were not connected till much too late and other ladies won*. Apparently, a typical JBJ audience is comprised of women pushing 40 and wearing their tightest jeans and fanciest tops. They also generally weigh in at around 250 pounds. It was a fascinating night spent mainly in craft services and in the swank Hilton suite in Orange, CA. *The O.C’s Luckiest Ladies

Goodbyes with Teeter were only medium-sized painful cause she (and the band, if they can find their way) will be back on Wednesday for us to see what the Staples Center has for us to eat. I then hoof’d it to my brand new $125/50 minutes Beverly Hills therapist who seemed like a much better match than that last guy, even though he was great but mainly expensive. She told me that my wires are all a jumble, and that she can help me un-cross them…but I’m gonna have to talk about the stuff that makes me the most uncomfortable, that it’s gonna be hard, and i get to pay a lot of money to do it. She also asked me, on the way out the door, to please not date anyone this week. Not a problem.

I never made it to the Downtown Art Walk or the WGA screening of Whore-ton and His Whoo or Wine Club (Zinfandel Night) but had a quick wardrobe change and was off to the horrible fucking Sunset Strip to a birthday party where I had to pay twenty US Dollars to park my car to attend a bar that had a DJ with a live drummer. Is there anyplace worse in LA than the Sunset Strip? I think I’d rather drive back to Anaheim in rush hour than go there again. By the time that place got full we left and went to another different place that wasn’t on the horrible strip but had a horrible name like LIFE and stayed until the lights went on and the JBJ stopped. Seriously, they played one. I drove my friend home, drove me home and then drove around the internet like an idiot instead of going straight to the also made-up place in my dreams.

Getting out of bed the next morning in order to make it to my pre-meetng meeting made me want to cry, but I did not, thanks to a) me being out of tears and a2) my No More Tears ’08 Campain of Happy Times. So, six hours and several cups of coffee later, I am now running Writer’s Lab West, the NYU Alum group, and am up for a seat on the Council. What can I say, I was tired and weak and said yes…and I can always quit.

Then it was straight to the UCB where I tried to stay awake in the dark theater (more coffee ahoy!) whilst a group of sad angry middle-aged men made a lot of shit jokes. literally. And then, it was back to the Cha Cha for a welcome to LA party for some dude I don’t know but welcomed anyways. To bring this saga full circle, who was standing outside close talking and smoking with a lady…none other than star of Television and Film, Scott Speedman. I quickly texted my pal to break the news that he was there with who might just be his ugly sister. She was sad, but after declining my offer to put the hurt on him, and advising her to never ever date or vote for actors, I decided I really wanted to ask him, in a totally platonic way, to take pictures with me in the photo booth. Wouldn’t it be so funny to have those pictures, RIGHT HERE. Well, I pussied out. I had two chances and I just couldn’t figure out how to approach him without seeming like an asshole, stalker, or straight up lunatic. Not sure why I cared, but instead I started my new fun hobby of getting random dudes to take pictures with me and without their shirts. Do enjoy while I take an 18 hour nap: